I’m reminded of the effect she had on me at dinner as well as the complete blindside she gave me when I first met her. And her retort to my date plans does not disappoint.
“It does, Mr. Alexander. However I would hope that instead of subtly perusing my body, you will make it painfully obvious exactly what you are doing or hoping to do as your eyes travel the length of me, taking note of particular points of interest. After which we’ll walk along the red carpet, your warm palm resting at what I would hope to be an un-gentlemanly height on my lower back while the press will undoubtedly ask who you are doing and what you are wearing. After that enlightening experience, we’ll make our way inside and share food and wine and both appropriate and inappropriate conversation. When the date is over, I hope you will then choose to accompany me to my door, and then it will be up to you whether you end the date with a soft, acceptable kiss on my cheek or with something more real, something honest—a true reflection of your feelings after what I hope to be an awesome first date.”
It’s not my heart giving me grief this time; it’s my cock, as it starts to spark to life at the imagery Lucia has just painted of our night together.
“You’re one of a kind, Lucia,” I say honestly.
“I’m glad you think so. Unfortunately I’m not the giggling, hair-flipping, worshipping variety of date though. If that is what you’re looking for, you’ll be sorely mistaken and very much disappointed.”
If only she knew how much of a relief that was to hear. “I see that, and I’m definitely looking forward to our date now, even more so than I was at the start of this conversation.”
“I have this design fault that means I’m pretty straight to the point, if you haven’t noticed.” She laughs quietly and I soon join her.
“Some would call that a refreshing change.”
“I truly believe that first date or not, how are we supposed to get to know each other if we stick to just socially acceptable topics? If we just follow the rules? I’m not known for being appropriate at the best of times.”
“Noooo . . .” I reply with an uncharacteristic chortle.
“Shocking, I know.” She’s put me at such ease already. The flirtatious tone of our conversation has happened so seamlessly, it’s surprising—in a good way.
“I must go, but I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Luce.”
“Me too. I better get off the business line. My brother is staring at me like I have two heads and a tail, so I should really go reassure him that I am indeed from this world.” She laughs again and the sound warms my soul.
“You can’t have him thinking that. I suppose we should exchange numbers so I can make all of the necessary arrangements, of course.”
After exchanging numbers, including my private cell number—a rare occurrence—I bid her farewell. “I’ll call you next week. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Until next week, Callum,” she replies.
The architect in me can’t help but study her building when I arrive to pick her up. It’s as modern as you can get, almost hipster in its approach. It has irregular angled rooflines, uneven hallway lengths and an elevator that would fit best inside of a space shuttle rather than carrying residents within an inner-city apartment building.
As much as I’d tried, nothing could have prepared me for how breathtakingly beautiful she would look the moment she’d opened her door, gracing me with a gorgeous—although somewhat devious—smile telling me she knew exactly how good she looked and how unapologetic she was about it. Being that I’ve been actually looking forward to the date, and Lucia having explained exactly how our date would be going down in her mind, my thoughts on her appearance are pointedly obvious. My eyes graze down her body, starting at her eyes and trailing down her form, taking in all the sights to be seen, even pausing at particular points of interest—and there are many. From the top of her head to the tip of her toes, she looks like perfection.
If I weren’t a man hell-bent on society’s norms and public perception, I would wrap my arm around her waist and guide her back into her apartment, slamming the door shut with my foot. Then I would crush my body against hers, push her toward the nearest wall, and plunder her mouth as I went.
Charity event or not, there would be a lot of giving done, and none of it would be for the benefit of the children’s hospital.
My expression must give away my thoughts, because Lucia’s soft laugh snaps me out of my haze, bringing me back to earth. “You look stunning,” I say. Shocking myself with my honesty, my cheeks heat uncharacteristically, and I watch in fascination as her eyes go soft and she smiles at me.
“You look rather dashing yourself, Mr. Alexander.” Something about the way she says my name pulls me in, embedding her a little more under my skin and leaving me eager to find out more about this fascinating woman.
Reaching my hand out, I hold my breath as I wait for that first touch of her skin against mine. Everything about this moment is new to me, from the anticipation that has been distracting me all week, to the vulnerability I feel in this moment right now, wondering whether to follow the instincts I have about this woman and let her in.
“Should we go?” I ask just as she places her hand in mine and squeezes her fingers, sending a jolt of awareness coursing through my body.
We walk from her second-floor apartment to the elevator, then out to the waiting town car idling at the curb. The driver is waiting at the door to greet us and although I don’t have the chance to open the door for Lucia, I don’t miss the opportunity to lay my hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the back seat before nodding at the driver and following behind her.
Once the driver pulls out into traffic, the privacy screen separating him from the cab of the car rises, highlighting the obvious lack in conversation between Lucia and myself.
“So—”
“I—”
We both look at each other and she bites her lip, struggling to hold in a laugh, the sound of the giggle escaping her lips setting me off. Hearing her trying—and failing—to retain her decorum is surprisingly freeing, and I find myself joining her.
“Should we try that again?” Her emerald eyes sparkle, and I’m mesmerized by the sight.
“It might be a good idea.” My hand itches to reach over and grab hers once more, missing the warmth I find whenever I touch her. My thoughts start to travel down a path entirely inappropriate. Like how her touch would feel in a more full-body capacity, sans clothes. Preferably in a somewhat different locale than the one we presently found ourselves in.
“What was that thought?” she asks curiously.
I lift my eyes from her hand resting on the black leather seat between us to her face to see a sly smile has appeared on her lips. “What thought?”
“The one that just had dirty written all over it.” Her smile grows wide, her eyes glittering with heat and a touch of amusement at the position she’s cornered me into.
“It’s a thought that would be more suited to the end of the date, if we are following your predetermined description of a how a first date should be, that is.”
Heat overtakes amusement as the air inside the car crackles with the right type of tension, the exact type of mood I have been hoping for and dreading. Our eyes remained locked, like neither one of us is able or willing to look away from the other.
Knowing I’d need to acquiesce, I look back down to where her hand rests beside her leg and bite the bullet, reaching over and lacing my fingers with hers.
“See?” she says as I catch her smile out of the corner of my eye. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”