As she climbed out of the tub, her legs trembled from the adrenaline surge of almost getting caught.
When Michael returned, his mood had shifted. Vivian had the momentary fear he’d taken her up on her casual challenge to take a lover, that maybe he already had one.
He kissed her cheek. “Get dressed. The little black number with the slit up the side. I’m taking you to that Japanese steakhouse you like.”
Vivian took a physical step back. Things had been strained between them for months, and now he was acting like he had at the start of their relationship.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Can’t I take my wife out? You’re right. You aren’t my slave. I bring in very healthy money, and we don’t get to spend a lot of time together doing couple things like we used to.”
She was sure her face still held the wary expression. Who was this and what had he done with grumpy, sexually-frustrated Michael? Was it a ploy for sex? She wouldn’t do therapy, so maybe he could seduce her by dating her?
Even if that was his aim, she wasn’t sure why she should be angry about it. It just felt so mercenary and plotted-out. She’d seen glimpses of her husband in his business dealings. He was a manipulative shark, always knowing exactly how to play on the right emotion to lead his opponent down the path he wanted them on.
The trait had seemed sexy at first, but over the years her trust in him had diminished as she saw just how well he played the game of good cop/bad cop. Could she trust anything from him? Any declaration of love? Any gentle caress? The dinner-date-your-wife scheme was a tactic on the same level of what he played in business dealings.
She plastered the good wife smile on her face and decided to go along with it. Fighting him wouldn’t do any good. If he was willing to be pleasant, for however long it lasted, she would accept the reprieve. And she did like the Japanese steakhouse.
An hour later she was dressed as he’d asked, with her hair in a dramatic upsweep. Her manicure was still fresh from the day before, and the striking red of her nails added an extra touch of sophistication. Michael stepped out from his walk-in closet, dressed sharply in Armani, his cologne wafting to Vivian’s nose.
The man knew how to wear just the right amount. On the first inhalation, one wasn’t sure if it was cologne, a special soap, or if he just naturally emitted such a pleasant aroma. Unlike many, he didn’t take a bath it in. He used the smallest amount and let it blend with his natural, male scent.
Her heart lurched in her chest. Stop, she thought. She couldn’t let herself love him again. Too much had come between them. She couldn’t feel safe sharing the deepest parts of herself with this man.
It didn’t help that she couldn’t shake the belief, irrational or not, that he continued to stay with her as a financial decision to avoid losing money in a divorce or out of social obligation to a woman who’d never learned to fend for herself.
His hand cupped her elbow as he steered her toward the door. It was a possessive move, akin to how a man might place his hand on the small of a woman’s back, while leading her through a crowded venue. A bolt of something she could barely remember shot through her at his touch, and she was simultaneously assaulted with sense memory of Anton’s hands on her earlier that afternoon.
Michael didn’t seem to notice her reaction. “Shall we go?”
Vivian nodded, not trusting her voice.
The restaurant was busy, but a reservation had been made, probably before Michael ever left the gym. She bristled at him making a reservation without so much as mentioning it or asking her opinion.
A petite Japanese woman took menus from behind the hostess stand and led them to an empty table.
A few minutes after they’d placed their order, a porcelain bottle of sake was placed on the table along with two small cups without handles. Michael had told her what they were called once before, but she couldn’t remember. Ochoko?
When the waiter left, Michael poured the alcohol. Vivian sipped the cool, sweet liquid. Sakura served only top-notch sake. It was the cheaper grades of the beverage that were typically served warm. She remembered drinking it warm before she’d met Michael, back when she’d had very little money and thought it was supposed to be served that way.
He’d gently teased her the first time he’d brought her here when she’d complained about the temperature of her drink.
“Hello, Mrs. Delaney.”
Vivian looked up, startled from the memory, to find Dr. Smith standing beside their table. He nodded at her husband. “Michael. It was good meeting you today.”
Her husband nodded back.
Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t know the doctor.”
“We met at the gym earlier. You know what a small world it is at the nicer clubs. He mentioned Sakura. I didn’t realize he’d made dinner plans here as well.”
Vivian rolled her eyes, not buying it for a minute. “Is this some trick to talk me into going back to therapy?”
Dr. Smith looked surprised. “You aren’t coming back?”
Michael put down his cup. “Stop being so paranoid, Vivi. He mentioned it. I got the idea to bring you. I didn’t think we’d run into him. I’m trying here.”
Vivian wasn’t convinced. It seemed too much like a set-up.
“I do apologize. I saw the two of you and decided to come by and say hello. I thought it would be rude not to.” The doctor quickly excused himself.
“Vivi, I swear I didn’t know he was coming here tonight.”
Vivian stood from the table. “I’m going to the ladies room.”
But she didn’t go to the ladies room. Instead, she followed Dr. Smith to the back of the restaurant. He appeared to have come to Sakura alone, no wife or girlfriend on his arm. Maybe he’d met up with friends. Or maybe it really was a set-up, orchestrated by Michael to try to get her back into therapy. But if that was true, neither man had made much of an effort toward that goal.
Vivian caught up and placed a hand on the doctor’s arm, causing him to slow his stride.
He looked down at her hand. “Mrs. Delaney?”
“I just need to know.”
He guided her into the coat room, away from the noise and bustle of the restaurant. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “And what is it that you needed to know, Mrs. Delaney?”
She suddenly became tongue-tied, unsure how to phrase her question. The question that had been burning through her since Anton’s fingers had turned her body into a raging furnace of need. “Um . . . ”
He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her, amused. He seemed to know exactly what she would ask, but enjoyed watching her struggle to find the right words.
“When you sent me to Dome, did you know?”
“Know what?”
Of course, he would make this difficult. She flushed with embarrassment. If he did know, she had to find out why. If he didn’t, she owed it to every other woman who crossed the threshold of the therapist’s office, to tell him.
“Did you know that Anton would touch me?”
“Yes, Mrs. Delaney. That would be in the job description of a massage therapist.”
“No! I mean . . . did you know he’d touch me inappropriately?” she said, growing more flustered. What kind of person suspected such vile behavior from a doctor? Yet, he had made the recommendation.