WE ATE THE SHRIMP AND TALKED OF THE CITY. How we had both arrived by accident and fallen in love with its historical waterside charm. We nibbled at the cheese and tomatoes. I followed his lead and rolled mine up, dipping it into the basil oil.
“I suppose I should have brought out utensils,” he said, smiling as he licked his fingers.
“This is much more fun.”
My breasts felt full and heavy, peaking again with desire every time he looked at me. Surely he wouldn’t send me home without letting me reciprocate, but I didn’t want to get greedy. Every word he spoke with his husky, smoke-laden voice was like a stroke against my skin, petting me into languorous submission. I wanted to roll over like a dog and have him stroke my belly.
He took his cigarette case and lighter out of his pocket.
“Do you mind?” he said.
“I suppose that’s become an automatic question for you, hasn’t it?”
“I guess it has.” He smiled, then lit up, blowing the smoke upriver, away from me. “It’s something that has become a habit, like so many other things in my life. It’s very hard to change because it brings me pleasure. What are your pleasurable habits?”
I twirled the empty champagne flute in my hands, not sure how to answer his question. He motioned for me to put it down so he could refill it.
“I brush my teeth every night.”
He raised his eyebrow, making me smile. “How very Girl Scout of you.”
“I like that fresh minty taste,” I said.
“Ah, I thought I detected a hint of mint before.”
I blushed. The man had brought me to orgasm and I was blushing over my teeth-brushing habit.
“Come on, darling, there has to be something else that’s a little more wicked.” He leaned forward, egging me on.
“I eat something chocolate every day.”
He snorted. A very manly noise that made me laugh. “Doesn’t every woman do that, since they declared chocolate is good for you?”
“I masturbate every Saturday night.”
That got his attention. He sat up straight and peered at me through narrowed eyes. He took a drag from his cigarette and did the smoke-through-the-nose trick that he’d done yesterday. It made him look like a wonderfully dangerous fuck. I was wet now and it wasn’t from the champagne.
“So…” He drew the word out for about five seconds. “Every Saturday night?”
“Yep.” My throat was starting to tighten. I took a sip of champagne to ease it a bit.
He knocked the ash from his cigarette over the railing into the grass. “Alone or does somebody watch?”
“Alone, of course.”
“That’s not a bad habit. It doesn’t harm you in any way. Rather boring, actually, if you’re making a date with yourself to avoid a man. Playing it safe.”
“I don’t play it safe.” I could feel my back tensing up. That’s what I was trying to get away from this year. I had played it safe with Alex and it had gotten me nowhere. I had told myself this year that I was going to take a chance with men. Marco had nailed it and it made me mad. “I’m not playing it safe with you. This is rather unethical professionally, and probably pretty stupid personally.”
“Christine, you’re merely playing footsie with me. We’ve been dancing around each other for two years now. How many charity events have we both attended? You’ve always thanked me for my contribution and moved on. I was starting to think you were the Ice Queen, not the Queen of Darkness.”
“And now I’m here. And I do believe what we were doing ten minutes ago could have me qualified as the Queen of Sin.” I stood up. I was starting to feel insulted.
“You’re leaving?”
“I think that might be best.” I picked up my notepad.
Marco leaned back and took a drag off his cigarette. “You’re running scared.”
“I am not scared.” I could feel a blush overtaking my whole body. He was damned right I was scared. This man brought out something in me that was totally heathen. With Alex it had been light and breezy and fun, at least in the beginning. I had felt like I was marrying my best friend. The problem was I felt as if I outgrew him years ago.
This man was there and beyond. This man had seen and done things that I never had and didn’t know if I’d ever have the courage to do. He had traveled the world, immersing himself in all sorts of cultures, having adventures, while I was here in small-town America learning about amortization rates and contract clauses regarding mold removal. Yeah, real exciting life.
But I wanted to climb this man’s frame. I should have restrained myself before. Okay, small mistake. I needed to regroup. I wanted Marco’s respect, and I probably wasn’t going to get it by letting him ravish me. He struck me as the unrestrained ravishing kind, the type that was friends with all his ex-lovers. The type that received gifts of engraved lighters and cigarette holders from satisfied ladies. I could be one of those satisfied ladies. I wanted to stamp my foot with frustration.
“Having second thoughts, Christine?”
“No.” I straightened my spine and lowered the notepad clutched to my chest. It had simply drawn his attention to my breasts. I took advantage of his distraction.
“Why don’t we meet tomorrow at my office before you go to the restaurant? I’ll have all the information in the computer, and I can get all that downloaded into the system once you sign the papers.”
“No.” His eyes narrowed. They weren’t focused on my breasts anymore, but staring at me with the glint of a challenge.
“All right.” I took a deep breath. The man was maddening. “Where do you want to meet?”
“I’m not giving you the listing, Christine.”
“I see.” Yes, I had probably made a huge mistake. A pleasurable one certainly, but still a mistake. Never, ever, mix business with pleasure. What was I thinking? For the second time in two days, I mentally smacked myself upside the head. “Well, thank you for the appetizers, and the stimulating company.” I turned on my heel and took three steps.
“I have a proposition for you,” Marco called out. Probably something like Battle of the Network Stars, I thought. Except this time it would be Battle of the Real Estate Agents. Had his friends in reality TV given him tips on how to sell a house, or seduce an agent? I couldn’t resist. I had to know. This would make a wonderful watercooler story.
Marco stood and stubbed out his cigarette on his plate. He walked over and ran his fingers lightly down my bare arm. I shivered and he grinned.
“Do you like this house, Christine?”
“Of course. It’s beautiful.”
“Would you like to live here?” He crossed his arms over his expansive chest, one large, scarred hand rubbing his chin.
“With you? I don’t believe in moving in on the first date.”
He chuckled. “It doesn’t have to be with me. I will give you this house. Give it to you free and clear, all paid for, if you will spend the night with me and do anything I ask.”
Surely he was joking. “I can’t pay the taxes on this place, much less the utilities.”
“I’ll throw in all expenses for five years.” He waved his hand as if this were some minor detail.
“What’s the catch?” I said. “You can have any woman you want.”
“Ah,” he said, “you’ve already heard the catch. One night. Anything. You.”
“Deal,” I said. “Put it in writing.” Then I promptly dropped my notepad into the pool.