When Valentines Collide by Adrianne Byrd

the plush room. The Tree of Life staffers didn’t miss a trick with surrounding them with various exotic flowers, filling the trays with sinfully rich chocolates and playing soft classical music.
    Being that it was ladies’ night, waiters who looked like models roamed about the room in scantily-clad genie outfits that boldly and proudly displayed their bulging muscles. Once, Chanté caught sight of seventy-something Mable slipping a twenty-dollar bill in the lining of a young man’s waistband and then giggling like a young schoolgirl.
    â€œYou think we’ll be like that when we get older?” Edie inquired.
    â€œGod, I hope so.”
    At precisely nine o’clock, Dr. Gardner entered the room, tinkling a small, gold bell. “It’s time ladies,” she sang merrily. “Each of your husbands or partners has prepared a special evening for you. Tonight, you will be the center of attention. As you learned in class, the pathway to the perfect state of bliss is finding the perfect balance. To give and receive. Traditionally women are givers—the nurturers. And men—well, you know where I’m going with this.”
    The women laughed.
    â€œTonight. Your only role is to be the receiver. Abandon your natural instincts. Let your partner pour everything they have into you. Take it all in. Give your body freedom to move in the way that it wants. Lose control. Do you think you can do that?”
    â€œYes,” the women thundered.
    â€œGood.” Dr. Gardner glanced around at the smiling women. “Enjoy your evening.” She jingled the bell again.
    Before Chanté could set down her flute of champagne, she had to jump out of the way as the women took off like a pack of thoroughbreds at the Kentucky Derby—Edie included. Not that she wasn’t equally excited as the others, she was. It was just that she was more nervous than anything.
    Which was silly, wasn’t it?
    Shrugging the question off, she strolled back to her private lodge with an arrhythmic heartbeat and trembling legs. At the door, she fidgeted, drew several deep breaths and finally mustered up the courage to knock.
    Immediately, the door flew open and Matthew stood, looking devilishly handsome in a loose, black silk robe. “I was afraid you got lost,” he said.
    Chanté’s jaw slackened at the sight of her husband’s broad, chocolate chest and a tease of his rippling six-pack.
    He smiled at her reaction and stepped farther back. “Please, come in, my beloved.” He gestured with a wide sweeping hand. “I’ve been expecting you.”
    Beloved. Chanté tingled from the word as she crossed the threshold. Immediately, a wondrous blend of jasmine and vanilla wafted under her nose and brought a smile to her lips.
    Matthew closed the door and then quickly appeared at her side. “May I take your purse and shoes for you?”
    Fighting not to laugh, she handed him her purse and started to kick off her shoes when he stopped her.
    â€œNo, no. Let me do that for you.”
    He knelt before her and Chanté’s brows shot up in surprise, and then relaxed in delight when he gently lifted one leg at a time to slide off her pumps.
    â€œYou have very beautiful feet,” he said, looking up at her. “Would you like for me to massage them for you?”
    Chanté couldn’t stop grinning. “I’d love a massage.”
    Matthew stood and put away her things. When he returned, Chanté gasped as he swept her up into his arms.
    â€œYou’re taking your job a little seriously this evening.”
    â€œI hope that doesn’t displease you. I am at your service, devoted to your pleasure, my beloved.”
    Chanté’s toe tickled at that word again. “Why would I mind you being my love slave?”
    â€œAh, that’s the spirit,” Matthew chuckled as he carried her to the bedroom.
    Chanté gasped again at the beautiful sight of low-lit