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  I scroll through the mundane posts until I see a source from Tumblr. I click it and arrive at what appears to be a photography blog. I continue to scroll until I see a photo that raises my pulse. Clicking the black-and-white photo of a shadowed woman, I’m taken to another blog, this time filled with similar shots. But much more alluring. Bound and tethered, these photographs depict a woman’s desires. The initials IF snap my attention. Why, oh why, didn’t you give us all of your social profiles, Isabel?

  I sit back in my chair, put my wine glass on the side and stare at my tablet. I click through the blog that now holds all of my attention. The IF appearing more and more. I click one more image and I follow the breadcrumb and arrive at a most unexpected website.

  Well, well, well. I’ve stumbled on a profile that could only be for you, Izzy. Yes, after meeting you, I know this profile and content is definitely not for clients. It’s certainly piqued my interest, though. Sweet, awkward Izzy Fields has a hidden profile on “Journey To Domination.” Perhaps I’m mistaken and her shyness and innocence is not mere social awkwardness but signs of an aspect to her character that is closer to my heart. But she was almost shocked at speaking to a strange man—certainly too uncomfortable to show the usual flirty behaviour that I grew tired of years ago. Perhaps I shouldn’t judge Izzy by her rather appealing cover. Perhaps there is more to Ms. Fields than a pretty woman who lacks social confidence.

  God, her kneeling before me is something that’s going to linger in my mind for a while. Fuck, I could barely concentrate after seeing her this morning, kneeling and bent over on the floor, attempting… well, whatever. It certainly sent my mind into action, picturing her in that same position, but in a totally different room. That thought will have to stay in check, though. She’s already declared her attached status. But is she what she appears to be?

  Hell, Natasha is going to have a field day when she finds out that I’m pursuing Izzy. She still thinks that I should defer to her—my mentor and first guide into the realm of BDSM—after all of these years. She doesn’t understand the reasoning behind my relationship choices and possibly never will. I’m way past the occasional hook up with a sub.

  Perhaps I’ll get to see the real Isabel Fields on Thursday. Hopefully, she’ll be less timid. Although that could just be a disguise. Women can often play the vulnerable card to their own selfish advantage. But she’s fascinating. Although she’s off-limits physically, I’m looking forward to Thursday. Yes, Isabel Fields, you definitely interest me.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this, I tell myself for the hundredth time as I walk the short distance to the bar. I drove on purpose, so I couldn’t have more than one drink. Less potential for disgraceful behaviour that way. The bar is the same as the night I met Seb: soft lighting, music playing, and a nice atmosphere. Not intimidating like some bars. Men crowded in small packs, watching for the next piece of meat to walk in.

  I’m on time, but Seb isn’t at the bar yet, so I steady my nerves with a few deep breaths. This is just drinks, Izzy. Don’t be so silly. But as I say the words, I question my own integrity.

  Phil and I have hardly spoken this week. I still can’t talk about what happened a few weeks ago, and he certainly isn’t in a hurry to bring it up. His work schedule seems crazy and he’s in the house less than ever before. My seemingly brilliant plan has backfired beyond all imagination. I have a constant dull ache in my stomach when I think about where we could be heading. In my mind, it sounds ridiculous that one failed attempt at spicing things up could have me questioning my marriage, but it’s more than that. Phil could never change and put my needs above his. His selfish and dubious behaviour isn’t going to change. I’ve been accepting it for years. I can’t keep doing it.

  “Good evening, Isabel.” His velvet voice tickles the back of my neck. I close my eyes at the sensation that his simple greeting draws from me.

  “Good evening, Sebastian,” I respond without turning or moving on my seat, but he doesn’t join me.

  “Shall we find a table? I’ve been looking forward to talking to you.” His voice has me flustered already. I turn, and he holds out a hand. I feel this as a moment of truth. An offering. Of what, I’m not sure, but I take his hand. He leads me to one of the small tables around the edge of the bar, pulls out my chair for me to sit, and returns to the bar. I’m confused until I realise he’s ordering drinks. He never asked what I’d like.

  I sit and fidget anxiously until he returns with two glasses of clear liquid with plenty of ice and lime. Gin and tonic, my favourite.

  “Thank you.” I take the first sip and let the alcohol settle me, admonishing myself to not act like a silly teenager. I’m a grown and married woman, and I’m sure my status shouldn’t require I stay at home and be miserable. I’m allowed to enjoy myself, and hopefully make a new friend.

  “So…” I offer with a smile.

  “So indeed. I’m pleased you’ve agreed to this. Cheers.” Seb raises his glass and we clink softly. I hope that he’ll take the lead in this. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to a man who wasn’t a work acquaintance. My silent prayer is answered.

  “I’m going to guess that your visit to the bar the other night wasn’t something you do too often?”

  “Um, no. I can’t remember the last time that I came to a bar on my own. I nearly didn’t come in I was so nervous. Stupid, really.” I try to hide my half snicker in my glass of gin and tonic.

  “So that explains your ‘rabbit in the headlights’ reaction.” His eyes hold mine and I do feel like that rabbit. “I’m sorry.” He smiles. “I promise not to tease you anymore. Well, not very much, anyway.” Seb’s easy confidence lightens the weight of my nerves and I smile back at him—something that I find myself wanting to do. “Well, can I ask then, what made you come to the bar in the first place?”

  “Oh, well… I suppose you could call it a bad day.”

  “Annoying men in suits causing you trouble in your training sessions?” His radiant smile eases my nerves.

  “Oh no, nothing like that. I just… I needed a few minutes to myself and it had been so long since I’d been out for a drink.”

  “So not work… It must be personal reasons then. Care to share?” His question holds an air of genuine sincerity. He doesn’t sound cocky or presumptuous. A look of concern replaces his sexy smile, and I want to unload my worries. But then I remember. I don’t know him.

  “Perhaps another time. What about you? What made you stop for a drink?”

  “I was meeting someone, but they were running late.” His eyes held my gaze. “Seeing you alone at the bar, I thought we could share a drink. And here we are.”

  “Yes, here we are. Do you live around here?”

  “Nearby. You?”

  “A little out of the city. I work in the centre, as you know. I’ve been here before for coffee during the day but rarely for a drink.”

  “Have you lived in Bath long?”

  “Over ten years. When Phil and I got married, we moved down here.”

  “Phil’s your husband?”

  “Yes.” I start turning my glass in nervous circles.

  “What about family?”

  “Both of our parents live on the other side of the country, so we rarely see them. It didn’t used to matter because Phil and I were each other’s family.”

  “Were?”

  “I suppose somewhere along the line, Phil and I thought we only needed each other, and of course the jobs that we both found in Bath. But now, I’m not so sure. I’m not very close to my parents now.” My fingers stop playing with the glass I’ve been turning round and round in my hands and I look up at Seb. It’s clear he’s been watching me, and I flush, suddenly embarrassed by the thoughts I happily shared with him—the same thoughts I was sure I didn’t want to share with him. Izzy, you know nothing of this man! “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all of that.”

  “Please, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you feel comfortable sharing that with me.” His smile is warm
and reassuring and my worries vanish. The unease that I first felt about meeting with Seb has abated and I’m suddenly very glad that I came. For a few moments, we simply sit. I steal glances at him, a little longer each time, whereas Seb seems content to watch me. I don’t seem to be able to settle around this man. One minute, I’m nervous; the next, I empty my heart to him. I giggle to myself.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I told myself to stop acting like a teenager on a date before you met me here. And now that’s exactly how I’m feeling, complete with the giggles.”

  “Are you always this nervous, Izzy?” He’s almost laughing now, too.

  “Sometimes. I guess it depends on the situation. I suppose I’m not used to going for a drink with someone who isn’t already a friend.”

  “Well, can I suggest we change that tonight? I’d like for you to think of me as a friend.”

  “I might need to know a little more about you, then,” I quip back. Seb’s good humour is infectious.

  “What would you like to know? I’ll give you three questions. You can ask me anything.”

  Oh God, what do I ask?!?

  “Um, well. Are you married?” Stupid question, Izzy!

  “No, Izzy. I’m not married. Next?” Mischief dances in his eyes. He’s clearly having fun with me.

  “I thought you weren’t going to tease me anymore?”

  “I’m sorry. You do make it easy. I’ll try to behave. Now, what else would you like to know in order to call us friends?”

  “Well, what do you do? And… what’s your favourite food?”

  “I work for a change management firm, Phoenix Consulting. They have a branch here in Bath, and my favourite food is Italian. Friends now?” The sexy smile is back, and I laugh. Yes, friends would be nice. I smile back, and for the first time that evening, I relax.

  The easy rhythm of banter flows after those first few anxious minutes. Time is eaten away. His favourite book is Treasure Island. He loves classical music and he’s not a devout Christian. Thank God. I can’t remember the last time I had an evening of pleasant conversation. I didn’t realise how much I missed being with someone I like. With a man I like.

  “Last call!” the bartender shouts.

  “Oh my…” I look at my watch. It’s 11.50. “The bar’s closing. We’d better go.” I stand before we’re ushered out.

  “So what’s the verdict, Izzy?” Seb whispers as he guides me to the exit.

  “Umm, about what?”

  “About our drink. Was it innocent enough for you?”

  I stop for a moment, mentally going over his question. If I concentrate hard, then yes—yes, this could be an innocent drink. “Yes, I think it was. Thank you for the drink.”

  “It was my pleasure, and I enjoy your company. I’m pleased I can now call myself your friend. I hope to see you again.”

  I can’t help my answering smile at the compliment. “Okay, that would be nice.”

  “Coffee on Sunday?” he offers straightaway.

  “Umm…” The weekend is supposed to be time for Phil and I, but we haven’t done anything together in a long time. “Why not?” I smile up at Seb and can’t help but look into his eyes. Eyes that I want to look into for longer than I should, eyes that I want to study whenever I choose. I swallow and take a step back. “So, will you text me the details?” I ask in a rush, trying to focus on anything but his eyes.

  “Yes, Izzy.”

  I’m reminded of our first conversation by email and some of his cryptic answers.

  “What did you mean when you said that you were more interested in what you found out as a result of the training session?” My question draws him in closer and I hold my breath for his answer.

  “Take a guess.”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” He smiles and I feel as if I’m falling under his spell.

  “Well, shall we say we share some common inspirations? Your more secretive social media profile is very interesting, Izzy.”

  No! He couldn’t possibly! My shock is plastered across my face and my cheeks go up in flame. I’m mortified. I thought I was so careful.

  “Please don’t do that.” His expression knits in concern. “Don’t cower in on yourself.”

  But what do I do? He knows. God, can the ground swallow me up now, please. Shit, he’s technically a client.

  “There is nothing to worry about,” he whispers. He places his hand at the small of my back and we walk in silence to my car.

  My keys jingle as I take them in my hand. I’m shaking from nerves. If he had suspicions about me before, my reaction certainly settles things. He takes my hand and helps me insert the key and opens my door

  “Time to go.” He leans over me as I sit in the driver’s side seat. “Drive safely, and I’ll see you Sunday. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.”

  As soon as he’s out of sight, I slump in my seat and try to forget the last five minutes of the evening.

  It is after midnight by the time I am home, and as I expected, the house is dark and Phil still isn’t home. I put the kettle on and open the fridge for milk, glancing at Phil’s schedule stuck on the door.

  Today was supposed to be his day off, although he seems to take so many extra shifts that it doesn’t really mean much. What shocks me is how little I notice or enquire after Phil and vice-versa. He didn’t know I was going out tonight, nor have I asked when his next day off is or why he feels the need to work every hour under the sun. Going for a drink with Seb was easy. Phil’s often been out and used a lame excuse. Has Phil found some other woman? Would that account for his disinterest? My mind springs to clichés of finding lipstick on his collar or a blonde hair on his shirt, and my heart pounds against my ribs at the thought of finding proof he’d been unfaithful.

  Do I need to find evidence of Phil’s cheating? Would proof that he had strayed justify my sexual response to Seb?

  I don’t want to challenge Phil about where he is spending his time and who with. I’m afraid to hear his answer.

  I take my tea to bed and let the melancholy seep in. I’m alone. Alone and sad that the most connected I have felt to anyone in so long is with Seb. He is a stark contrast to the sadness that has been slowly consuming me. I felt alive and hopeful when I was with him less than an hour ago. I slip between the cold sheets, something that, although I hate it, I’m very used to now. My phone vibrates with an incoming text and I lean across to retrieve it.

  Goodnight, Isabel. See you Sunday. S

  Until Sunday, Sebastian. Izzy

  And not for the first time, I go to sleep thinking of a tall and handsome not quite stranger with wonderful eyes—who isn’t my husband.

  “Come on, Izzy. Stay for another drink.”

  “Seb, I have spent more time with you than my husband the last few weeks. I need to go home.” I didn’t mean that to sound as accusatory as it did, and I see Seb’s spine stiffen in response.

  “Will he be home when you get back?” he retorts, knowing full well Phil won’t be. I’ve confided in Seb these last few weeks. It started the first time we went for a drink. It wasn’t intended, but he was ridiculously easy to talk to. He listened to me, and I found I wanted to share more and more with him.

  “Don’t you have better things to do on a Saturday night than to drink and talk with me?” I really hope that he doesn’t. I love the time we spend together. I feel as if we are connecting and I want that with Seb. Very much so.

  “And why wouldn’t I want to spend my time with you, Izzy?”

  He gives me his trademark smile and I’m a lost cause. He’s been cautiously flirty with me in texts and emails, giving me hints that he might be attracted to me. But I’m not sure. Certainly not sure enough to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop!

  “One more drink, then,” I concede, feeling slightly flirty myself.

  One more drink turns into two, and I get tipsy. Alcohol is not always my friend. Seb is still in total command, his usual charming and poli
te self, guiding the conversation, putting me at ease and making me feel valued. Wanted, perhaps? I have been trying to ignore the butterflies and the ache low in my stomach that Seb controls. Each time we meet, I try to see him only as a friend, but at night as I drift to sleep, alone in my bed, thoughts of his eyes raking my body, his hands holding my face or my wrists, enter my mind unrestrained. It is my own personal heaven and hell.

  Even as I think I shouldn’t be feeling this way, my body heats. Don’t ruin this, Izzy. Don’t lose him because you find him too attractive.

  As my mind thinks the words, Seb narrows his eyes and leans in closer.

  “What were you just thinking? Because your cheeks are a beautiful pink and your eyes…” He pauses to look straight at me. “Look like you’re turned on.” My lips part as I draw in my gasp and I am left speechless. “Oh, Isabel, you’re going to have to share. From the look on your face, I’m extremely interested in your thoughts.”

  I grab my drink and use it as a shield from his sudden closeness. This is a bad idea. I should not drink with this man! I finish my gin and tonic.

  “I should go.”

  “Izzy, relax. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I already have a good idea.” He sits back and gazes at me. Confidence drifts from his smile, his relaxed state and the strong gaze levelled at me. He wears his usual suit, but he’s taken the jacket off, no tie, and all I can think about is unbuttoning his shirt to see what he’s like in the flesh. I’m cross at my own traitorous mind.

  “Well, why don’t you inform me, Seb? Since you seem so sure you already know,” I snap back, embarrassed. I don’t register my tone until I see his amused smile. No more drink. Go now. Now.

  I start to rise, but he stands to meet me and grasps my shoulders so I can’t leave. “I know that you’re attracted to me, Isabel.” His breath tickles my neck as he whispers the words in my ear. My heart pounds in my chest. “Relax. I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I know you’re married and you believe in the vows that you made. But you’d be stupid to think that I didn’t find every side of you attractive, too.”