Page 10 of Renegade
He orders another bottle of wine and changes the subject. Apparently the conversation is over.
“Tell me more about you. How long have you been in the wedding business? I have to say, your photographs are works of art. It almost seems like a waste of talent that you only photograph brides and weddings.”
I can feel my face flush at his praise, and I’m glad the restaurant is dark. “The wedding business pays the bills. But I’m working on some other stuff on the side, and I hope to concentrate on those things more now that the business is established. We’ve come a long way in three years.”
“Indeed.” His hand moves to my thigh, and I try to focus on what he’s saying. “What did you do before opening your wedding business?”
“Went to college. We started Tying the Knot right after we graduated—which is kind of crazy in retrospect,” I add with a laugh.
He’s staring at me intently again. “Seriously? You’re just a baby.”
“I just turned twenty-five. I’m hardly a baby,” I say indignantly.
He laughs, a full, throaty bellow that sends warmth flooding through my veins, and I realize I really want to find out more about what he wants, and what he thinks I might find intriguing. “Easy, kitten. I didn’t mean to ruffle your fur. You do seem very mature, but you’re only a few years older than my daughter.”
“Is that a problem?” I ask boldly.
“We’ll see. I do prefer my submissives to have a little life experience, if not experience in the lifestyle.”
I feel a tiny flare of panic. I finally find a guy who has the potential to give me everything I’ve been looking for, and now it might end before it even starts. I at least want the chance to see if he could be the one. Not the one I spend my life with—I have no interest in that—but the one who finally gives me the orgasm I’ve waited my whole life for, the one who can command my body and break through whatever is wrong with me that stops me from letting go. Suddenly, nothing is more important than convincing him I could be what he’s looking for.
“I have plenty of life experience,” I assure him. “My father left when I was three, and my mother started serial dating after that. I was pretty much left to fend for myself. I grew up fast.” I don’t add that, out of necessity, I also learned to lock my door at night and push a dresser in front of it to keep my mother’s boyfriend out, or that I often stayed by myself for days at a time, even as young as nine or ten, while she enjoyed a “little getaway.”
“If that doesn’t count as life experience, I don’t know what does. Send me your links. And call me when you get back.”
He gives me slow smile. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Ms. Ward.”
