Dinner and a Movie (2 page)

Tall, well-built, an educated voice, carefully trimmed hair…his entire body screamed conservative, safe. Bernie quelled the urge to frown. She didn’t want safe, but this was the first guy who seemed to be interested in her in an eternity. And there were the
goosebumps
…

His long fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Come.” He tugged.

Bernie’s stomach did a little flip and her panties dampened with desire. Then the little voices started again.

Come on, admit it, girl. You want him. Live a little. Maybe take him to bed. Your big girl boobs wouldn’t crush him. He might even be able to get you to orgasm.

She took one step up. And then another.
“Just for a moment.”

His grasp firmed as he led her toward the restrooms. “What’s your name?”

The careful little girl pushed her demon to the side. “I don’t know yours.”

“Liam.” He edged her against the wall between the men’s and ladies. “Liam Clarke. Are you meeting somebody?”

Bernie attempted to slow her breathing. The wall at her back and his wide chest in front made her feel small. He left a tiny opening to their left, but it wasn’t really enough to escape through. He still held her. Her wrist tingled from his touch. She pulled once, her stomach dropping when he failed to release her. “Yes, Sheila’s already ordered drinks.” She tamped down the seductive tickle of fear as he leaned forward.

“Just your friend?”
His breath tickled her ear.

She licked her lips, swallowed and stared up into light green eyes that didn’t smile. He appeared focused on her every small move. His inhalations matched hers in depth.
What was she doing?
Bernie tugged again at her wrist—she wanted to touch. Flashes of skin and sweat shot through her body.

“Your name?” he persisted.

Something inside her surrendered. “Bernie.”

“Bernie.” His lips brushed her hair. “My God, you have a beautiful body. I want it. I’ve never wanted a woman like this.” His other hand grasped her upper arm, pulling her closer to him.
“And Sheila?
What were your plans tonight?”

A question…he asked a question.
“Dinner and then dancing.”

He exhaled a deep breath of disappointment and then released her. She sagged against the wall. Every muscle quivered with want. His lips, a dark, dusty rose were just an inch too high. His very size encouraged her to be bold, hungry. This man possessed enough muscle and height that she didn’t need to fear hurting him with her size. Her demon urged her to push away from the wall, then to run a finger down the long length of his chest, pause and then brush the swell of his cock under his neatly pressed pin-stripe suit.

“And you?” she asked. “You must be meeting somebody.”

He crowded her back, his weight pressing against the entire length of her body. Her clothes felt too tight, too many. Her thong bit into the swelling flesh around her pussy.

“A business meeting.
One of the equipment reps is in town. He wants to sell me some weights. We both like Italian.” Time passed as sweat beaded on his upper lip. His eyebrows tightened while he appeared to think. Bernie had no idea how he was managing that feat at the moment. She couldn’t stop staring into his clear green eyes…

“Perhaps you might accept the request of a double date?”

Bernie rested her head against the wall. His hands skimmed over her hips. Free, hers ran up the front of his suit. Hard muscles beneath a dark blue silk shirt met her seeking fingers.

In the recesses of her brain, the dutiful little angel answered his question. “No date. Sheila is just divorced. Tonight was
gonna
be a night just for her. I couldn’t ruin it.”

Her eyes closed in bliss as he traced her lips. “You have a soft heart, Miss Bernie.”

Small bursts of joy rippled through her body in response to his compliment. But the use of ‘Miss Bernie’ created new urgent responses deep within. She purred and arced into him. Her demon murmured into his ear, “Say that again, Mr. Clarke.”

She pulled back just enough. Heat and moisture collected in the wisp of space between their mouths. A spark leapt across the void.

His mouth took hers, hard. His tongue surged past her teeth and ferreted out every crevice of moisture remaining in her mouth. The light from the wall sconce dimmed. The sounds of silverware and glass vanished, leaving only his pulse pounding against hers. Her limbs weakened. Her entire world tilted.

Anything.
She would do anything for this man.
His touch.
His voice.

He released her mouth. Dazed, Bernie rested her head against the wall and stared at the ceiling. He continued to place a trail of fire on her throat, nibble the cords of her neck and suck. She moaned as the sharp pain triggered an erotic tightening in her belly.

“What do you want?” she asked. Whatever the answer, she would give it.

Liam groaned, placed his hands by her head and seemed to struggle to push away from her thrumming body.

An antique clock in the foyer ticked, the tock grew louder with each moment that he watched her. Invisible strings pulled her forward. It would only take a moment to loosen his tie, unbutton the top and expose the triangle of flesh—the bit that beckoned her tongue. She would lick it and leave it wet and wanting….

He chuckled, a sound that reverberated between them. “At first I just wanted your car. And then your legs…” Long fingers kneaded the back of her thighs. “When you bent over to get something from your car, it killed me.”

He drew her into another kiss, brutal and short.

“I want your body splayed open, waiting for me to take my pleasure. Are you wearing anything under this skirt?”

Bernie’s eyes rolled back in her head as she tried to think. “God, I wish I wasn’t.”

“What is it?” His voice lowered with desire.

“A thong.”
She ran her fingers through the short locks at the back of his head. “And it is soaking.”

“Shit.” He pushed himself away from her and rubbed his neck.

Bernie felt her blush rise as their eyes met and then immediately drew away.

“I could lay you down in this hall right now and fuck you.”

She tightened her legs together to stave off the rush of hot liquid between her thighs. “I wish you could.”

“Can I have your number?”

Bernie’s body stilled, as if soaked by a bucket of ice water. Her number…he would never call. They never did. He would sit across the dining room and stare at the extra little curves on her overly tall body, think twice about having her in his bed and there would go his erection. She glanced at his crotch. Well, maybe not. A little tingle of hope thrilled her.

She bent down to retrieve her pocketbook where she dropped it.
That was a pleasant assault
, her demon teased. She shrugged inside.
So true.
She pulled out her phone. “Here, I’ll text you.”

He leaned against the opposite wall, his ankles crossed. Mr. GQ, if Bernie didn’t know better. If he ever rang her up, she’d go in an instant. Liam gave his information. She texted a short message, “Anything.
Any time.
Any place.
Bernie (885) 555-0035.”
And hit send.

His pocket vibrated.

She met his eyes and laughed. “Is that your phone or…”

He pulled it free and read the message, placed the phone back in his pocket and stood up. “Miss Bernie, I shall always be excited to see you. You are an astoundingly beautiful woman. I wish we had more time tonight.”

Confidence swirled through her veins. Like a greedy puppy, she lapped up the compliments and stored them to be dug up and enjoyed at a later date. “Thank you.” Bernie swung her pocketbook onto her shoulder and returned to the lobby, asked the host to seat her and glanced one last time over her shoulder. Mr. Liam Clarke still remained against the wall staring at her and adjusting his pants.

Dinner

Bernie slid into the seat opposite Sheila.

Her friend tipped her glass toward her and took a sip.
“Never like being prompt, Bernie.”

She picked up her menu to cover the blush searing her cheeks. “I, ah…” Sometimes it was so hard having your best friend know you from the time you were in diapers. Bernie couldn’t imagine what she could say that wouldn’t come out like, “I am so
freakin
’ horny, I could do the table leg and come right now.” So, she settled for flipping through the laminated pages and gulped from the water glass to cool her parched throat.

Sheila picked up a breadstick and snapped it. “I thought I saw you at the entrance like ten minutes ago. If you needed the girl’s room, why didn’t you get me? I need to redo my mascara before we head out to the club.”

Bernie continued to play it silent.

“Will
this
table do, sir?”

Bernie looked over her shoulder at the overly loud host seating a small, plump man in a tired, blue suit and… She snapped face forward. Mr. Clarke settled his long frame into the booth behind her. He clearly chose his seat so he would be facing the dining room, staring at her back. She shuffled her silverware and signaled a passing waiter. “I, uh, could you bring me the wine list,
please?”

The slap of the menu drew her attention back to Sheila. Her friend stared.

“You never drink wine.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Not for wine.”

Bernie shrugged and covered her face again with the menu.

“You look flushed.” Sheila prodded.

“I feel hot.” And wet, and achy, and needy and he was right there, his eyes boring holes through her back. She pictured his hands collecting the cool moisture from his water glass as he twirled it. What else could that drop of water do?

An image of a bare belly illuminated by the flickering light of a fire flashed through her mind. She felt the icy splash as it dipped into her navel, tightening her stomach. She suppressed the groan of electric desire as it rocketed through her limbs.

She had said anywhere. Right now she wished it could be here.
Now.
The waiter returned with the wine list. Bernie didn’t really look, just ordered a glass of champagne and plate of strawberries.

“What is up with you?” Sheila abandoned all pretext of interest in selecting a meal. She sat with her hands in her lap and a dumbfounded expression on her face.

Bernie fought the compulsion to look over her shoulder at him. “Have you ever wanted something so bad, it made you shake?”

Sheila nodded, her eyebrows raised in befuddlement.

“Friend, I am shaking so bad, it’s making me insane.”

Nameless violin music filtered through the air. A child cried in the background. People grumbled at each other. Bernie’s phone buzzed. She grabbed it off the white tablecloth and opened the text message.

“Take off your thong.”

Her throat closed on a squeak,
then
she looked over her shoulder.

He lounged against the banquette, his long arm snaked across its back. His green eyes lit with the reflected flame of the candle on his table.

She typed back, “Where?”

The obvious response came.
“In the ladies.”