And I can’t do anything. Except offer that hand, orZL" aid=" ear—or, all else failing, a suitable distraction.
I slide my fingers out of his and slip my hand beneath the table, finding his knee. His eyes widen as my touch moves up his leg, but then there it is: the curl of his lip, the flash of light in his eyes. It’s like he comes back to life again.
His hand grabs mine, stopping my advance.
“Be careful,” he says, his voice low and warm. “If you get me worked up, I might have to whisk you out of here before we even get to taste the appetizers.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
“Don’t tempt me.” His own fingers slide over to my leg, slipping over the thin fabric of my dress. “Or I’ll have you squirming right here in the middle of the restaurant.”
His hand is dangerously close to fulfilling that promise. Just the promise of his words is arousing me, and I shift slightly as the blood starts to rush between my legs. I have no doubt Calder would t text-indent:ake great joy in getting me off right here. There’s something delightfully dirty about it, touching each other in this crowded, bustling room.
“Well?” he says, probing further. “Would you like to play a little game? See how quietly you can come?”
Oh, God. It wouldn’t take much, not at this point.
I might have let him do it, too, but the waiter suddenly appears with a tray full of appetizers. I jerk my hand back from Calder’s leg, but he continues to caress my inner thigh, even as the waiter arranges the dishes on the table in front of us.
I’m getting wetter by the second. He has me at a disadvantage, considering he has my panties. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from moaning when he begins to rub his finger along the length of my folds.
“All right, all right,” I say as soon as the waiter leaves. “I forfeit. I lose.”
“If we were anywhere but Martin’s restaurant, you’d be in deep, deep trouble.”
I don’t doubt it. Calder removes his hand from between my legs, and as I watch he brings his wet finger up to his lips.
Holy crap.
My whole body’s on fire. I want to look away, but I can’t tear my eyes from the sight of him tasting me on his finger. His own gaze remains locked on me, and I’m afraid those piercing dark eyes will send me over the edge. By the time he’s licked himself clean, I’m barely breathing.
Good thing there’s plenty to distract me on the table. Martin wasn’t joking when he hinted that we had a big meal ahead of us. For our first course, the waiter has brought us an array of dishes: steamed mussels, salmon and asparagus bouchées, stuffed figs, prosciutto-wrapped prawns. My mouth waters just looking at it all.
Calder is raising his glass of champagne.
“A toast,” he says. “To tonight.”
I lift my own glass. “To Martin, on his new adventure here at Ventine’s. And for providing us with this fine bubbly.”
“And to us.” Calder’s eyes smolder over the rim of his flute. “May this be the first date of many.”
I feel my cheeks go hot again as we clink our glasses. His gaze lingers on me, even as I take a drink. The champagne is bright and crisp and sweet on my tongue, but I don’t enjoy it as much as I might because I’m suddenly again overwhelmed by the intensity of this all. Of the stirring in my chest, of the heat running up and down my spine.
The feeling only increases as we continue our meal. The courses keep coming, and in between bites I find myself falling further and further under Calder’s spell. The couple of phone conversations we’ve had over the past few weeks have been pleasant—more than pleasant—but they’re nothing compared to having him next to me. Even when we’re only speaking of silly things—of the food in front of us, maybe, or the recent unseasonable rains—it means something, to be sitting here next to him. To watch his lips form the words, to watch his eyes widen or brighten or darken in response to what I say, to have him close enough to touch, whenever I want.
Now that I’ve calmed down, it seems possible. This—he and I, doing this “relationship” thing—seems possible.
By the time the entrées arrive, we’ve moved on to more serious topics. Over a plate of roasted duck with a spicy apricot glaze, I update Calder on the madness going on at the Center now that we’ve started renting out our gallery space. I keep it light—I’d rather not go into my horror stories about some of the clients I’ve had to deal with to inspect the damage. L" aid=", and I don’t admit that we’re still struggling financially—but even though Calder smiles encouragingly, I can see the sadness, the guilt behind his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say when I realize what I’m doing. “I didn’t mean to—I’m not trying to dominate the conversation.”
“You’re not.”
“I’ve been going on for the last ten minutes, at least.”
“I don’t mind. I could listen to you talk about the Center all day. Your whole face lights up.”
It’s a convincing lie. On a different day, under different circumstances, I might not have even noticed his remorse, but I’m beginning to learn how to read him. He wants me to think that he’s okay, but how can he listen to me talk about the Center without remembering his family’s struggles? I remember his expression when he studied the class photos back in my office, and I don’t want to say anything that might take him back to that dark place.
“What about you?” I ask him quickly. “What have you been up to since the last time we spoke?”
“Nothing terribly interesting, I’m afraid. Still dealing with some lingering financial matters.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Tim—that’s my family’s financial advisor—says I have a knack for numbers. Though I suspect he’s only delighted that I actually take his advice, unlike my father. I still can’t quite believe he let things get as bad as they did.”
His face is growing dark again.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Don’t apologize.” He looks down at his plate. “Honestly, if you take away the… family element, I actually find myself enjoying the work. It’s very diverting. Productive.”
He glances back over at me. “But it’s not exactly good conversation for a date, is it?”
I don’t want to discourage him from talking about it. Honestly, I’ve been worried about him, and I’m glad to hear that he finds some satisfaction in the work, that he feels like he’s doing something constructive. to inspect the damage. L" aid="