Under Her Command Ch. 06

Copyright © October 2026 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work. This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. This is part of a series, and there will be references made back to events in previous parts. You may want to read from the start to understand the dynamics.

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Chapter 1

A Waiting Game

Julian lay in bed, staring at his phone for the umpteenth time. He didn't have the words to express how he was feeling. A matter of hours earlier, as he sat down for drinks on a rather melancholy Friday evening, he had almost managed to convince himself that he had got over Samantha Vale.

Almost.

It wasn't that he had stopped thinking about her. That would have been impossible. For one, she was there almost every working day, an unmistakable presence in the workplace. Then there was the previous weekend, the suggestion of drinks, and the invitations which followed: first to her room, and then to stay the night.

He could get over her.

He told himself he could get over her.

But he could never forget Samantha Vale.

That weekend alone had left too many memories behind, beautiful memories, inconvenient memories, memories which just wouldn't leave him. The way she nonchalantly slipped off that dress. The way she so innocently snuggled back against him. The way she brought his hand up to her naked breast, and the softness beneath his touch. The warmth of her body against his when he woke the next morning.

And most of all, the brief smile she had given him before intimacy took over.

In his mind, it wasn't so much about the sex. It was those moments, the little, almost insignificant moments, which had stayed with him far more stubbornly than anything else. God, what was he saying? The sex had been wonderful as well. Little had he ever imagined she would be his first, but he wouldn't have wanted it any other way. He had promised himself that he would tell her one day, just what it meant, but that was before she blanked him out.

The last week had been tough to take.

Monday had been difficult. Tuesday had been worse still as it started to dawn on him what was happening. Come Thursday he had stopped expecting anything from her, and by the time he had arrived in the bar earlier this evening, he had already accepted that perhaps he had misunderstood it. In his mind, he had already decided that Samantha was only looking for the one night, enjoying an impromptu break from the expectations of work.

Oh, how foolish he had felt as he sat there, drinking with friends.

Somebody like her should never be doing things like this.

Somebody like her should never be spending time with a mere graduate like him.

And now... now he was lying in bed with her messages burning a hole in his thoughts.

'Are you free next Saturday?'

'I'd like to see you.'

'My house... Saturday afternoon... stay for the weekend.'

At first, when the messages arrived, he couldn't quite believe what he was reading. It was an invite; an invite he had already ascertained wasn't for tomorrow but had to be for the weekend after.

But that wasn't all.

Much to his amazement, as he read the message he felt a flicker inside, a familiar flicker. It was the same one he had felt the previous weekend, the one which made him want her so much. This time, though, it was tinged with just a hint of disbelief, maybe even contempt, with the way she was asking, maybe even expecting. She had some cheek after what she had done to him.

What the hell was she playing at?

What the hell did she want with him?

Those were the questions Julian kept coming back to.

Samantha had spent an entire week treating him as though nothing had happened. She hadn't been cruel. Samantha was never careless enough to be cruel. She had been perfectly polite, perfectly professional, and perfectly distant, acting as though nothing had happened between them. And now, totally out of the blue, she wanted to see him again, at her house, for the weekend.

Julian dropped his phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Yes, she had some cheek.

Actually, she had a bloody nerve.

She couldn't simply shut him out for a week and then appear on his phone with yet another invitation, as though nothing had happened. Yes, she had sort of apologised and, yes, she had said she would explain, but was that enough? What was she expecting? That he would simply say yes because she was the CEO, because she was the most powerful woman he had ever met. Then again, if he didn't want to say yes, why was the thought of being with her, at her place, carrying such a hold in Julian?

He picked up the phone again.

The message was still there.

He could give her an answer now. It would be easy, maybe too easy. For a moment, he hit reply. His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He could ask her that question. He could ask her why. He could make her explain herself. He could say that he wasn't interested in being treated like something she could pick up when she wanted and put down when she didn't.

Except that wasn't entirely true.

Because beneath the irritation, beneath the pride he was trying rather desperately to hold on to, was something far more difficult to ignore. He wanted to go. Yes, he'd noticed the flicker inside, there was no ignoring it. The thought of seeing her outside the office had instantly made his pulse quicken. The thought of seeing her at her place, in her most private space, where they could be open and honest with each other, was almost irresistible.

It would be just her, Samantha Vale, and him.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

That was the problem. He wanted her. He wanted to know why she had asked. He wanted to hear what she had to say. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he wanted to find out whether the woman who had been beside him in that hotel room was still there, or whether that version of Samantha had reverted to the more powerful alternative from the office.

Deep in his subconscious, the sensible voice was reminding Julian that there were plenty of reasons to be cautious. She was his boss. She was older than him, more experienced, and infinitely more accustomed to getting what she wanted. There was a professional risk neither of them could simply wish away. More importantly, she seemed to be calling the shots once more.

But that wasn't what bothered Julian the most.

What bothered him was the possibility that he could go to her house on Saturday, spend the weekend with her, and then find himself back where he had been on Monday morning. What if she simply did it again, left him hanging on, waiting, wondering, feeling as though he had imagined there was ever anything between them.

He typed a response.

He deleted it.

He typed another.

He deleted that too.

And, in the end, he switched off the screen.

"No," Julian muttered to himself.

His mind was set. If Samantha Vale thought he would simply roll over and accept, she had another thing coming. If she truly wanted to see him, she could wait, just as she had made him wait. The thought made Julian smile. It wasn't revenge. At least, he told himself it wasn't. He wasn't trying to punish her for the week she had put him through. He simply wasn't going to jump the moment she clicked her fingers.

For once, she could be the one, sitting there, wondering what he was thinking.

Julian smiled.

Yes, she could wait.

He put the phone face down on the bedside table and turned off the light.

Sleep didn't come easily. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself thinking about that message and the invite for the coming Saturday. And every time he thought about it, he found himself wondering what Samantha Vale was doing right now.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Samantha was wondering the same thing.

She sat alone in the quiet of her living room, her phone resting on the table beside her. She had read each of his messages, from the initially muted response to the questioned challenge--she had half-expected the challenge--but after that, there had been nothing. There was no response when she apologised, nor when she said she would explain. There was no actual acceptance of her invite either. It was like, well, he had gone silent on her, and that was something that Samantha wasn't used to.

She told herself it didn't matter. It was late. Julian might have been out anyway. He might not have seen the final messages, or he might simply be deciding whether he was free or not. All were perfectly reasonable explanations but none of them stopped her from looking at her phone again.

She had known this might happen. When she had typed the message, she had understood that she was putting herself in an unfamiliar position. She was asking him to come into her home, into the part of her life she kept private. She was offering him something more personal than that hotel had ever been.

She was asking rather than telling, and now she had to wait.

But Samantha wasn't particularly good at waiting. She was accustomed to decisions being made quickly. Problems were identified, options assessed and actions taken, all without hesitation. If something mattered, she dealt with it.

Then again, Julian wasn't a problem to be solved.

She was learning that, slowly. She couldn't just apply herself as she would have done in the office and expect everything to fall into place. He wasn't like that, or at least she hoped he wasn't like that. If truth be known, she didn't want him to be like that.

The invite, that weekend at her place, was intended to be the opportunity to test his nerve, to see if he really could give her what she desired. And it was the thought of that weekend which had her picking up her phone once more, telling herself not to get too frustrated by the lack of response. It was only a couple of hours, but it seemed like the longest couple of hours. She glanced at her messages, expecting to see something. She didn't.

A faint smile touched her lips.

Perhaps he was making her wait.

It was something she didn't usually experience, but the thought alone was strangely appealing. She couldn't exactly blame him. She had made him wait all week without even realising what she was doing to him. And then again, if he was making her wait, maybe that was the first tiny inkling that he could do everything else she hoped of him.

For the first time in a long time, she didn't force things. Samantha turned off her phone, and headed upstairs to settle down for the night, alone. Somewhere out there Julian was living his own life, making his own decisions, and she had no idea what he was thinking. And for once, instead of wanting to take control, she allowed herself to let it run its course.

If Julian wanted to come, he would.

And if he didn't, she would have to accept that too.

For now, there was nothing more she could do. Yet, as she snuggled up under her duvet, the bedroom now dark, Samantha found herself thinking about the unanswered message, not with frustration, not even with disappointment, but with renewed curiosity.

For once, the uncertainty didn't feel like a problem.

It felt like the beginning of something.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Julian's phone remained untouched. He didn't look at those messages again. Not across the weekend, nor when Monday morning arrived.

He saw Samantha at work that morning.

She was crossing reception when he arrived at the office. For a moment, their eyes met. Julian paused, wondering, waiting. Should he tell her? Should he give her his response to that unanswered invitation? Would she even ask?

He didn't.

She didn't ask, either.

Samantha simply gave him a typically professional smile.

"Good morning, Julian," she said.

"Good morning," Julian replied.

And then she was gone.

Julian watched her disappear around the corner before he headed up to his desk. He wondered if she was irritated. He hoped she was, just a little. There was a certain irony in thinking that now she might be feeling the way he did the week before. There was a certain irony, but there was also a fear that he might end up pushing it too far, just to make a point.

Julian held his ground, though.

There was a matter of principle behind his actions. He needed to show her that she just couldn't expect to call the shots and expect people to jump to attention, especially not outside of the office, and not with him. Yes, she might have been his senior, but she had no right to treat him in they way she had done. He would give her an answer. He even knew what the answer would be, but it would come in his own time.

At first, it was easy.

At first, it felt satisfying.

The longer he waited, though, the more his curiosity started to take over. He needed to know what Samantha had wanted to say to him, her explanation, even her apology. He needed to know why she had ignored him. He needed to know why she had changed her mind. He needed to know what inviting him into her home meant to her, and even to them. Most of all, he needed to know whether this was just another weekend she intended to put back in a box afterwards.

By Tuesday evening, he had finally had enough of wondering.

He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, and opened her last message. For a moment he simply sat and stared at it. What he was about to do was either going to be utterly thrilling or downright foolish. There would be no in-between. His fingers moved across the screen. He started to type.

'Is the invitation still open?'

He stared at it for a few seconds before finally pressing send.

The reply came less than a minute later.

'Yes, of course.'

Julian smiled.

Then another message appeared.

'If you still want it.'

His smile widened. There had never been any question of whether he wanted it or not. He needed to see her. He needed those answers both on why she had done what she did and what she really wanted from him. What made him smile, though, wasn't that the invite was still open, it was the second response and the fact she didn't just expect him to accept.

He typed back.

'I do... 14:00... Saturday... your place... I'll be there.'

There was a pause before Samantha replied.

'Thank you.'

Then, almost immediately:

'And, yes, I owe you a proper explanation.'

Julian put his phone down. He had made his point. He had made her wait. And now, finally, he was ready to find out what she had been intending to say.

He wasn't the only one. On the other side of town, Samantha stared at his last reply, playing those words over in her mind.

'I'll be there.'

She read them again.

Then once more.

A small smile appeared and, in her mind, Saturday couldn't come quickly enough.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 2

A Journey into the Unknown

Saturday morning felt like a bit of a déjà vu moment. Once more, Julian found himself standing in front of his wardrobe, contemplating. And, once more, the subject of those contemplations was a certain woman and a choice of outfit.

What exactly did Samantha Vale expect him to wear?

It was a ridiculous question. He knew that. She had invited him to her house, not summoned him to a board meeting. She had told him to come for the weekend, not to dress up for somewhere special. Yet, somehow, it was special. So, for what seemed an eternity, he stood there staring at the potential options.

Julian shook his head.

He laughed.

The last time he'd been with Samantha outside the office, he had spent far too long thinking about what she might expect of him. He thought he'd chosen well but, in the end, all she had done was to tease him about his green boxer shorts. All she had done? God no, she had done much more than that. Julian caught himself smiling as he remembered a certain room in a certain hotel.

No.

He wasn't going to do that again. He reached for a pair of jeans, faded black denim, loose-fitting, and a mid-grey polo shirt. They were comfortable enough for the journey--he had a tube, a train, and a taxi to navigate--and smart enough to seem presentable. He thought for a moment about whether he should step it up a notch and go smarter still.

Once more, he shook his head.

No.

The last thing he wanted was to turn up at Samantha's house pretending to be someone he wasn't. She had asked him over, not somebody else. So, this time she was going to get him, the real Julian.

He glanced down at the open drawer beside him and laughed quietly.

There was, however, one lesson from the previous time that he had no intention of forgetting. He pulled out a couple of pairs of boxers, one black, the other blue, but definitely not green. That lesson, at least, he wasn't going to ignore.

Julian dressed, checking himself quickly in the mirror as if just to make sure. He smiled. Yes, he looked good. More importantly, he looked like himself, and this time, that mattered. At the hotel, he had been discovering Samantha. This weekend, he wanted to understand her, but more so he wanted her to discover him.

This wasn't about the Julian who turned up at the office in carefully chosen clothes, trying to look confident in a world where everyone seemed wiser, richer, and more certain than he felt.

This wasn't about the Julian who had dressed for their first evening together because he had been desperate to make the right impression.

This was just about him, about Julian Cross.

If Samantha liked that, then good.

If she didn't, at least he would know.

He packed a few things into an overnight bag, picked up his jacket, and headed downstairs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The journey had gone to plan and, before long, Julian found himself in Central London, Covent Garden to be precise. That had always been his plan. He couldn't just rock up at her place empty-handed, hence the impromptu shopping trip on the way.

He glanced at his watch. He had just over an hour to make it to Waterloo, and from the app on his phone, the station was a twenty-minute walk from here. Perfect timing. The only question now was what to buy. The answer arrived quickly as he just happened to stumble upon a wine shop.

He stopped.

He looked through the window.

A bottle of wine seemed like the obvious thing to take. Samantha had invited him for the weekend. She was cooking or, at least, had said they would have dinner. Arriving with wine in hand seemed the perfect gift. And if she already had a bottle open, well, maybe she could save it for next time, assuming there might be a next time.

Confidently, he pushed open the door and walked inside.

That confidence didn't last long. The shop was small, dominated by a large table in the centre of the room, with floor-to-ceiling racks of bottles on each side. It was also totally deserted, just Julian, a huge selection of wines he had no idea about, and a decision to make around which one to buy. To make matters worse, Julian had barely taken three steps inside before a voice came from the back of the shop.

"Good morning... can I help you?"

Julian glanced at the shelves then at the shopkeeper.

"Errm... I'm just looking," he replied.

The words came out automatically. The shopkeeper smiled in a way that suggested he had heard them many times before.

"Of course... just give me a shout if you need any help," he replied.

Julian walked slowly along the shelves. There were more bottles than he had ever imagined, ones he recognised, others he could only imagine, some from countries he didn't even know made wine. There were exquisitely labelled bottles which looked expensive but weren't. There were rather understated bottles that blew expensive out of the water.

Julian was lost, but he didn't want to admit it.

He remembered Samantha ordering wine during their first restaurant date. She had barely looked at the list before choosing and the wine had been fantastic. He could tell she had a taste for wine, and that was part of the problem. If she knew her stuff, which he expected she did, then she would immediately identify a duff bottle under the cover of a pretty label. At the time, he had admired the ease with which she had ordered. Now he wished he had paid more attention.

"Spanish," he said eventually, the word intended only for himself. "She ordered Spanish."

What happened next took Julian quite by surprise.

"Good choice," the shopkeeper said. "Red or white?"

"Red," Julian instantly replied, saying the only thing of which he was truly certain.

"And style?" the shopkeeper asked.

Again, all Julian could go on was the memory of that bottle back in the restaurant.

"I dunno... full... smooth... soft," he replied.

"Full... smooth... soft?" the shopkeeper replied.

Julian nodded. He could see the look on the shopkeeper's face. Here he was, clearly out of his depth, trying to find the right way to express himself on something he didn't really understand. And then Julian said something which made him cringe.

"Make it a good one, though," Julian added, remembering exactly who he was buying it for.

The shopkeeper hesitated.

"You know... good enough that she doesn't think I brought her cheap plonk," Julian quickly added.

At least that earned a laugh and lightened the tone a little.

"You're not big into your wines, are you?" the shopkeeper asked.

Julian hesitated then, with just a hint of embarrassment, admitted that he was rather new to the game but more than willing to learn.

The shopkeeper studied Julian for a moment.

"Special occasion?" the shopkeeper asked.

Julian looked towards the bottles again. He hadn't meant to say anything, but somehow the words came out.

"I'm having dinner at her house."

There was the briefest pause.

The shopkeeper's expression changed, just slightly. He smiled.

"Ah, yes... I understand... cheap plonk would never do," came the reply.

Julian laughed.

The shopkeeper turned his attention back to the shelves. Eventually he reached for a bottle and handed it to Julian.

"You could try this one... Ribera del Duero... would fit the bill nicely, but a little on the expensive side maybe," the shopkeeper announced.

Julian looked at the thirty-pound price tag. He smiled. It was a little more than he had imagined paying but, compared to some on the shelves, it was relatively cheap. And, anyway, it wasn't every day you got invited to your boss' house for dinner.

"I'll take it," Julian replied.

The shopkeeper smiled.

"Would you like it wrapped?" he asked, taking the bottle back and heading over to the till.

Julian followed. As he waited to pay, he noticed a display of dark chocolates near the counter. He grabbed a box and placed them on the counter.

"And these," Julian announced.

The shopkeeper placed both items into a small bag.

As Julian paid, he felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and nerves. This was probably ridiculous. It was only wine. It was only chocolates. It was only dinner. Except it wasn't, not really. It was something more, much more.

As he took the bag, the shopkeeper gave him a knowing smile.

"If you want to impress her, this should do the trick," the shopkeeper said. "Ribera del Duero, from Castilla y León, northwest of Madrid. The 2019 vintage was excellent, and this should go well with food."

Julian glanced at the bag, then back at the shopkeeper.

"I hope she's worth it," the man added with a knowing smile.

Julian grinned.

"Oh, she is," Julian replied. "She most definitely is."

He slipped his purchase into his overnight bag and left the shop feeling strangely more confident. He had done something simple, maybe something expected, but the act of choosing something for Samantha had made the visit feel more real. Whether Samantha appreciated his gifts or not didn't matter, at least he knew he had put the effort in.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The train journey from Waterloo passed both quickly and uneventfully.

It was already a quarter to two by the time he walked out of Weybridge station. From there he could have walked but, instead, Julian ordered an Uber. He didn't have long to wait, which was lucky as time was ticking along and he didn't want to be late.

They drove out from the station and through the town. At first, it all seemed rather familiar. With its rows of terraced houses, Julian could have been back in London. But the further they drove, the more the houses started to thin out. Terraced gave way to semi-detached, and eventually to detached.

It was outside one row of quite large houses that the taxi started to slow down. Julian started to look out of the windows, wondering exactly which house was Samantha's. They all looked rather grand compared to his tiny apartment back in the city. Imagine his surprise when, instead of stopping, the taxi turned off the main road, drove past a sign saying 'Private' and headed up to a gated entrance.

"St George's Hill," Julian announced, as if for his own benefit.

The gate opened, and the taxi headed through. And, suddenly, they were in a different world. The houses became larger still. Each was spaced well away from the next. Gardens verged on becoming woodland. Large, mature trees flanked driveways and lawns.

Julian sat back and watched. He knew Samantha was successful. He knew she would be wealthy as well, and that the life she lived was very different to his. Knowing it was one thing. Seeing it was another.

"Are you sure this is right?" he asked the driver.

The driver didn't even look at his navigation system.

"You said West Road... well, this is West Road," he replied. "And, if I'm not mistaken, your place should be just around the next corner."

Julian looked outside again.

Every house seemed different, individual even, as if the house came first and the plot had been designed to fit it, rather than the other way around. They were large, much larger than he had ever imagined. They were imposing. They were, and this is the bit that really struck home, most likely worth an absolute fortune.

The taxi pulled to a halt at the entrance to a long driveway. After one final check, Julian paid the driver and, bag in hand, climbed out of the car. He took a few steps between a row of mature trees and onto the driveway.

Instantly, he paused.

It was only now that Julian saw the true grandeur of the house, of what he hoped was her house. It had been hidden away behind the trees, but now he could see it in all its glory. He hadn't known quite what to expect. He imagined her house as something special, but this was more than special, and it was truly befitting of somebody as important as Samantha.

And then something quite different filled his mind.

He felt suddenly conscious not of the place, not even of being with her, but more of him, and of the clothes he had chosen to wear. For the first time, he wondered whether he should have made more of an effort. He wasn't exactly dressed in the manner that such a property probably demanded. He wasn't even sure he was dressed appropriately enough to be knocking on Samantha's front door.

What would the neighbours think if they saw him there?

His stomach tightened.

He looked at the house once more. In his mind, it was unmistakably hers. They said you could tell a lot about an owner from their dog. Well, it seemed you could do the same from a house. Large, elegant, and completely at ease with itself, this was so perfectly Samantha, but this was so not him.

He looked down at his clothes once more.

For a moment, the old uncertainty returned.

Then he remembered the decision he had made that morning. He hadn't dressed to match Samantha's expectations, nor to fit in with wherever he would be spending the weekend. He had dressed for himself, and that hadn't changed.

He glanced back towards the road.

The taxi had already gone.

There was no going back now, not that he really wanted to.

Julian took a deep breath and composed himself. The doubts hadn't disappeared, but he wasn't going to let them decide what happened next. He had come here because he wanted to see Samantha, because there were things between them that deserved more than a week of silence and a handful of messages. With his overnight bag over his shoulder, he set off along the block-paved driveway towards the front door.

He had chosen to come.

He had chosen to see what happened next.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Julian checked his watch as he reached the front door. It was three minutes to two. He was early. He thought about ringing the doorbell, but he didn't. He wasn't sure why but there was something about her invitation. She had given him clear instructions and this time he was going to follow them to the letter.

Fourteen hundred hours, precisely.

For a moment, he considered the absurdity of it. He had travelled across London, bought a bottle of wine he hoped she would like, and spent the best part of the last few minutes worrying about whether his clothes were appropriate. Now, with the door only inches away, he found himself waiting, not because he had changed his mind, but because it felt the right thing to do.

He almost laughed at himself.

Samantha Vale had never struck him as a woman who appreciated dithering, but that was just what he was doing.

And as his watch finally hit the hour, he pressed the doorbell.

The chime sounded somewhere inside the house, followed by silence. Time passed. Julian waited, wondering first if she was in and then if he even had the right house. He was about to press for a second time when he noticed something through the privacy glass of the front door.

At first, he wasn't sure, but very quickly he noticed the shadowy shape walking towards him.

Then the door opened and he stared back at the occupant.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Samantha stood before him in a way he had never quite seen her before. There was no preconceived imagery behind her appearance. In the office it was all about the power, her outfits designed to complement the control she carried. In the hotel it had been a little different, not so much about carrying her control, but rather about making a statement, a very visual statement.

Here, though, in the confines of her own house, it was like those perfectly choreographed layers had been carefully unwrapped. There was none of the performance which normally accompanied Samantha. The woman who now stood in front of Julian was more relaxed, more natural, more... and this surprised him... attractive.

She wore tight-fitting dark jeans and a soft, pale blouse with a couple of buttons undone at the top and the sleeves turned back casually at her wrists. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and her face, without the usual corporately themed make-up, seemed both younger and more vulnerable.

She was, though, still unmistakably Samantha.

"Julian," she announced.

His name sounded different in her voice. It wasn't the crisp acknowledgement he was accustomed to at work, nor the teasing warmth she had sometimes allowed herself in private. This was softer, almost tentative.

"Hi," he replied.

It was an absurdly inadequate response after everything that had passed between them, but it was all he could manage. Just seeing her there had sent his heart unexpectedly racing, and he was trying as best he could to hide what he felt inside.

Samantha smiled.

He had seen that smile before, although usually it had carried a measure of intrigue, as though she knew something he had yet to discover. This time it was smaller, less certain. This time it did something quite inconvenient to his resolve.

"I'm glad you came," Samantha commented.

"So am I," he replied, instantly realising that he truly meant it.

He sensed her gaze linger first on his face, before travelling briefly over his grey polo shirt and the dark jeans. It was as if he had become yet another presentation she was perusing, and Julian suddenly felt a little self-conscious again. He wondered whether she noticed that he had dressed differently from the last time they had met outside work. Back then, he had been so aware of making the right impression. Now he had simply come as himself, and Julian wondered if she had noticed, or rather whether she approved of the real him.

"You look nice," Samantha said.

"Thanks... you do, too," he replied.

The words brought a faint colour to her cheeks. It was such a small reaction, so unlike the assured woman Julian had become accustomed to. He found himself looking at her a moment longer than he intended, not staring, simply noticing.

Then Samantha stepped aside.

"Come in... come in," she suggested, heading back inside the house.

Julian followed her into the hallway. He dropped his bag and coat and continued after Samantha. The house felt quiet, almost reserved. The place was beautiful without appearing to make any effort to impress. It was like every surface had been considered, every detail intended to make a mark. It felt just like Samantha.

Everything was controlled.

Everything was in its rightful place.

Everything seemingly served a purpose.

Everything, that was, except him. He was the odd one out. He didn't fit in this world, in her world, and for the first time, he found himself questioning why he had come. He never said it, not least to Samantha, but inside he had his doubts. She lived a very different life from him, a life which he hadn't yet earned.

He glanced around the hallway as they walked, peering into side rooms through open doors. He was noticing everything, but what he saw barely registered. What did register was a certain woman. Samantha was standing close beside him, and he was painfully aware of the warmth of her presence.

She turned towards him.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said, her voice soft.

"You invited me," came the reply.

"I know... but that didn't mean you would come," she said.

"And why wouldn't I?" he asked.

Her eyes dropped for a moment.

"After last week, I wasn't sure you would want to," she admitted.

There it was. The first spoken acknowledgement of the thing that stood between them. It wasn't an explanation, but it was a start. She was offering him something at least.

Offering him?

They had made it as far as the largest kitchen Julian had ever seen, when suddenly Julian headed back the way he had come. Samantha simply stood there, bemused, as she watched him walk all the way to the front door and pick up his bag. And suddenly the doubt surfaced in her mind.

Was it something she had said?

Had she put him off before she had even had the chance to apologise?

Then, much to her relief, instead of slinging it over his shoulder, he started rummaging inside. And, moments later, Julian was walking back towards her, with a smaller bag in his hand and a huge smile on his face. Julian simply handed the bag over to his host.

"I brought these. I wasn't sure what we were having, so I hope they're suitable," he commented.

Samantha emptied the bag, first glancing at the chocolates and then at the label on the bottle of wine.

"Ribera... that's an excellent choice," she replied.

Julian smiled again. He didn't quite tell her that he'd had help choosing the wine. He simply accepted her appreciation. Coming from somebody like Samantha, a woman who clearly knew her wines, it meant a lot.

Samantha put the bottle down on a nearby counter and looked at him.

"I've been thinking about you," she said.

The admission was quiet, but it seemed to alter the atmosphere around them.

"More than I intended to," she added.

"I guess... that makes two of us," Julian replied.

She searched his face, perhaps looking for a sign that he was still angry, or that he had come only because curiosity had got the better of him. She didn't see one, but that was only half of the story. He couldn't tell her that everything was fine either. It wasn't. But neither could he deny the effect she had on him.

"I've missed you," she said.

He drew a slow breath. He knew what he should be saying. He knew what his conscience told him to do. Instead, though, his response was driven from the heart.

"I've missed you, too," he admitted.

Something in her expression softened. She moved closer, hesitating only briefly before lifting a hand to his cheek. Her fingertips brushed his skin, and the familiar intimacy of the gesture brought back a rush of memories. He could have asked her what she meant by those words. He could have reminded her that missing someone was easy to say after a week of silence. Instead, he stood perfectly still beneath her touch, acutely aware of how much he had wanted to see her again.

"Samantha," he murmured.

She looked at his mouth. It was such a tiny gesture. What followed wasn't. She leaned towards him, giving him just enough time to understand what she intended before her lips met his.

The first kiss was gentle, almost cautious. It carried the uncertainty of the past week. It prompted the question of whether either of them had the right to assume the other still wanted this. Julian felt her pause, and he answered by placing a hand lightly against her waist.

She drew back just far enough to look at him.

"Is this alright?" she asked.

The question, especially when spoken in such an uncharacteristically uncertain voice, caught him off guard.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, it is."

She smiled. It was a brief outpouring of emotion. Then she kissed him again.

And, this time, neither of them seemed interested in caution.

Julian had imagined seeing her again so many times during the preceding days that the reality should have felt familiar. Instead, the moment was startling in its intensity. Samantha's hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck, drawing him closer, and he felt the last of his carefully maintained distance begin to dissolve.

He had missed her more than he ever wanted to admit. No, it wasn't the powerful version of Samantha that he had missed. That version had been ever present in the office. It was this softer, more personal version. He missed her warmth. He missed the way she felt up close. And, as he kissed her, it felt as if all the pent-up frustrations of that week in the office had been forgotten, or maybe conveniently ignored.

And as for Samantha, she responded with an eagerness that left little doubt that her restraint had cost her something too.

When they finally parted, they remained close, their foreheads almost touching.

"I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me," she whispered.

"I wanted to see you the moment you asked," he admitted.

She searched his face again. Then, with a confidence that had been missing from her greeting, she pulled him closer. Julian didn't resist. He leaned willingly into her.

Their next kiss was even more urgent.

She moved into him, pressing her body against his. As she did, without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as he could, feeling the soft fabric of her blouse against his touch.

They stood there, lips melded together, time seeming to stand still.

Whatever restraint he had arrived with was quickly being undone. He had spent the journey rehearsing questions, reminding himself to be sensible, preparing for the possibility that she might greet him with the same cool politeness she had shown him in the office. None of those preparations seemed particularly useful now.

For one glorious moment, he stopped thinking.

She drew him closer, and he felt himself responding to her without hesitation. He wanted to stay in her arms. He wanted to kiss her until neither of them could remember why they had been apart. He wanted to follow the invitation that was implicit in the way she held him and discover what waited beyond it.

Samantha seemed to sense his surrender. She broke the kiss, pulling away slightly. She lifted her gaze, her eyes searching his for a moment before she kissed him once more.

"Come upstairs," she whispered.

The words sent a rush of anticipation through Julian. He didn't need to ask. He knew what she was offering. He knew how easily he could accept, how readily they might lose themselves in this moment of unbridled passion. His body had already made its decision. Every instinct urged him to take her hand and follow.

He almost did.

Then he remembered the last time or, rather, the Monday morning which followed. He had told himself he could cope with whatever this relationship became, provided he understood what it was. But he had never truly asked Samantha what she wanted, and she had never offered an answer. They had simply allowed attraction to carry them forward while leaving those more difficult questions unspoken, and it was that thought which made him pause.

He could not do that again.

He could not get close to her once more and find it didn't matter.

Julian loosened his arms and took a small step back.

Samantha's hands remained against his chest. For a moment, she looked almost startled, as though she had expected him to follow her invitation without question.

"Julian?" she asked.

He looked at her, forcing himself not to glance at her face.

"I want you," he said.

The words came out more urgently than he had intended. He wanted her to understand that he was not rejecting her. He wanted her to know that nothing about his decision had diminished the effect she had on him.

"I really want you, Samantha," he added.

"Then what's wrong?" she asked.

He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find words that did not sound like an accusation. He had not come here to punish her, and he did not want to turn their reunion into an argument the moment he had arrived. But he had promised himself on the journey that he would not pretend to be unaffected simply because she had opened the door and kissed him. He still needed to know why she had behaved that way, and what he really meant to her.

"I can't do this as though the last couple of weeks never happened," he answered.

Her expression changed. The passion in her eyes receded. The warmth, though, never did.

"I wasn't expecting you to," she responded. She folded her arms loosely, then seemed to reconsider and let them fall to her sides. "I told you I owe you an explanation... and, I meant it."

"Then tell me," he replied.

The words were quieter than he had expected. He had thought anger might make the conversation easier, but standing in front of her, seeing the uncertainty she was trying so hard to conceal, he found that he was more frightened than angry. He was afraid of what she might say, and equally afraid that she might sink back into her professional persona and offer him nothing at all.

Samantha looked towards the table where the wine stood, then back at him.

"You must be hungry," she replied. "The barbecue should be hot by now... let's eat, and I promise I'll explain everything. And maybe we could open that bottle you brought."

"You do barbecue, don't you, Julian?" she asked, smiling at him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 3

An Honest Explanation

As the afternoon progressed, the awkwardness of their reunion had begun to ease, although neither Julian nor Samantha had forgotten the conversation that had brought them there.

They had agreed to talk properly, and Julian was determined not to let the matter drift away beneath the familiar comfort of being together. He had spent too much of the previous weeks wondering what he had done wrong, all the time searching for some indication that he had misunderstood what that weekend in the hotel together had meant.

Now he wanted answers, not necessarily easy ones, but honest ones.

Samantha, for her part, seemed to understand as well that she could not simply kiss him again and hope the difficult questions would disappear. It had been her suggestion that they prepare dinner together. It had been her idea to have a barbecue on the terrace of her house, instead of another posh restaurant somewhere.

Julian didn't exactly have her down as the barbecue type, but the whole idea seemed perfect. He didn't want another bit of theatre. He wanted ordinary. He wanted to just be with her. He wanted the simple opportunity to talk.

He followed Samantha out through the sitting room and onto the patio. For a moment, he just stood and stared. The garden was just as huge as the house, surrounded by trees, with barely any other property in sight. It was her own private oasis of calm within the town.

"Come on then, this isn't going to cook itself," Samantha called out towards him.

Julian walked over to where the barbecue stood on a stone platform away from the house. He quickly lifted the lid. Yes, it was hot already. It was also pretty much brand new. He turned towards Samantha who was standing there holding a plate of meat.

"You don't do this very often, do you?" he asked.

Samantha simply smiled.

"What makes you say that?" she asked in reply.

"Well... either you're obsessively addicted to cleaning or I'd wager it's barely been used," he answered.

This time she felt a little embarrassed. She was the woman who controlled one of the city's biggest corporations with efficient ease, but when it came to a simple barbecue, she barely had a clue. She'd even asked one of the neighbours to get it going for her. And as for cooking, that was going to be a game of guesswork.

"I... I..." she started to explain, but for once found the words hard to come by. "Look, I don't have many chances to entertain, not here."

Julian stood and stared at her.

There was something quite vulnerable in that admission and instantly he imagined it being true. She had entertained him twice before, once in a restaurant and once in a hotel. He could imagine her entertaining many people in a similar way--okay, so maybe not with the trip back to her hotel room, or at least he hoped not. But here, in her own back garden, she seemed unusually unsure of herself.

"Then perhaps you need the practice," he replied.

Samantha gave him a look of mock disapproval, but her smile remained.

"Careful... you're becoming rather comfortable at telling me what I need," she replied.

"Would you prefer I stopped?" he asked.

"Absolutely not... now, where do you want me?"

Julian looked at the barbecue, then at the plate she was holding, then at the woman herself. For a moment, the question seemed to offer several possible answers, and the expression on Samantha's face suggested that she was perfectly aware of it, and maybe even open to any of them.

"Perhaps we should start with the food," he said. "Unless... you were planning to serve it raw?"

"Very funny," Samantha replied.

She handed him the plate, although not before giving him a look that suggested his promotion from intern to barbecue instructor might be a short-lived one.

"Right... now you're in charge," she added.

The words were delivered lightly, almost as a joke, but Julian noticed the way she watched him as he took the plate. There was something different in the way she said it. In the office, she would do the same, but he always knew that, somewhere behind the scenes, she was still in control.

Here, though, in her own back yard, it was like she had literally handed control across to him. Perhaps it was simply the setting. Perhaps he was noticing things he had previously overlooked. Julian wasn't sure, but he recognised something. He set the plate down on the counter beside the barbecue and began arranging slices of meat across the hot grill.

"Not too close together," he said. "You need to give it room to cook."

Inside, Samantha was smiling, not that she let it show.

She had longed to say those words and to mean them. She had longed to have him act upon them too. Okay, so it was only a barbecue, but it was a start. All she hoped for was that he would live up to the responsibility she had just handed to him, now, and every other time.

"What was it you did your degree in, Julian?" she asked. "Barbecue sciences?"

That earned a genuine laugh and, in the moment, some of the tension between them loosened. While Julian kept an eye on the meat, Samantha moved back and forth between kitchen and patio, retrieving salads, dips, bread and finally the bottle of wine. She laid them out on a patio table, filled two glasses of red, then headed over to where Julian was still slaving away.

"Here you go... thought you might need a little refreshment," she said, handing across a glass of wine, then taking a sip of her own.

"Mmmm... not bad at all," she replied, giving him a playful peck on the cheek. "I could easily get used to this... you know... a handsome guy who knows how to cook and has great taste in wine... what else would a woman want?"

Julian smiled, but he didn't immediately return to the barbecue.

"That's an interesting question," he replied.

Samantha looked at him over the rim of her glass.

"Is it?" she asked, a little confused where he was going.

"I think so. Although I suspect the answer might be rather more complicated than dinner and a decent bottle of red," came the answer.

She smiled for a moment before letting it fade. She knew what he was doing. She could recognise the approach, the way he planted the question, then provided enough of a hint to guide somebody else through to the answer. God, yes, she'd done it enough herself to know where this was going. He was providing her the opportunity to move beyond the teasing, but he wasn't going to let her use it to avoid the conversation they had promised to have.

"You're right," she said. "It is more complicated."

"Then perhaps we should stop pretending it isn't," he commented, turning back to the grill, checking the meat before lowering the lid again. His voice remained calm, but there was a firmness to it that she had not heard from him before.

"Samantha... look... I'm glad I'm here... I wouldn't have come if I didn't want to see you. But I didn't travel all this way just to have a pleasant afternoon and go home wondering what happens next," he continued.

"I know," she replied.

"Do you? Because last time, I thought I knew where I stood with you. We spent the weekend together... we were getting closer... I thought you were letting me see something of the person behind the CEO. Then Monday came, and you treated me as though I'd become an inconvenience," he added.

Samantha looked down at her glass.

"I've already apologised for that," she replied.

"You have... and I believe you meant it... but an apology tells me you're sorry about what happened... it doesn't tell me what you actually want from me," he added.

Samantha went silent. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that, yet everything he had said was true. She hadn't exactly played him along, or at least that hadn't been her intention. At the same time, though, she hadn't come clean with what she wanted. That was why she had invited him here today, but she could quite understand how he felt in the moment, and she did truly owe him an explanation, a full explanation.

Julian put the tongs down and faced her.

"Was that weekend just something you wanted to experience? Was I someone you were attracted to, someone who made you feel different for a while, until you decided it had gone too far? Or did it mean something to you beyond that?" he fired away at her, getting all the pent-up frustration off his chest in a single barrage of questions.

"Julian..."

"No, please... let me finish. I've spent days trying to work out whether I misunderstood you... whether I read too much into the things you said, the way you looked at me, the way you were with me. I thought we connected... but now I need to know... had I imagined something which was never there?"

Julian stood there, his heart pounding. He had said a lot more than he had ever intended to. His plan was to gently tease the answers out of her, yet here he was, treating her to a firing squad of questions. And now he was half expecting to be simply shown the door.

"You weren't imagining it," she replied.

"Then what was it?" Julian asked.

The question hung between them.

Samantha had often faced hostile investors, difficult negotiations and board members who believed they could intimidate her into changing her mind. She had never found it particularly difficult to defend a decision when she believed in it. Yet standing in her own garden, with Julian waiting for an answer, she found herself wishing she could retreat into the safety of a conversation she knew how to control.

This time, she couldn't, not if she wanted him to stay.

"The weekend meant something to me," she said.

"It meant more than I expected... more than I was prepared for," she continued.

"Then why did you behave as though it hadn't happened?" he asked.

"Because I was frightened," she replied, without hesitation.

"Of me?" he asked.

"No... of me... of what it meant... of what might happen if I allowed it to continue," she replied.

He watched her carefully. He could see something in her eyes that was unrecognisable from the corporate version of Samantha. He could see an inkling of fear within her gaze. He could sense the hint of discomfort in her tone. But more than either of those, he could sense the total lack of preparation in what she had said. This wasn't any well-rehearsed script. This was raw, and if he didn't know better, this was spoken from the heart, her heart. But he needed more.

"That's still quite vague," he said.

She nodded.

"I'm not asking you to guarantee us a future, Samantha. I'm asking whether you want to find out if there is one," he continued.

She drew a slow breath.

"Yes," came the reply.

It was the first answer she had given him that seemed to cost her something real. He could see it in the tension around her mouth. He could see it in the way she held herself still rather than reaching for another explanation.

Just one word.

Just a single affirmation.

"Then I need you to understand something," he said. "I can't be someone you invite into your life when you want me and push away when things become difficult. I'm not asking you to have everything figured out. I'm asking you to talk to me instead of deciding on my behalf that you or I can't handle the complications."

She nodded again.

"And I need to know that you see me as more than someone who makes you feel something you haven't felt for a long time," he added.

Samantha looked directly at him.

"I do see you as more than that," she replied.

"Then tell me... tell me what you see... and tell me what you want," he said.

For several seconds, Samantha said nothing. Then she put her glass down and stepped closer. The temptation was to kiss him. She didn't. She simply took his hand in hers.

"I see a man who makes me smile when I don't expect to smile... someone who challenges me without trying to prove he's better than me... someone whose opinion matters to me, even when I don't particularly like what he has to say... someone I can trust more than anyone else."

Her voice softened.

"And I see someone I want to know better... not just someone I want to spend a weekend with... I see you, Julian... I don't know what this could become, but I want to find out... if you want to find out too."

He searched her face, looking for the qualification that usually followed a statement like that. This time, she didn't offer one.

"That's what I needed to hear," he said. "Not a promise... just the truth."

"Then you have it," she admitted.

He nodded, though the hurt had not disappeared simply because she had finally acknowledged it. Trust, he was beginning to understand, could not be restored in a single conversation. It had to be rebuilt, but he was willing to try.

Samantha glanced towards the barbecue.

"And from the smell of the barbecue, if you don't serve up soon, we're going to have a very different problem to discuss," she commented.

That earned a small smile from him.

"Fine... but we're not finished talking," he said.

"No," she agreed. "We're not."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 4

A Next Step

By the time they headed inside, plates in hand, the afternoon was already settling into evening. Dinner had been good, better than either of them had expected given the meat was a touch on the heavy side when it came to the degree of charring.

Conversation had also come easier.

Yes, there was always that question somewhere beneath the surface, but it didn't dominate proceedings or, at least, they didn't let it. What was said was said, and both knew it could no longer be ignored. That said, it didn't need to be front and centre of every sentence.

There had been laughter. There had been a few teasing remarks. There had been the odd more reflective comment, thinking back to times gone by. And, all the time, Samantha considered just why she had invited him to spend the weekend. Yes, she wanted them to talk. She had meant that when she sent the invitation, and she meant it still. Yet, as she watched him collecting the plates and stacking them beside the sink, it simply reinforced that talking was only part of what she had wanted.

She had missed his company, his humour, and the way he could make her forget, for a few minutes at least, the constant demands on her life. More than that, she had missed the feeling of being with someone who saw her as a woman rather than a position, a reputation, or a beacon of control.

The problem, though, was how to balance the two.

It was as she watched him turn on the kitchen tap that she made her mind up.

"Leave them," she commented.

"It's alright... they won't take long," he replied.

Samantha simply stared at Julian, a smile on her face.

"You heard me... leave them," she repeated.

He turned towards her, a little confused at what the fuss was about. It really wasn't a big deal to wash up a few plates. He did it in his own place every night. Samantha laughed and crossed the kitchen towards him. Before he could turn back to the sink, she took the plate from his hand and placed it on the pile.

"Julian, please... I didn't invite you here to wash up... and, anyway, I've got somebody who does that for me," she commented.

He looked bemused.

"What... you employ somebody to do your washing up?" he asked.

Samantha smiled.

"Yeah... he's called a dishwasher," she commented. "Now, why don't you take the wine and the glasses into the lounge, and I'll get these into the dishwasher. Be with you in five minutes and then we can talk."

Julian shook his head, laughing quietly.

"Of course he is. I should have known," he commented.

"It's a very reliable arrangement... he never argues back," she added.

"Mmmm... I'll bet," he replied, before collecting the wine and glasses, giving her a final amused look, and heading through to the lounge.

Samantha watched him go, smiling to herself, then turned her attention to the plates. The dishwasher could have waited, of course. So could almost everything else in the house. But she wanted those few minutes to herself, an opportunity to gather her thoughts before she joined him.

She had told him they needed to talk, and they did. Yet she was beginning to understand that the conversation she wanted to have was not simply about what had happened between them, or even what might happen next. It was about the kind of relationship they were trying to build, and whether she could allow it to become something neither of them had entirely planned.

She loaded the last plate, added the cutlery, and closed the door. It wasn't quite full, but she set it going anyway. The soft mechanical hum as the machine kicked into life seemed symbolic, as if it was marking the end of one part of the evening and the beginning of another.

Five minutes, she had told him.

Five minutes was all it took, and now she was rather looking forward to what came next.

Samantha dried her hands and made her way into the lounge, switching off the kitchen light as she passed. She noticed Julian. He had settled on one end of the sofa, the wine and glasses arranged on a low table in front of him, the room bathed in artificial bright light.

With a couple of spoken commands--it was ironic that she controlled the house in the same way that she controlled the boardroom--she swapped the brightness of the main lights to something softer. The lamp which now shone in one corner of the room gave the space an instantly softer, more intimate atmosphere to the evening.

For a moment, she stood there, taking in the scene in front of her. There was something reminiscent of a certain sofa in a certain hotel room. Back then she had been the one seated and he had been the one gazing back at her. Back then, she hadn't known what she wanted to say nor how things would progress. Roles were reversed this time, and she was clear in what she wanted to say.

But as for how it would progress, still she had no idea.

Her gaze focused in on Julian. He seemed comfortable sitting on her sofa, as if he belonged there. She wondered what he was thinking. Was it about her? Was it about where the rest of the evening was going to go? She hadn't forgotten why she had invited him. Nor had she forgotten the questions that remained between them.

There was a path ahead, one that would need to be trodden carefully, with neither of them assuming too much or moving faster than the other was ready to go. Yet, beneath all that caution, Samantha felt a growing sense of anticipation. She wanted to discover where the path might lead, not by deciding every step in advance, but by allowing them to find their way together.

Provided, of course, that Julian wanted to take that journey with her.

Then, what about him?

Did he want the same?

Did he even know what she was going to ask of him?

Samantha settled beside Julian and accepted the glass he had poured for her. She was conscious of keeping a space between them, small enough to be crossed without effort, yet sufficient to remind her that neither had quite decided how much familiarity they could reclaim.

It would have been easy to close it herself. She had done so before, taking the lead when hesitation threatened to derail their last encounter. This time, however, she didn't. Instead, Samantha found herself wondering what might happen if she resisted that instinct and just let it flow.

For a while, they talked about inconsequential things. They simply sat there, chatting and drinking, allowing time to pass. It wasn't hurried. It didn't feel pressured. It was simply, well, comfortable.

Perhaps that was what Samantha had missed most, not simply his company, nor even the attraction that had drawn them together, but the ease of being with someone who did not require her to perform the role everyone else expected of her.

With Julian, she could laugh at herself.

She could admit that dinner hadn't gone entirely to plan.

She could sit quietly without feeling obliged to fill the silence.

She could just be her, be Samantha.

Eventually, though, the conversation drifted in a different direction, towards a more relevant topic and the questions both had been avoiding.

Why was he here?

What did she want of him, or them?

Samantha turned her glass between her fingers, watching the wine move against the bowl. She considered carefully what she was going to say, at least to start with. When she spoke, her voice was quieter than it had been over dinner, quieter, softer and maybe even more honest. And as for Julian, he didn't chip in, nor did he try to influence the conversation. He just sat and listened, allowing himself to understand what was being said before forming any judgement about what it meant.

"You know... I didn't just invite you here to talk about the past, about what had happened... that was important and again, I can only say I'm sorry... but I wanted to talk about us as well... about that weekend in the hotel... about whether there was an opportunity for it to develop into something more..."

Samantha paused.

She knew what she intended to say, but thinking those words and hearing herself saying them were two different things. It sounded like a speech, and she didn't want it to sound that way. And the more she thought about what she had intended to say, the more she realised something different. She did not have a neat answer for what that might look like, and for once she was not prepared to pretend otherwise.

"I've always wanted to be with you... you've got to believe me on that... it's just that... Julian... there's something I'm going to tell you which will sound strange, maybe even uncomfortable... not about you... about me, and perhaps about us," she added.

The admission left her feeling unexpectedly exposed. Samantha had spent years cultivating the ability to remain composed even when circumstances were uncertain. At work, people looked to her for direction, and she had become accustomed to supplying it. In her private life, she had carried much the same instinct, having everything mapped out well in advance of needing to act upon it.

And that was the problem.

What she wanted to say was going to be the exact opposite of everything he had associated with her, and she had no idea how that would sit. Did he like her for who she was, or for what she was? He had hinted at the former, but would it be the same if she truly made that ask of him? Samantha had no idea how he would respond, and that made it all the harder.

"You know... I told you... sometimes I wonder what it would be like not to have to control everything... but I never told you what it meant... maybe I feared what you might think... or even what I might do... but it's true... I've thought about it a lot..."

The problem was that she still didn't quite know those answers, what it meant nor how much control she was willing to release. She didn't want to abandon her judgement or become someone she was not, that was certain. Nor had she wanted him to assume that he must take charge of every situation merely because she had asked him to be more decisive.

What she wanted was the freedom to stop anticipating every move. She wanted to be surprised occasionally, to have him act because he wanted to rather than because she had made her wishes unmistakably clear. She wanted to discover what he would choose when she left the decision to him. The possibility unsettled her precisely because she could not know the answer in advance. And it was also that thought, of giving him control and seeing just how far he might push it, which sent a thrill through her.

Oh yes, she would still be Samantha.

But, on occasions, she would be his Samantha, to do with as he wished.

"I mean... god, this is hard, Julian..."

Samantha paused. She stared into her near empty wine glass as if looking for a little reassurance that she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

"I mean... I'd like to explore that together... to see how it feels... you know... to give you control... total control... not always... just sometimes..."

When she finally looked at him, she found him listening with an attentiveness that made her feel both understood and slightly nervous. He was not trying to impress her with an answer. He seemed to be considering what she had said, measuring it against something, coming to terms with what had just been suggested. And this time, the lack of any immediate reaction mattered.

He hadn't laughed.

He hadn't got up and prepared to leave.

He was simply taking it on board, as he always did.

She placed her glass on the table and turned towards him. The movement brought them a little closer, though she stopped short of touching him. Julian glanced down at the space between them before returning his attention to her face.

"I mean... if you feel comfortable... you know... exploring together..."

She recognised the hesitation, the familiar uncertainty about whether he should act or wait for her to make the first move. Samantha had the sudden urge to resolve it for him. She could lean forward, kiss him, and remove the doubt as easily as she might settle an awkward discussion in a meeting. Instead, she remained where she was, allowing him to decide what he wanted to do.

The silence lengthened.

Then, carefully, Julian put his glass down.

His movement was unhurried, but his intent was clear. Julian had reached a decision, even if he was not entirely certain where it would lead. What he knew, though, was that he was here for the weekend and he was happy to find out. He turned towards her and lifted a hand to her cheek, placing it gently against her skin.

Samantha felt a small, unexpected thrill somewhere inside.

It was not the gesture itself that affected her so much as the fact that he had willingly chosen to make it.

And then, slowly, he leaned forward towards her. Their lips met and for a second time that day, they kissed. It was soft. It was tentative. It carried a renewed degree of caution, unlike the one earlier in the afternoon. It was like he was testing the waters for himself, wondering quite what reception he would get.

Samantha made sure to respond, letting him feel that she welcomed the contact without ever appearing to take over. She had no intention of making him guess what she wanted, but neither did she want to dictate the shape of the moment.

As they drew apart, she remained close, her hand resting against his chest. She could feel the warmth of him beneath her palm. She could sense the slight change in his breathing and, but maybe this was her imagination, the faster beat of his heart.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then he kissed her again. This time there was a little more confidence. This time it lingered longer, and Samantha felt herself relax into him.

She shifted closer, turning towards him on the sofa.

Julian's arm settled around her, drawing her nearer.

Samantha rested a hand against his shoulder and let herself enjoy the warmth of his embrace. She was aware of the impulse to guide him, to suggest what she would like, or to offer some small indication of what might come next. The instinct was so familiar that she almost acted on it without thinking.

Instead, she waited.

The decision was not entirely comfortable.

When Julian paused, she felt the familiar impatience stir within her, followed by the temptation to interpret his hesitation as a lack of confidence. But he was still learning how to read her, just as she was learning how to leave room for him. She could not expect him to become more assured if she continued to anticipate every uncertainty and remove it before he had the chance to work through it himself.

So, she allowed the pause to remain.

And, when he moved closer again, she met him willingly, letting her response reassure him without turning it into an instruction. This time, much to her delight, the kiss was warmer, more passionate, more thrilling.

Julian did not draw fully away after that latest kiss. Instead, his hand slipped from Samantha's cheek to the side of her neck, his thumb resting just beneath her ear. He pulled back slightly, just far enough to lock his eyes on hers. There was a question in his expression, a trace of the uncertainty that had accompanied his first tentative movement, but there was something else as well.

He was no longer simply waiting for Samantha to show him the way.

He wanted to be there.

He wanted to kiss her again.

And this time, he was prepared to let her see it.

With a smile on his face, he drew her closer. The movement was gentle, almost in slow motion, yet Samantha felt its significance immediately. She went willingly, inching towards him until the small space that had separated them disappeared. Her hand moved from his chest to his shoulder, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt, and then his lips were on hers again.

Whatever caution had remained between them began to loosen.

The room seemed to recede. It was still there, but it no longer mattered. In her mind, there was only Julian, the warmth of his hand on her neck, the pressure of his arm around her, and the softness of his lips against hers. She had imagined this moment in various forms during the weeks they had been apart. She had wondered whether the attraction would survive the awkwardness of their reunion, whether the connection they had discovered in the hotel could carry into ordinary life.

Now, with Julian holding her, those questions seemed less urgent. It wasn't because they no longer mattered--they did, every one of them--but because she was beginning to understand that she did not need to answer them all in one go.

His lips moved against hers again, and she felt a delicate shiver travel through her. She tightened her hold on his shoulder, drawing him nearer, and the kiss deepened. There was a tenderness in the way he touched her, a care that made the desire gathering between them feel more intimate rather than less intense. He seemed to be learning her responses as he went, noticing the moments when she leaned towards him, when her fingers moved against his shoulder, when she returned his kiss with a warmth that left no doubt about her welcome.

Samantha had spent so much time anticipating what might happen that she had almost forgotten how it felt to simply enjoy the moment.

She shifted closer, and Julian adjusted his position to accommodate her. His arm settled more securely around her waist. She slid her hand into his hair, drawing him back towards her when their lips parted, and he responded with a quiet smile before kissing her again.

That small smile nearly undid her.

It wasn't the confident expression of a man who knew it all. It was something more genuine, a mixture of pleasure and surprise, as though he too was discovering her this very evening. She liked that. She liked knowing he wasn't following a script she had written for him. And when he pulled her closer still, she did not think about whether she ought to let him. She simply went to him.

Neither could have said exactly how they moved from sitting upright to reclining against the cushions. One moment Samantha was leaning into Julian, her hand resting against his face; the next, she had settled beside him, his arm around her and hers resting across his chest.

The sofa offered less room than either of them might have wished for, but neither was bothered. They shifted together, knocking scatter cushions onto the floor as they sought a more comfortable position. At one point Samantha nearly lost her balance and risked tumbling after those cushions. Much to her relief, a strong arm grabbed her before she fell.

With the kiss broken, she gazed up at Julian.

She smiled and he smiled back.

He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.

Samantha watched him do it. It was such a gentle gesture. She had been admired before, pursued even, but there was something different about Julian. This wasn't a conquest, an attempt to tame the power. This was just him, and the woman who now lay by his side.

And as he pulled her securely back onto the sofa, she whispered a thank you then kissed him. He laughed softly against her lips, then returned the kiss. And, in that moment, she felt the last of her composure slipping away. There was no audience, no expectation to meet, no decision that needed to be made on behalf of anyone else. She could want him without considering the consequences.

And, for a little while, she could allow the wanting to be enough.

The realisation came without qualification. She wanted the closeness, the warmth, and the tenderness of his kisses. She wanted to let the evening flow, to allow herself to follow rather than lead. She wanted to tell him, to make certain he understood that her desire was real, to make sure he knew it.

Samantha was drawing a breath to say so when Julian lifted his head.

For a moment, he simply looked at her. His expression had changed, becoming thoughtful in a way that made her wonder what was passing through his mind. His fingers moved lightly against her cheek, and she felt another shiver at the unexpected tenderness of the gesture. Then he leaned close enough that she could feel his breath against her ear.

"Would you like something more?" he whispered.

Samantha went still. She simply gazed back at him, not because she was uncertain of the question, nor because she doubted her answer. She had never been more certain of anything that evening. What caught her by surprise was that Julian had chosen to ask it, and the very thought thrilled her.

He had not waited for her to tell him what came next. He had not tried to guess what she wanted, nor had he simply acted upon the assumption. He had made the decision to ask, leaving the answer entirely hers. It was precisely the sort of initiative she had been trying to explain to him, and hearing it now, spoken so quietly that it might just have been a thought he had accidentally allowed to escape, sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the coolness of the room.

Samantha smiled, her hand moving to rest against his cheek.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes... I would."

Julian kissed her once more, but this time it was fleeting, a brief meeting of lips that left Samantha yearning for more. Before she could draw him back, he eased away and sat upright. For a second, she watched him, uncertain on what he intended. He reached for the waistband of his jeans. The movement was unhurried, almost matter of fact, yet it sent a fresh rush of anticipation through her. He was not looking to her for instructions. He had made his choice, and now he was acting on it.

When he stood and pushed his jeans down, Samantha felt the last of her carefully maintained composure give way. She wanted him. She needed him. There was no hesitation as she undid her own jeans, lifted her hips off the sofa, and slowly peeled them down her legs, all the way. She tossed them to the floor beside the sofa, then turned her attention back to Julian.

Samantha reached for him, catching his hand and drawing him back towards her.

Julian came willingly.

Their next kiss was nothing like the tentative ones that had preceded it. Samantha pulled him close, meeting his mouth with an urgency that surprised even her. He answered with equal enthusiasm, his arms closing around her as she drew him down beside her. For a moment, they were all warmth and closeness, the awkward dimensions of the sofa forgotten as she nestled against him and felt his lips brush hers again.

His hand moved down her side, then settled tentatively over the fabric of her knickers.

Samantha gasped.

The sound escaped before she could soften it, and she felt Julian pause. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, and answered his silent question by simply drawing him closer and kissing him again. The message was clear. Once more his hand moved down over her knickers, a little further down, gently caressing her sex through the fabric.

Her own hand slipped between them, resting against the front of his boxers, and the now-obvious bulge. She remembered the intimacy of their hotel weekend, the first time she had discovered just how much he meant to her. The memory of the hotel returned with startling clarity, but this was different. There was no unfamiliar room, no sense that they had stepped temporarily outside their ordinary lives.

This was her home, her sofa, the evening they had chosen to spend together.

She felt the evidence of his desire beneath her hand, and the memory of the hotel only sharpened the anticipation. He was hard, rock hard. If anything, and maybe this was her memory failing her, he felt larger than before.

Could he be?

Could he have grown simply because he wanted her more?

And did he want her?

The latter was a question which didn't need to be asked. The urgency between them grew too strong. They helped each other out of the remaining barriers between them, movements hurried by desire rather than carefully considered. A moment later, they were once more in each other's arms, this time with nothing between them other than the heat of their passion.

The sofa was small.

They barely noticed.

Julian drew her towards him, and she welcomed him with an intensity that left no doubt about what she wanted. When he settled above her, she reached up to kiss him, her hands resting against his shoulders as she pulled him closer. He hesitated only long enough to meet her eyes, and she answered with a soft, encouraging smile.

Then the distance between them disappeared.

There was little by way of foreplay. It wasn't needed. She was damp already, and he could feel the ache in his shaft, given how hard it now seemed. He lowered himself carefully, rubbing the tip of his cock against her sex until he found her opening.

And then... then... he sank within.

They made love with an urgency that neither tried to disguise.

The careful conversation of the afternoon, the doubts that had brought them together, the questions about what their relationship might become, none of those seemed to matter anymore. There was desire in their kisses. There was enthusiasm in the way she met every thrust. There was passion in the way she called out into the still of the house.

For once, a single thought filled her mind.

She didn't want him to stop, not now, not ever.

And when the intensity between them finally softened, neither seemed in any hurry to move. Julian lowered himself beside her, and Samantha curled up against him, resting her head against his chest. His arm settled around her, his fingers moving gently over her shoulder.

She closed her eyes and listened to his breathing gradually steady.

She knew this wasn't the end and that there would be more questions which needed to be asked. She would make sure there would be time to talk about what this meant, for her, for him and most importantly, for them. She knew better than to imagine that a single evening could resolve everything between them.

But something had changed.

For the first time since inviting Julian into her home, Samantha was not wondering whether she had said the right thing or whether she had given him enough room to respond. She was not searching for evidence that he understood what she needed. She simply lay beside him, warm and content, allowing his closeness to speak for itself. And when Julian pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, she smiled against his chest.

She had wanted him to take the initiative.

Now, held in the quiet aftermath of their desire, she realised that the most surprising part was not how readily she had let him.

It was how naturally she had wanted to meet him there.

And as for Julian, he lay quietly beside her, enjoying the feeling of her warmth. He had arrived that afternoon determined to be himself, rather than the young man he imagined Samantha might expect him to be. He had never anticipated how much courage it would take to act without knowing whether he was getting things right. Yet she had met his every tentative step with a warmth that had made the next one easier.

He still had plenty to learn about Samantha, but for the first time, he felt he might be discovering not just what she wanted from him, but what he wanted to become beside her.