Shit.
I stand, wiping my brow and look up to notice my audience has widened. There’s a guy here that wasn’t before, standing to Zane’s left.
“You’re hired,” he says in a low growl like I’ve somehow pissed him off.
“Sort it,” he tells Zane. I watch the muscles beneath his black T-shirt flex across his shoulders as his form retreats, and before I can contemplate the whole exchange he’s disappeared.
And I’m a burlesquer.
I LIVE BY two pretty simple philosophies: Don’t shit where you eat, and temptation is easier to avoid than resist. They’re simple enough ideas that have served me well.
Until now.
I’ve just hired a dancer that is temptation personified. She’s sex and innocence wrapped up in a beautiful box, begging to be opened. And I’m battling to understand whether the ache of knowing I need to resist her will outweigh the pain of conceding.
Either way…I’m fucked.
“SO YOU’RE STANDING me up, even though you’re dressed and ready to go.” It’s not really a question, more a statement. I’m saying it aloud for my own benefit.
I’m here.
She’s here.
I can see that she’s clearly dressed and ready to go: her lips are slick with gloss, and she’s poured herself into a dress designed to induce heart attacks in the opposite sex. The bright red fabric looks like a second skin, it hugs her so tightly. I cock my head to the side, evidently missing something as she fixes me with apologetic eyes.
“I’m just not convinced this is a great idea.”
I’m trying not to undress her mentally as she leans against the chipped doorway of her apartment. Her breasts are pushed together from her stance, and it’s clouding my ability to form a cohesive sentence. Desire has its podgy, fat fingers closed tightly around my neck; I can feel the pulse throbbing in my throat as I swallow.
“Are you hungry?” I ask in a hoarse voice. What I want to say is, “Are you hungry for me? Do you feel this insane pull, too?”
She’s quick to reply no, but her traitorous stomach growls, giving her away.
I smile. “Your body says differently. Look, I’m not in the habit of begging women to come to dinner. I would really like it if you’d do me the honor of accompanying me tonight, but if you don’t want to, then I’ll leave and stop bothering you.”
She remains quiet for a beat too long, and the disappointment comes quick and hard. It’s rare that I don’t get what I want, and this isn’t an emotion that I’m familiar or comfortable with.
I don’t like it.
Letting out a sigh, I turn to save face and begin to walk away.
“Wait!” she calls and reaches inside her apartment, grabbing her purse, and quickly locks the door behind her.
“Thank God.” I fake amusement when actually it’s relief. “I thought you were genuinely going to let me do the walk of shame out of here.”
“I thought that was the walk home from the night before; you know, wearing day-old clothes that shout I didn’t go home last night.”
“Well, in that case, I’m looking forward to that walk.”
She stops.
I laugh.
“Joke, Ms. Spears. It’s a friend date. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” How could I? I smile and hold my arm out for her to take. It’s a gentlemanly thing to do, although there’s nothing gentlemanly about the thoughts I have as her hand makes contact. I want to palm her breasts and squeeze her ass, peel her out of that damn dress and take her here and now in this dingy hall to relieve the ridiculous tension building inside.
I lead her down to the town car I have idling at the curb. The driver, John, opens our door and I motion for her to slide in. She glides across the seat, her legs crossed modestly at the ankle and plastered together tightly to keep from revealing what’s under her dress.
I take a deep breath; tonight is going to be a painfully long night of having to look at her without imagining every depraved, wicked thing I’d like to do with her. I slide in beside her, and she swallows audibly. I’m making her uncomfortable, and if I didn’t have to all but bribe her to be here right now, I could be mistaken for thinking that she’s struggling with the same thoughts I am.
“You look beautiful, by the way. I should have said that upstairs, but I was a little sidetracked coaxing you down here.”
“That’s kind, thank you,” she says, bashfully turning away. “You look very handsome yourself.”
My complement has colored her cheeks, and it only serves to amplify my desire for her tenfold. She radiates innocence, and it’s at war with her appearance because she looks anything but innocent tonight. She’s literally a waving red scarf, and I’m the bull.
The car ride over to Masa doesn’t take nearly as long as it should for Friday evening. Robyn’s company is the sweetest kind of torture. I’m not quite ready to leave the confines of the car and go share her with the rest of the city. She’s quick-witted and funny in a way that isn’t brash or sarcastic. She’s self-deprecating, and more than a little mysterious. It’s taken little effort for her to skillfully evade my questions. Anything that she doesn’t want to answer, she’s turned back on me. I’m the lawyer, but you wouldn’t know it from the last fifteen minutes of conversation. My Uncle Andrew used to tell me there was nothing more dangerous than a beautiful woman with a solid head on her shoulders. He was on wife number five when he passed away last year. It’s always the prettiest creatures that are the deadliest, he’d said. Looking over at Robyn…she must be lethal.
“Here we are, Sir,” the driver calls, breaking us from our current conversation. It’s a little one-sided; she’s been talking for the last thirty seconds and I’ve been staring at her lips, oblivious to what’s pouring out of them.
“I’ll warn you now, drinks will no doubt be boring, but as soon as they’re out of the way, we’ll have dinner and hopefully that will make up for me burdening you with work talk and pressing my colleagues on you.”
“Wow, well that sold it for me!”
She’s smiling, but if Don Fisher, the firm’s accountant, gets within ten feet of her this evening, she’ll soon realize where the whole premise of accountants being boring started.
“Well, at least you can’t say I didn’t warn you. Just judge me on the latter half of this evening is all I ask.”
She’s lost the grin now that she knows I’m serious. I feel kind of bad for insisting that she come with me. Not bad enough to release her from the date early, though. She’s made sure that I’m aware this can go nowhere; I’d hinted at asking if it had anything to do with a past relationship on the way here. I didn’t get the answer I was looking for verbally, but her body language spoke volumes. She’s been burned; there’s no doubt in my mind. Now I need to assess how severely because I’ve never been a man to back down from a challenge, and the stakes are high with Robyn. I already know I want her. Now I have to convince her that she wants me, and if playing the friend card is what’s needed to improve my hand, I’ll happily bluff until she folds.