Footsteps by Susan Fanetti

her hackles went up more. “It’s
not a choice for you. There are too many men already who make
choices for me.” She moved again to stand, but stopped when he laid
his hand lightly on her leg.
     
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He sighed and
looked down at the bench between them. She had the sense that he
was gathering his thoughts, and when he lifted his eyes again, she
knew that was what he had done. “I told you last night that I was
divorced—that my marriage was annulled. She left me. And Trey. For
another man. I was blindsided and furious. I loved her. But I
didn’t fight her, not after the first shock. I only asked that she
didn’t fight the annulment. She gave me everything anyway. She
didn’t want custody or visitation, she didn’t want anything but
away from us. And I still don’t know why, except she loved someone
else more than me or our son. It was the worst betrayal I’ve ever
known. If someone would have told me last week that I would be
sitting here having this conversation, thinking about being with a
married woman, even imagining it, much less considering it, I
likely would have punched him.”
     
    What he was telling her, that a woman had
willfully left her child—that beautiful, precious boy she’d met
this morning—and this man, it shocked her too much to process. She
had no words with which to form a response to that. So she landed
on a precise detail of particular significance to her. “Is that a
thing you do? Punch?” James had never used his fists. He was not a
brute; he was a demon. His tortures were much more elaborate and
sophisticated. But still the thought of a violent man gave her
pause.
     
    At her question, his brows drew together and
then relaxed. “Not—not often.” He took her hand again. “And never a
woman. Never.”
     
    What were they doing? This was madness. But
her fingers twined around his without her even willing it, and she
felt a small peace in the way he reacted to her reciprocating his
touch. His hand held hers a little more tightly, and his expression
eased into something hopeful.
     
    Still, what they seemed to be considering
without actually discussing was not so easily done. “I’m not a
married woman only. I am his married woman. There is risk,
much risk, and we only know of each other a little. It would go
harder for you, maybe, than for me.”
     
    He shifted more closely to her. Now his
knees pressed lightly against her leg. “You asked me if I knew your
husband. Do you know my family?”
     
    “Yes, a little. By reputation.”
     
    He smiled. “I think that reputation has the
soft focus.”
     
    She heard her own words turned back to her,
and she smiled a little. “You mock me, I think. My words.”
     
    “Tease, not mock. And only a little. I like
your words.” He leaned in; she could feel his breath. “Bina. This
isn’t smart. I know. It doesn’t make sense. I know that, too. But I
can’t stop thinking about you. And I’m worried about you. You don’t
like it when I say I can’t let you go back. Is this better? I’m not
a man who can turn my back.”
     
    “Is that it, then? You wish to be my hero on
the white horse?” Again, she pulled from his touch. This time,
though, he held on.
     
    “No. I wish to get to know you. I like the
way I feel when I think about you. I wasn’t sure I’d feel it ever
again. And I can’t just pretend you’re okay. Maybe I’m someone who
can take him on.”
     
    “You’re not. No one is.”
     
    “Bina. Let me try.”
     
    He was wrong. He would only hurt himself by
trying; he would not help her. He could not. She should untangle
her hand from his and go. It was the only wise move, the only
possible way to mitigate suffering.
     
    But her blood danced with him so close—and
his words, his voice a deep caress, soothed her. As did his warm,
large, rough hand holding hers. She felt more aroused than she had
since James had dropped his pretense and she had become his toy
more than his