Double Dare (14 page)

Her mind fascinated him. "People don't realize the important things in life until they are taken away, is that what you think?"

She nodded. "It's not something we sit down and think about enough, yes. If we did, we'd be a whole lot better armed to prioritize life as it happened."

"What's important to you, Abby?" He couldn't resist asking, even if it was a loaded question.

She looked straight at him and her glance teased him in a way that made his chest ache. She stroked his hand, running her fingertips over the back of his fingers, trailing her nails over his knuckles. "Outside of this, outside of being here with you, now?"

His spine tensed with a sense of delicious anxiety, his body alert to her every move. "It is good, isn't it?" Even as he said the words, it felt like the understatement of the year. It was more than good. Deep down, he knew it was the best he'd ever had. He wanted her so badly. He arrested her fingers with his, locking their hands together. The way she looked at him when he did so made his loins flood. Her pupils were dark, her expression hungry.

The wine waiter arrived with their Retsina. They pulled apart to allow him to pour the wine.

"But what else?" he asked, when they were alone again.

"My work, I suppose...being professional."

"Professional," he repeated, with a sinking feeling.

She smiled, her eyes filled with secret memory. "I had this one secondary school teacher that I really liked and she said something that has always stuck with me. Remain professional, no matter what life throws at you, no matter what the situation is, and you will do well in life. So far I've managed to remember that and it served me well."

Zac felt as if he'd been hit in the solar plexus. The words she spoke meant everything to her. He could see that. But because they were about her job and its place in her life, they put an instant barrier between them, a barrier he wanted to kick aside but didn't know how to overcome. They also threw a new light on his doubts about her integrity. Had he mistrusted her unjustly?

"Kind of like the old saying about keeping your head, when all around you are losing theirs," she added when he didn't respond.

He attempted to muster a response. "It sounds like a good motto to live by." He felt like he was the one losing his head right then.

Stefano arrived with the selection of starter dishes Zac had ordered and mercifully broke the awkward moment.

Zac distracted himself by tempting her with the offerings, telling her about their preparation, their ingredients, and their history. "A selection such as this we call
Mezethekia
. It means that which opens the appetite."

"My appetite is never satisfied when you are near."

He followed her remark by offering her a
dolmathes
and a smile.

She listened to him while she tasted the exquisite stuffed vegetables, the rich dense flavor of the garlic smoked bacon, the light spinach and cheese found in the pastry wrapped envelopes.

"Food has always been important to Greek culture and it's been immortalized in many great literary works," he explained. "But eating is mostly informal, so that it becomes an art that pervades the everyday." His fingers took a tiny hollowed cherry tomato with pine nuts and cheese to her lips.

"I know which flavor of Greece I'd like to taste every day." She blew him a suggestive kiss then sipped her wine to hide her smile.

He feasted on her image, the wine arresting each moment in a capsule of pine-needled memory. He wanted this to last and last. "Abby, I shall forget to eat at all if you continue to make such erotic comments."

Her laughter made him feel warm.

The main course arrived. Stefano himself continued to serve them, but astutely let them be private too.

"What a feast, a real banquet," Abby said while he served the main course.

"A beggar's banquet," Stefano replied. "It is the restaurant philosophy. These are the everyday flavors of Greece." He told her how the baked red mullet was cooked, with lemon and olive dressing, and why the grilled aubergines, tiny potatoes and shallots braised in balsamic vinegar were the right accompaniment.

Stefano liked her, Zac noticed as they chatted. It made him wonder if his parents might like her too, but then he couldn't imagine anyone not liking Abby. Adrianna would, for sure, he had no doubt about that whatsoever. They were kindred souls.

"What are you smiling about so secretively?" she asked when Stefano had gone.

"Sorry."
I'm trying to work out what my parents would make of you
. No, he couldn't tell her that. And why was he even thinking like that? It wasn't something he usually did when he got involved with a woman. Was it the strange juncture of their lives though his mother's business, or something else? Once again he felt like rattling his cage of circumstance, or throwing a spanner in the works.

She was still looking at him, waiting. "You're a mysterious man, and that's one of the things I like about you, but my curiosity sometimes gets the better of me."

"What are you curious about?"

"Well, have you got a wife and family you haven't told me about."

He laughed. "No. Why do you ask?"

"You seemed far away and yet you were smiling, I wondered if I was a bit on the side."

"Abby you're far too all absorbing to be a bit on the side." It hadn't even occurred to him that she might think that, but his mind had been following a completely different path, he realized, and chastised himself for being so blinkered.

"Am I your bit on the side?" he asked, cautiously.

"No." She smiled.

He was relieved, yes, but it didn't make him feel much better.

* * * *

Zac was pensive this evening. He might deny it but she could see he was. The shadows cast by a small copper encased lamp lit him strangely from above. Abby had to touch him to reassure herself that he was there.

When they were sitting over dark coffee and a platter of rich, syrupy
baklava
, she noticed that his eyes seemed to hold a dark question. It was as if he was trying to decide whether to walk away from her forever, or draw her into his aura never to be released. Her hand went to his when the thought occurred to her. "I feel as if you're going to walk away from me."

"Perhaps you read minds?"

She froze.

He smiled. "I have to go to Paris later in the week."

Her body clenched with the sudden feeling of loss caused by his words. She sank back in her chair, unable to voice any objection, but feeling deprived of him already.

He reached into his pocket and drew out some photos. "It's a club in Paris, I'm thinking of buying it." He passed her the photos. "I have this idea, about a chain of Hubs, one day."

She looked at them with interest, glad that he had included her. There were a couple of interior views and an exterior. Inside she saw a cave-like design of interlocked rooms, bars and a dance floor. It was full of character, intrinsically Parisian in style. Outside, the entrance was discreet but caught the eye with its art nouveau ironwork. It was a fascinating little property, one that she would be pleased to look at herself, on behalf of a client. She smiled when she found herself wondering whether he needed a full time investment advisor.

"I think it would be great investment," she murmured, as she looked over the images, roll-calling all the excellent features that caught her eye. "European cities are having a renaissance in the holiday market, weekend breaks and so on. Character venues will always appeal."

After a moment she glanced up, aware that he hadn't replied.

He was watching her with a curious look on his face. He was probably wondering what on earth she knew about it. She'd told him she was a receptionist, after all.

"I listen to them talking, at work. They deal with a lot of top notch property." Why hadn't she remembered? The answer was, of course, sitting in front of her. He was such a distraction. She made a mental note to clarify what she did for a living, but she didn't want to bring it up tonight and break the current flow.

Thankfully he spoke, covering her awkwardness. "Of course you listen. I'm glad you think it has potential."

His eyes had that shuttered look that made her want to explore the enigmatic side of him, to find the real man who was so alluring to her and find out more than he had already revealed. But wasn't it a stranger she'd wanted?

He tucked the photos back into his jacket, then picked up the menu and described to her the range of liqueurs that she had to choose from before they left.

"This is sex in a glass," she commented, while sipping her
Metaxa
appreciatively.

"Do you think about sex all the time?" he teased, as if pleased that she liked the Greek brandy.

"Not quite," she replied, chuckling.

"Isn't it inconvenient, when you're working for example?" He wasn't going to let it go.

"No. Sometimes I think my sex drive fuels everything I do."

He was laughing quietly, his hand partially covering his mouth as he looked at her. He was enjoying some secret thoughts.

"Don't laugh, you're embarrassing me. Anyway, circumstances prevail, I'm with a very sexy man." She gestured at him.

He actually looked embarrassed. So, it was possible. She congratulated herself inwardly and stored the moment away. She suspected it was a rare treat.

They stared at each other across the table, their mutual attraction making heat and energy flow between them. It charged their bodies with its suggestions, with its demands. Her lips parted and a she gave a hungry sigh. His hand slipped down her bare arm and stroked it firmly.

"Witch," he murmured his voice a low hiss.

Her hips rocked instinctively and she pressed down into the hardness of her chair. His gaze fell as he took in the movement of her body and his hand paused on her arm. He glanced up.

"Are you always like this, Abby?" He spoke in a low whisper.

"No, it's you. I want you."

Their mutual passion was total and it was uninhibited. His mouth moved into a smile and he tugged the thin strap of her dress at her shoulder with one finger. "You're making me hard."

"You're making me wet."

"Tell me about it."

She didn't reply. She was watching the candlelight flicker in his eyes while she savored the movement of his leg against hers under the table. She slipped her foot out of her sandal and moved it until it was between his legs.

His eyebrows lifted when she slunk down in her chair and put her bare foot over the bulge of his cock in his pants. He moved his hand under the table to close over her ankle.

His hand was warm and firm. He stroked her calf muscle and she felt her eyes start to close as she savored it.

"Are you going to tell me?" he whispered. He had a compelled look about him.

"I'm creaming for you."

His eyes narrowed, his passionate mouth growing taut with restraint as he listened.

"When I move...I'm sticky with it." She moved again. "My G-string is clinging to me."

"Open your legs." His expression left her no choice.

Her legs wavered apart and the cool air teased her. She trembled slightly.

"Touch yourself."

Across the table, the force of his will controlled her. She snuck her hand under the white linen tablecloth and pulled up her skirts, slipping her fingers under her G-string to rest her hand over her mons.

His gaze dropped as if he could see through the table, then lifted again. "Do it, make yourself come, now. I want you to."

Curving her foot over the hard bulge of his cock, she pressed her foot over him as she squeezed herself. Dipping her fingers into the damp entrance to her sex, gathering the sticky fluid of her desire onto her fingers, she stroked them up into the tender groove of her aroused flesh. Spreading either side of her clit, she squeezed, her knuckles gently nudging free a spasm of ecstasy. A quiet whimper escaped her.

His mouth was braced in a tense smile as he watched, his expression wolf-like in the extreme.