Suspect Lover. Stephanie Doyle

      He found himself leaving the office early to be with her. Last week he’d walked through the door after a rough day at work and made love to her on the kitchen table. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself. Not when she smiled at him with that damnable serenity etched in her face. The weekend before, he’d taken her to Carmel to show her his favorite view of the ocean instead of working from home as he’d done every weekend since he’d started Encrypton.

      He was losing control and he didn’t like it. This wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to enjoy the warmth of her breath on his shoulder. He didn’t want to crave sex with her all the time. He didn’t want to feel the way she made him feel when she smiled at him.

      It needed to end. Space. That’s what he needed.

      “Get off me,” he said, his eyes still focused on the ceiling. He jerked his arm and twisted his body and felt her jolt awake. “Get. Off. Me.”

      “Dominic? What?” The sheets slid down her body as she sat up.

      He pulled away to the other side of the bed. “You’re suffocating me. I can’t stand the clinging every single night.”

      He didn’t look at her. Wouldn’t look at her to see what his words had done. There was stillness from her side of the bed. That was answer enough.

      “I didn’t know,” she said softly. “I’ll go.” She climbed out of bed and took a pillow with her.

      He didn’t stop her. Didn’t go after her. The relief he felt when she closed the door behind her was almost pleasurable. Until the regret over hurting her descended on him and the loss of her made him ache.

      He couldn’t think about that now. Tomorrow he would apologize. And tomorrow he would come up with a strategy to keep her at arm’s length. There was no reason to push her completely away. He just needed some distance.

      Shifting back into the center of the bed that now seemed cold to him, he went back to staring at the ceiling.

      

      The next morning, Dominic sat down behind his desk and waited for his world to realign. This is where everything made sense. This world he could control. But as soon as he reached for one of the folders in his in-box, he found his head spinning back to Caroline and what had happened last night.

      The guest room door had been closed when he emerged from his bedroom shortly after 6:00 a.m. He hadn’t slept a minute; he hoped she had.

      Staring blankly at his computer he wondered how in hell he was going to fix what he’d done. But the screen in front of him offered no answers.

      She was supposed to have been convenient. A sexual outlet, a sensible partner and a mother for a child he wanted.

      Instead she was making him think things and feel things. Thoughts and hopes he’d closed off for so long it physically hurt him to consider making himself vulnerable again.

      It was all about control. He simply needed to conquer his reactions and to a certain extent control Caroline. No more leaving work early. No more letting her talk him into a walk on the beach or a late-night swim. No more making love to her outside of their bed. In bed it was about marriage. About making a baby. That’s all he’d let it be.

      There. It was a plan.

      Forcing himself to concentrate on work, he picked a folder from the top of the pile. Immediately he saw that it wasn’t the one he’d left there on Friday. He might have thought he remembered incorrectly if he didn’t know himself that well.

      He hit the intercom buzzer. “Serena, can you come in here.”

      “Yes, Mr. Santos.”

      A second later the door opened.

      “Was someone in my office on Friday after I left?”

      She hesitated for a second. “Yes, sir. Steven came by looking for you. You left a little early, remember?”

      Caroline’s fault. She’d wanted to go out to dinner. He’d relented. No more.

      “He said he needed some figures for the budget he’s preparing. He said he just needed to check a folder. I let him in.”

      “That’s fine. Thank you.”

      “He’s scheduled to meet with you this morning.”