Page 18 of Obeying the Owner

Mae points to a small Volkswagen at the edge of the parking lot. “That’s mine.”

Still holding hands, we walk over to the white vehicle. She pulls away, rifling through her purse for her keys. She unlocks the door using the remote, and I tug it open for her. “Thank you,” she says, sliding inside.

“I’m parked farther back in the lot. I’ll meet you back here in a couple of minutes.” She nods, and I close her in. She starts her car, and I head off to find mine. My steps are hurried, as I’m eager to get Mae to myself. She’s a smoke show—a goddess in the flesh. And I’m not letting her slip away.

CHAPTER 5

MAEVE

I follow James’s Porsche Cayenne across the Ravenel Bridge, which spans the Cooper River. During the daytime, sprawling views of Charleston Harbor and the surrounding area are visible, but at night the bridge’s lighted structure is the star of the show.

The Moscow mule I drank and the nervous energy whirling around inside my stomach make me feel a bit unsettled and hot. I turn the air conditioning up, hoping it will cool me off.

I’ve never gone home with a man I just met, and I certainly haven’t gotten to know a stranger in the biblical sense. Not that I’m a prude or ashamed of my sexuality, I just haven’t felt the need to until now.

Once off the bridge, we follow Highway 17 North into Mount Pleasant. I don’t know much about this area, but the old, stately homes we’re driving by, paint an impressive picture.

After a couple of turns down a few narrow side streets, James pulls into a cobblestone driveway, and I follow, parking directly behind his SUV. Once I step from my car and close the door, I take a good look at the two-story cottage-style house. A well-lit porch stretches across the front and wraps around the side. The siding is painted beige, and the trim is crisp white.

James meets me at the front of my car and takes my hand, leading me up the driveway. Glancing over at the side view of his house, I realize it’s even more significant than I originally thought. We climb the steps to the porch, and he unlocks the door.

The first thing I notice when I pass over the threshold is a large glass pendant wrapped with brass that casts welcoming beams of light over the white walls and dark hardwood floors. The second is the console table where I place my phone and keys.

James locks up and turns to me with a smile. “Are you freaking out yet?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Surprisingly, no.”

“Good. Let me show you around.” He leads me through a doorway to the left, flipping on the overhead lights. “This is my home office.”

It’s extremely neat, not a single piece of paper on his desk.

“Do you use it much?”

“No. Not unless Gwen is home from school for a day. Otherwise, I prefer to go into the office.” I follow him through a second exit on the other side of the room. He flips more wall switches, lighting up a large living room. The fireplace with the flatscreen television mounted above immediately catches my attention. But as my eyes travel around the space and I take in all the architectural details like the crown moulding, built-in shelves, and window encasements, I realize every little detail works together to make this an elegant and comfortable home.

“Is orange your favorite color?” I ask, pointing to the area rug.

“Nope, that was my mom’s idea. I let her have free rein in decorating most of the house. Except for my office and bedroom.”

“She obviously knows what she’s doing,” I say.

“Yeah, she’s good at spending my money.” He chuckles. “Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen. I know open floor plans are popular, but one of my favorite things about this house is how there are open areas and some that aren’t.”

“What year was this house built?” I ask.

“Twenty years ago. But I had the kitchen and bathrooms renovated when we moved in five years ago.”

“With the attention paid to the moulding, I thought it might’ve been built in the nineteenth or early twentieth century,” I say.

“That was also my mom’s idea,” he explains. “So, this is the kitchen.”

My eyes bulge when I see the size of the room and the number of cabinets within.

“Wow. With a kitchen this beautiful, I hope you like to cook,” I say.

“I do my best. And my mom likes to feed us too.” He grins.

“Are you a momma’s boy?” I tease.