He nodded. “Do what you normally do. I’ll follow.” What she normally did would not involve Tyler Winterman standing in close proximity to her, his palms matched to hers, him clothed, her completely not. It was odd how that felt normal, acceptable.

As she started the breathing cycles, Marguerite reflected on something else that was odd. She’d come out here to pull herself together. When she saw him, she thought she’d stay in her flustered, demented state, resigned to that condition until she could figure out a way to get rid of him. But she found that she didn’t want to get rid of him. Until he spoke the words himself, she hadn’t realized that the bereft feeling she’d had when she woke was because she thought he’d left without a word. As he worked with her now, their palms holding fast against one another, their breathing came together. The tranquility she normally achieved began to steal over her. She transitioned into the meditative state more easily than she ever had, a surprising click of mindless peace with his consciousness moving comfortably around hers, like two cherubic spirits intertwining on the spiritual plane, his presence a balancing force.

The raw edges of the past day began to smooth, the fear and anxiety receding. Her fingers slowly folded in between his, so relaxed that it felt more natural to be laced together. She was alert and aware, yet so calm it was as if she were in a dreamless sleep, just at rest. Being.

At length her internal clock warned her she’d delayed long enough. It was time to get her shower and start helping Gen and Chloe with the pre-opening routine. She opened her eyes. His were closed. Her heart clutched at the bruising and lacerations on his face. In the way of such injuries, the purple and red coloring had gotten deeper and uglier from a night’s rest. The compulsion swept over her again even more strongly than before, to cup her palms over the painful areas and brush her lips over each. To take care of him.

At the change in her breathing, his lids rose. His gaze was open, curious. Loving and accepting. For this single second, there was no tension between them, just a clear understanding that them standing here connected to each other was the most natural, desirable place to be.

“That was beautiful,” he said.

She nodded. No sense in denying it. “I…I need to help Chloe and Gen.” He turned toward where he’d left his coffee cup, keeping hold of one of her hands.

“Would you consider sitting on your front porch with me just another few moments while I finish my coffee? I’d like your company very much. Then I’ll go, let you get to work.”

“A few minutes. I can do that. Yes.”

He picked up her robe off the side chair, held it out while she slipped her arms into it. Reaching around, he belted it in front of her, pulling her back against his body to nuzzle her cheek and neck with his jaw. And remarkably, she let herself lean a moment, reach up to touch him, to receive a kiss on her pulse.

“I could be good for you, Marguerite. If you let me.”

“I’m so bad at this, Tyler. I’m…I’m sorry about last night.” He turned her, still holding her hand to lay it over his cheek, over the taped cut from the tawser. She felt the swelling of his jaw under her palm. “There’s nothing to forgive. We’re working things out. This is just part of it.”

“Let’s hope I don’t kill you in the process,” she said.

“I’m tougher than I look, though you can destroy me with a glance, angel, and that’s the truth.”

He looked tough to her on all sorts of levels with his morning stubble, the eyes narrowed against the sun, the lips half curved in a smile.

“I can’t believe you had Chloe make you coffee. I didn’t even know we had coffee.” He let her lower her hand but retained it, that sweet gesture she found she was beginning to anticipate and appreciate, particularly when he idly ran his thumb across her palm.

“She finds me irresistible.”

“She’s young and hormonal. And she doesn’t know what an arrogant pain in the ass you are.”

He grinned. “You find me irresistible, even knowing that about me.” She bit back a smile. “Why the front porch? We have chairs in the back.”

“So I can see you when I drive away.”

She cocked her head as they followed the side pathway past her car and the blooming azalea bushes to the side steps to the front porch. “I think you just want my neighbors to see me sitting in my robe on the front porch with a man and destroy my reputation.”

“There’s that. And it makes the men realize you’re not available.” She came to a stop. “You couldn’t possibly be indulging in something so Neanderthal.”

She was a step above him. He put his hands to her waist, hooking the robe’s sash and turning her so her back was against the rail. Before she could stop him, he opened the front of the robe, worked his hands inside over the soft skin of waist and hip. One hand threaded up behind to cruise up her back and press her into him for a kiss. His lips were not physically demanding but their seductive persuasion was relentless. Her knees went weak, the now almost expected but still amazing sensation of desire curling warmly in her belly, like the question mark of steam over a fragrant cup of tea.

If she had turned a hundred and eighty degrees, she would have faced the street.

But in her current position, she was covered, modest. Only the most imaginative neighbor would realize that her fully naked body was pressed against his clothed but quite obviously aroused one. The movement of his hands along her back and over her hips under the robe would be disguised by the fluttering shadows of her magnolia tree on the side of the house.

“You’re going to cripple me,” he said against her lips, his voice urgent with desire.

“You’re a drug, Marguerite. I want to keep you near me every moment.” She pulled back, more than a little breathless. “You won’t keep my attention that long. I’ll get bored of you any day now.”

“Ah. You’re considering the future. An improvement. You’ll find I have a fascinating mind. I’m an exceptional conversationalist. And listener. You haven’t gotten bored of me yet, right?”

“Does tedious and irritating count?”

“Keep it up and I’ll kiss you again. I’ll rely solely on sex appeal to keep your interest.”

Hastily, she pulled her robe closed and retreated toward the front porch. She jumped when he caught her hand, settling down when she realized he wanted to do only that.

Her tiger was still there, curled around the base of the pedestal table where Chloe had put the large bouquet. The door was open, the familiar sounds of preparations for the day’s first customers drifting out through the screen with the aromas of tea, mixing with the scent of Tyler’s flowers. It was an unexpected extension of the peace she’d felt in their yoga session. It wasn’t a hardship to be sitting shoulder to shoulder with Tyler on the front steps watching the early morning work traffic go by. As neighbors she knew headed to work, they raised a hand in greeting, eyes alive with curiosity at Tyler’s presence. Marguerite turned so her knee was pressed at an angle to his, accepted his coffee cup and took a sip. “So you prefer coffee to my tea?”

“A question with a decidedly female word choice. In the category of ‘does this dress make me look fat’.” He leaned back, stretching his arm along the top step, which put her inside his arm span. He plucked at the sleeve of her robe, tugging it off her shoulder.

“Tyler Winterman.” She shrugged it back up, poked him in the side. “There are children in this neighborhood.”

He gave her an unrepentant grin. “Tell me about your neighbors.” She found herself doing so, responding to his questions about them, appreciating his quick mind, his grasp of her affection for her surroundings, his understanding of the unlikely place she’d set up her café. While they spoke, he casually passed the cup back and forth with her, reinforcing the tentative intimacy, the truce in tensions they were sharing. While on one hand she thought of it that way, another part of her wondered if he was trying to prove to her that this was the way a relationship would be. Passion mixed with the beginnings of friendship.

“Another question. There’s a locked armoire in your room. What’s in it?” She slanted him a glance. “Tools of the trade. Floggers, plugs, vibrators. D/s magazine subscriptions. Why didn’t you just jimmy the lock and find out? It’s not like you don’t ignore or bypass any other locked door I put up.”

“I did. I just wanted to see if you’d lie to me.” He grinned, ducked her swat.

“I have a lot to do.” And think about. She said it reluctantly, handing him back the coffee cup. “Thank you for the flowers and the tiger.” Then, because she wouldn’t let herself be less than honest in the moment, she added, “And for your understanding. I appreciated this morning. Very much. And, even if it we don’t go any further, decide it needs go no further, I’ve gotten a lot from our interactions…these past few days.” She could tell by his expression she was stumbling into dangerous waters but she didn’t know where else to go with this. Where it was going. Or how to direct it.

“Marguerite.” He took both of her hands. “I need you to listen to me. Are you listening? Are you paying attention?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I’m going to go home, take a shower. Do the things I’ve planned to do with my day, much as I’m sure you’re planning to do. But then I want you to think about last night. What was said, what I meant. And think about what you want.” He stood up, still holding one of her hands. “I’m going to try very hard to give you some space. To stay away while you think it through. I’m asking you to think it through. If you accept what we both understood well enough last night, then you come to me. Please come to me.”

It was obvious he was struggling with a desire to state his Will more forcefully but he stopped at that. Squeezing her hand, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his lips. She held on to his touch, not realizing she was squeezing back until he began to pull away and had to wait for her to loosen her grip. Her cheeks pinkened.