Provocation (Explicitly Yours 3)

Lola came out in a structured black trench coat. “Do you like it?” she asked with a twirl, her high heels’ red soles flashing.

She could’ve been wearing a nun’s habit, and he would’ve said yes. The coat cinched at her waist, all hips and breasts. She’d pulled the collar up around her neck. It was buttoned all the way, but her long, bare legs invited him to look.

“Can I see the dress?” he asked.

“Not yet.” She walked over to the bed, bent over and pressed a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Soon.”

She straightened up to walk away. He grabbed her wrist, and her head jerked in his direction, her lips splitting apart as if he’d startled her. It took a second, but her mouth spread into some mutation of a smile. She slid her hand through his and walked into the bathroom, promising, “Five more minutes, then we can go.”

Five minutes sounded like a lifetime. Anything longer felt impossible. He’d waited long enough for her. From where he sat, he could see her bent over the sink putting in her earrings. Seeing her in that position again made his brain foggy. He could easily fuck her over the bathroom counter before dinner. He wouldn’t last long anyway. An appetizer. Then, later, the main course—taking his time unwrapping her, tracing the lines of her curves with his hands and lips.

Beau blew out a sigh. He’d thought he’d been patient their first two nights together by not taking her the moment the sun had set. He’d had no idea what was in store for him.

Lola came out of the bathroom and held her hand out, rescuing both of them from him. “Ready?”

* * *

Beau raised his wineglass over the table. “To you,” he said to Lola.

She made no move to pick up her drink. “Why me?”

“Because there’s nothing more worthy of toasting. Unless you have a better idea?”

“Us.” She spun the wineglass between her fingers on the tablecloth. “And the end of a very difficult journey.”

“That’s not how I see it. In a few minutes, my patience over the last few weeks will earn me a great reward.”

She grinned. “We are not having sex in a few minutes. We haven’t even eaten yet.”

Beau sighed. “Fine. A few hours. Whatever. Regardless, tonight isn’t an ending. It’s the start of a life we’ve both deserved for a long time.”

“To that—exactly.” She clinked her wine with his, and they each took a sip. “Thank you for giving Warner the night off like I asked.”

“I told you I’d let you plan your night. Brigitte needs the company anyway.”

Lola raised her eyebrows. “He’s been spending a lot of time at her apartment.”

“Someone has to, and it’s not going to be me. All my free time goes to someone else.”

“Who?” Lola asked. “Because it isn’t me.”

Beau cleared his throat. He couldn’t tell if she was joking. He understood that his schedule bothered her, but what he couldn’t comprehend was why. Every day he’d worked the past ten years—and every hour he worked now—was for her, even if he hadn’t known it. He went in early and he stayed late to give her more and more and more. “I do my best.”

“Do you? She has a point about Warner, you know. If you’d ever sent him home to eat dinner with me because you couldn’t make it, I can tell you right now, it would not have gone over well.”

Beau put his glass down. “What neither you nor Brigitte seems to get is that if I don’t give my job one-hundred-and-ten percent, there’d be no Warner. There’d be no five-thousand square foot house to come home to. No extra bedrooms for a family, no cinema or pool—”

Lola shifted backward in her seat, her eyebrows needling together. “A family?”

Beau maintained eye contact the way he would if he’d slipped up in a meeting. It wasn’t like children were at all prevalent in his day-to-day thoughts, but some abstract idea of a family had crossed his mind since Lola had moved in. He leaned his elbows on the table. “I’m making a point.”

She looked at her lap. “Have I made you feel like I wouldn’t be happy without those things?”

“Which things?”

“A big house and a chauffeur. A closet full of expensive clothing.”

He didn’t mean to glance at her new coat, but he did. She noticed. “I love the coat on you. I want to give you beautiful things.” He was uncomfortable, but she looked at ease. He never knew how to take it when she got angry with him for spending money on her. “Why don’t you take it off, show me your new dress? You don’t need a coat in here.”

“There is no dress.”

He looked at her a second longer, then back at the coat. No dress? One layer of fabric sat between him and heaven? “You mean…?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re good at changing the subject?”

He pressed his lips together, jolted from the fantasy of what he’d find when he untied her belt, slipped each button open. He backtracked into the argument from the coat to beautiful things to her being possibly—unhappy?

“Lola, it makes me feel good to give you that life. It’s a labor of love. Otherwise, what’ve I worked for all this time?”

After another delicate sip of wine, she said, “You were fine before I came along.”

“I was fine.” Beau nodded. He reached out, pulled her hand across the table, held it tightly in his. He’d mostly only seen her with nerves of steel, so her clammy palm felt foreign. She still wasn

’t acting like herself. Perhaps he hadn’t given her the comfort she’d needed to do what she was about to do—open up to him again. “Now, I’m not fine. I’m so much more. I’m happy, Lola. Because of you. Because I—”

Lola jerked her hand back and coughed into it. She cleared her throat a couple times and drank water, droplets falling onto the tablecloth. “I’m sorry. It’s the wine. It makes my throat dry.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, look—our food.”

The waiter set down Lola’s steak. Beau didn’t take his eyes off her, but she examined her plate so hard, he wondered if she was avoiding him.

“Looks delicious,” she said. “This place had great reviews.”

Beau opened his mouth to finish what he’d been about to say, but she took a bite. He’d be damned if he told her he loved her for the first time while she had a mouthful of tenderloin. He picked up his fork and knife and cut into his T-bone, deciding to wait until later when they were home in bed. He figured there was no better time to tell her than right before she made herself most vulnerable to him.

He continued to watch her as he chewed. He did love her. It wasn’t easy for him to say, never really had been, which was why he’d been trying to tell her in other ways. He’d gotten her tickets to the ballet because she’d told him how she’d taken lessons all through her childhood. That, and it was another excuse to take her out, show her off.

They ate silently. Beau didn’t mind. The less talking they did, the faster they’d finish and get home. It was all he could do not to rip the fork out of her hand and hurry her to the car.

As soon as Beau had wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped it on his plate, the waiter appeared. He must’ve sensed Beau’s animal need to get the fuck out of there.

“Can I interest you in any dessert?”

“We’re in a hurry.”

“I’ll bring the check, and…?”

Lola nodded up at him. He inclined his head and walked away. She took a compact mirror from her purse and reapplied her lipstick.

“What was that with the waiter?” Beau asked.