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all bad. We had some happy times, especially when Nikki was younger. But the more successful I became the more despondent he became, and ultimately I stopped telling him about the assignments I got or when one of my pieces was nominated for an award because he would sulk for days. It was lonely. And even though he had in essence made me become the responsible one who took care of everything and everyone, he always complained that I didn’t know how to let loose and have fun. Which, actually, is probably true. Eventually, he went back to school to get his master’s degree and fell in love with a twenty-five-year-old grad student at the University of Houston where he’s a teaching assistant. She worships the ground he walks on. We got divorced and he married her. But,” I add, “I got Nikki out of the deal, and I love my job and the flexibility it provides, so I don’t have any regrets.”
    The feel of Beckett’s taut thigh muscles under my hand is making my stomach do flip flops and I try to pull it away, but he just tightens his grip and says, “Nuh uh.” Relinquishing, I relax my hand back in his.
    â€œWhat about you?” I ask. “I assume you’re not married or you wouldn’t be sitting here with me.”
    â€œDivorced,” he says. “I married my college sweetheart but it wasn’t terribly fulfilling for either of us. She enjoyed the status of being married to a doctor, but not the hours I spent away from home that it required, and we parted amicably after five years. Luckily, we didn’t have children so we just divided our assets and went our separate ways.”
    â€œSo, uh….” I look down, worrying my lip. “How old are you?”
    â€œThirty-eight,” he says. “My birthday is April 10 th , I grew up in Houston, did my undergrad at Harvard, went to Johns Hopkins for medical school, and then came back here to do my residency before starting my medical practice with several of my colleagues. I like to travel and have been to every continent in the world, I devote my spare time advocating for prostate cancer, and I like to be in control in every aspect of my life. What else do you want to know?”
    â€œHow’s this going to work,” I ask him teasingly, “with both of us control freaks?”
    He runs his thumb lightly along my jawline, stopping at my lips. Obeying some primitive instinct I didn’t even know I possessed, I part my lips and he slips his thumb into my mouth. It’s ridiculously erotic, and I press my tongue against the rough pad of his thumb, sucking tentatively.
    â€œI don’t think you are a control freak, Emmaline,” he says softly. “You just need to learn how to let go.”

Chapter Four
    â€œLet’s get out of here,” he says abruptly. Seeing the dark need in his eyes, I drain the rest of my sake while he pays the bill, aware that I have probably drunk too much already but needing the extra jolt of confidence the alcohol provides. I am determined not to overthink or overanalyze this and if a little extra alcohol helps, then so be it. The responsible part of my mind is telling me I absolutely shouldn’t sleep with him on what is technically only our second date, but the long repressed reckless part of me is not listening. That part is reminding me that I have put myself and my needs second for thirteen years and I deserve this. I also want it more than I have wanted anything in a long time. For once, I’m determined to allow myself an indulgence, and this sexy, powerful man is definitely an indulgence. One that might be completely wrong for me and possibly my career, but suddenly I don’t care. I feel like I’ve just woken from a long sleep and every fiber of my being feels renewed and alive. I want to bathe in his sensuality, to revel in the erotic feelings he creates simply by touching me. I don’t want to think anymore. I only want to feel, to