Page 21 of Trusting His Heart
Taking things slow
“Hey, you,” Geoffrey smiled when Bec answered the phone. Three weeks since the gallery - a relationship conducted mostly by text and phone message with the occasional coffee or quick lunch. Not the physical, unemotional experience he wanted or was used to. In fact, other than relatively chaste kisses, they hadn’t progressed past holding hands.
“Hey, yourself. Good timing – my flight only landed half an hour ago.” He could barely hear her over the background noise of Sydney airport and imagined her juggling her phone, carry on luggage and briefcase.
“I know it’s late notice, but did you want to grab a bite to eat? It would be my pleasure to make sure you get home cooking.”
“I assume you mean Petro will do the cooking and we either eat at the restaurant or get some takeaway,” she laughed, and he thought it had been years since a woman knew him so well."
“Either, whichever your heart desires.”
“I appreciate the offer, but …”
“You are busy, I get it,” he cut in, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice.
“Sorry, I brought a heap of work back with me and have 48 hours to turn it around – and the clock started when I left Perth six hours ago. Rain check?”
“You realize I am going to cash in on all your rain checks one day,” resigned to another night alone.
“I’m counting on it, talk to you tomorrow.”
Bec dropped her phone in her hurry to cancel the call and check in with her office. An insanely busy life, rushing all over the place and she had never been happier.
More and more clients were reaching out to her for consultancy work and once they got used to her American accent, most were welcoming of her advice. Clients who knew they needed advice and were willing to take it were the rarest and best clients – deserving of her one hundred and ten percent effort and ability.
Hence, no time to see Geoffrey. By now, friends had warned her of his reputation and promised if she played hard to get, he would move on. She knew enough contacts in town to be confident if and when he hooked up with another undergraduate, she would hear about it.
Instead, he had been the epitome of good behavior. Courteous, charming and demonstrating over and over again he wanted to pursue her with serious intentions. His overtures were not without her own interest. A lot older than her husband, he radiated a presence she wanted more of if only they found the time.
Thinking about him, made her smile, spontaneously and without any reason other than he was Geoffrey.
Even though she barely spent time with him in weeks, she shuddered at the memory of his eyes boring into her soul in silence. Whatever his question, her answer would be “yes.”
One night they tried to video chat and ended up debating almost any topic – they were both well read and opinionated – his eyes sparkled as he attempted to end debate with a well thought out statement or thesis.
Over coffee, she now made a game of either filibustering until he ran out of energy to debate, or to close down the argument with a stroke of his hand or cheek.
They were certainly taking things slowly, and if ever work eased up, she wanted to speed up their relationship. At least moving past the kisses and hand holding. Too often, she found herself distracted in meetings imagining his hands and wondering whether they would be powerful and in command of her body, or whether they would be soft and gentle.
She hoped they could be both.
Then again, until she started clearing her schedule, she would never find out.
“This woman will be the death of me!” Geoffrey shouted, throwing the hole punch across the room. As expected, his assistant heard the commotion and came in.
“Professor, now what did the poor piece of stationery ever do to you?” Layla stood over the offending object now lying peacefully on the floor.
“It is never available to me when I need it, or want it. It is always busy helping other people. Damn it,” Geoffrey laughed in spite of himself – being frustrated in more ways than one.
“The Vice Chancellor called while you were on the phone. Professor Edwards has taken an immediate leave of absence and the VC wants you to take over the classes. Apparently,” Layla looked at the hole punch now safely in her hands, “You can be trusted with his students, just not stationery.”
“Layla, tell him I’m already busy.”
“That would be difficult, I’ve already cleared your schedule and his notes and slides are in your directory. Your first class is tomorrow and I’ve emailed all the tutors to get a briefing on your expectations for later today.
“Damn women in my life, you think you have me under control.”
“I don’t know about the mysterious Miss Garran, but I certainly wish I had you under control.” The closed door protected the hole punch from finding Layla as it’s new target.