His Most Scandalous Secret

Most of the women he knew were either single mothers struggling just to get by, or social workers embittered by the system that tied their hands, or, as in Les’s case, a police detective who saw the worst of human beings day in and day out. Women worn out by the pressure of just getting by. But survivors. He’d always sympathized with them and admired that they got through each day without breaking. Usually, the stronger the woman, the more he admired her.

And yet...there was Tessa Rose. Strong, yes. Physically, anyway. He didn’t know enough about her to know if her character was as strong, although he suspected as much. But she was soft, too. Temptingly soft.

He plucked a cookie from the bag and bit into it, its sweet raisins and chewy texture a sensual experience for the man whose most gourmet meal that week consisted of scrambled eggs and salsa, wrapped in a tortilla. Easy and cheap. That was his motto in the kitchen.

A homemade cookie was a rarity, either a Christmas gift or a cooking project in the Center’s kitchen.

He looked at the bedside clock, debated a moment, then picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d already memorized.

Tessa answered with a tentative hello.

“It’s Chase. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

She laughed. “I’m just so relieved it’s not my mother.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Heavens, no. I’m a night owl. I’ve been doing some prep work for a craft project for tomorrow.”

“I’ve been thinking about dinner.” How we shouldn’t take the chance, he thought. How mixing business and pleasure is never a wise move. “How about Saturday, after you give the self-defense class?”

“That would be great.”

He just wouldn’t kiss her good night. Then things wouldn’t get complicated. “Do you like Mexican food?”

“My favorite.”

He wouldn’t even hold her hand. “Good.”

“Chase?”

They’d just talk. Get to know each other. Try to bring in some reality to dim the fantasy that had built too fast. “Yeah?”

“No one is forcing you to do this, you know.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you sound like someone has a gun to your head. If you’ve decided that you don’t want to go out with me, I’ll understand. I guess.”

Ah, a graceful way out. She was perceptive and generous. This could be the end of it, no questions asked. It never had to come up again. “No one forces me to do anything, Tessa.”

Good goin’, Ryan. Come across like some Neanderthal. That’s just what every woman wants in her life.

“I’m sure they don’t,” she said.

A muffled noise punctuated the silence that followed.

“Are you laughing at me, Miss Rose?” he asked, strongly suspicious of the sound.

“No.” She choked a little. “Yes.”

“Why?” He knew why. He knew exactly why. What an idiot he was. Why did he become like an adolescent with her?

He knew the answer to that, too.

“I really like you, Chase.”

“But?”

“No but. I’ve never met a man like you.”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“It might be, at some point. But for now, I’m just enjoying it.”

“What are you concerned about, Tessa?”

“This is the first time I’ve been on my own, which seems amazing, I know, given my age. I can’t mess it up, Chase.”

“And I’m a threat to your independence?”

“Yes.”

He waited for her to expand on the answer. Was he just supposed to make his own assumptions about her meaning?

“Chase?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I’m a threat to you, as well.”

“No maybe about it.”

“Good night,” she said softly, then hung up without waiting for his response.

He dropped the receiver and pressed his palms to his closed eyes. He wanted her beside him. Needed to hold her. Yearned to touch her soft curls as they danced down her back. Craved to have her fragrance fill his head. Hungered to know if her skin felt as velvety as it looked. Ached for her breasts to press against him, for her legs to wrap around his as their bodies merged.

He opened his eyes, needing a distraction, but the starkly erotic image still hovered, not the least hazy.

Fast. It’d all happened too fast. Which qualified what he felt as infatuation. Which meant, given time, he could control it.

They had no future together. He’d seen to that eighteen years ago. To forget even for a minute that he wasn’t a normal man was foolish.

And he was no fool.

Three

“How many of you have been victims of violence?”