Dragged Into Something More

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"The Girl He Knew" is a story of old secrets, new loves, and torrid love triangles!

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Thank you and I hope you're enjoying Chapter Nine of My Second Chance!

"The booths?" he tries for innocence, but clearly she isn't buying it.

Like an old western, they have a stand off. Just the two of them looking in each others eyes and just staring each other down, almost silently communicating.

And it's clear from the beginning who is going to win here and who is going to lose. It's clear as day to me that Rachel is going to get what she wants and that isn't really a shock, because clearly she usually does.

What isn't clear is what the hell is going on.

Booths? I haven't the foggiest. I don't know what's behind that door but I know for damn sure that it isn't a stockroom and I know that she's going to get her way and get in there in the end.

And I know, I just know, that whatever it is I'm going to be pressed and pulled. I just know that I'm going to be pushed to my limits.

When he moves it's so very fast. He proves that all the muscle and all the pent up tension isn't just artful display, that there is true power and speed and precision behind it. Enough that just the sight of him making his move takes my breath away a little and leaves me wondering, nay knowing, that he would be an absolute demon in bed.

Way beyond my capacity to bear.

Rachel is a different story, but even she has a palpable reaction when he slides up into her and comes far too close to be anything but a move. Before she even knows it's happening he has one hand on her hip to hold her close and I can tell the grip of it is iron, but that isn't where my attention is drawn.

He's tucked his head into the side of her head, his lips so close to her ear that she can probably feel the whisper of his breath tickling at that sensitive spot just behind her jaw.

And this new position, this new closeness, means that when he speaks she has to listen and it means that even in a crowd where everyone is trying to spy, he can speak in secret to her.

Hushed whispers and little movements of their body. Little twitching refrains like a chess game played in minature and rapid succession. Like a dance where for the first time I think Rachel might be out of her depths because by the time he steps back she's wobbling and wavering for a moment, for just an instant before she recovers and spins on her heel.

"Come on," she says to me quickly, grabbing my arm and dragging me along, "We're on a tight timeline."

I don't know whether she's dragging me or whether I'm just caught in her wake, but I do know it takes me a moment to catch up and get my feet to start working properly. By the time they do we're already moving quickly through that unmarked door at the back of the room, leaving behind the glaring bright lights and stark cleanliness of the shop floor for something decidedly more darkly inspired.

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