“Well, being that I’ve never had Mint Chocolate Chip, and I vaguely remember trying Rocky Road as a child, I’d have to go with that flavor,” I reply with a shrug.
Ally’s eyes grow wide with playful shock. “You’ve never had Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Then you haven’t lived yet!” She scoops out a small bite and offers it to me, the spoon a mere inch from my lips. “Go ahead; try it.”
Ok, I’ve got two choices. Door number 1: I refuse to play along with her little game and kick her out of my house, offending her and demolishing any ounce of trust she has for me. Or Door number 2: I let her innocently spoon-feed me ice cream and force myself to see the act for what it is—a kind, platonic gesture between two adults.
Yeah right.
I lean forward so that the cold tip of the spoon just grazes my bottom lip. Ally slowly eases it forward, causing me to open wider for her, my tongue reflexively jutting out to taste the first sweet drops of cream. I wrap my lips around the mound of chocolaty mint and suck it off the spoon, letting out my own erotic sounds of agreement.
“Good, right?” Ally beams, nodding her head.
“Hell yeah,” I half-groan against my better judgment. But it’s too late. Allison Elliott-Carr has weakened my defenses with just a spoonful of Haagen-Dazs.
“I told you! Ice cream is the answer for everything. It’s the ultimate cure-all.”
I chuckle as she feeds me another bite, and I devour it hungrily. “You might be onto something there, Ally.”
“I could totally spend the rest of my life eating only this and nothing else.” She places another helping onto her tongue from the same spoon I just made sweet, passionate love to. “I still can’t believe you had never tried it.”
I shrug, instantly feeling like an idiot because I’ve shrugged at least a half a dozen times tonight. But there’s just something about Ally that leaves me…uncertain. Maybe a little flabbergasted. She’s unlike any client I’ve ever worked with and the total opposite of any woman I’ve ever found myself attracted to. But there’s something about her—something so genuine and unexpected—that makes me almost enamored with her. Maybe she’s the riddle that I can’t figure out. Or maybe she’s just so damn perfectly imperfect that it’s endearing. But whatever it is, it’s got me. f*ck
ed up as it sounds, it’s got me.
That’s why it doesn’t surprise me when I find myself saying, “There was a lot of stuff I didn’t get to have growing up. And as I got older, I just learned to go without.”
Ally drops the spoon and looks at me through those too-large eyes, compassion pouring from turquoise pools. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I wave her off and shake my head. “Don’t be.”
“Really. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed that you were…you know…”
And it all comes back to me.
The very reason why I keep everyone at a safe distance. The assumptions, the sympathy. This shit right here. Right now, Ally thinks she knows me. Hell, she probably thinks she’s better than me. And as much as her bleeding heart may not want to, she pities me.
How stupid of me to think that I could be seen as more than just a charity case. I’m just the hired help, available to be bought and sold like a glorified indentured servant.
“Are you done?” I ask tersely, nodding at the half empty bowl.
“Wha-? Um, I didn’t mean it if I-”
I snatch the bowl from in front of her and throw it into the sink. The jarring sounds of clattering porcelain and metal echo throughout the room. I look up at Allison just as she flinches, her ruby lips fixed into a grimace.
“It’s late, Mrs. Carr. I think you should retire to your room for the evening.”
Without argument, she turns and quickly makes her way toward the door, fire trailing behind her like a sad, shooting star. She pauses marginally at the doorframe, but doesn’t look back, her flame becoming just a distant blur of red, as her whispered “I’m sorry,” carries in the balmy summer breeze.
“OVER THE PAST week, I’ve taught you how to exploit your best assets. Showed you how to make your man crave you emotionally, just as much as he does physically. I’ve even taught you how to stroke his fragile ego. That was the first phase of our program, and if you feel that was teetering on the threshold of your sexual tolerance, I suggest you leave now. Now, it’s time to kick it up a notch.”
I walk up to one of the housewives on the first row, not really seeing her at all, and help her to her feet. I don’t even look at her face as my hands find the pins in her tightly wound updo, quickly releasing a cascade of golden blonde, wavy locks. Next, my fingers trace the shell of her ears, down her jaw until they rest on the string of pearls kissing her collarbone.
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” I say, close enough that my lips graze her ear.