My Time in the Affair (3 page)

“Oh, you're not going anywhere.”

She looked back up at him.

“I'm sorry … what?”

“The night's still young, who goes to bed at this hour?” he asked her. Misch glanced at her watch.

“It's eleven,” she pointed out.

“Early in Italy – look at all the people,” Tal instructed. There were a lot of people about, dining and drinking and walking around. Rome was a busy place.

“I usually go to bed at this hour,” she replied.

“How boring.”

“Excuse me!?”

“
Boring
. Your life must be
boring
, if you always go to bed at eleven,” he repeated himself.

She wanted to argue, but she couldn't. He was right. Her life was beyond boring. Had bored her all the way to another country, and what did she do once she got there?

Went to bed by eleven every night.

“What did you have in mind?” she sighed, tucking her hair behind her ears. His smile made a reappearance.

“Walk with me,” he suggested, then he began strolling down the street.

They walked for a while. Tal was somewhat easy to talk to; or at least, he would have been, if Mischa hadn't been so anxious in his presence. She didn't know what it was – he hadn't hit on her, not really. He stared at her in a way that made her panties want to run away, and he was very charming, but he hadn't said anything to indicate he was attracted to her. Hadn't touched her since that first encounter.

Maybe he was just an American, happy to spend time with another American in a foreign country.

“Okay,” she started as Tal led her into the lounge of a really nice hotel. “If I'm going to have another drink with you, you have to give up some more information.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, taking them right up to the bar.

“Your Mr. Mysterious act is cute and all, but I don't feel like getting chopped up into pieces tonight,” she explained. He rolled his eyes and waved for the bartender.

“I'll share if you share,” he replied. She snorted.

“I've told you lots. You know what job I do, what town I'm from, how long I'm staying here, how -,” she began to prattle off.

“I want to know why a married woman is standing in a bar with me,” Tal cut her off.

Misch blinked at him as she felt the blood rush to her face.

“There's nothing wrong with having a drink with somebody,” she defended herself. He smirked down at her.

“You say that, but I don't think that's what you're really thinking,” he said in a low voice.

I'm entering a danger zone. This is too much.

“This is a bad idea. Thanks for the drinks,” she grumbled, grabbing her tote bag from off the floor.

“Stay.”

She'd been in the act of turning away, but she stopped. Looked back at him. He had grabbed her arm, was holding her in place, and his heavy gaze was once again searing her. He had such intense, dark eyes.

“What's your last name?” Mischa demanded. He let go of her arm.

“If I tell you, will you stay?” he responded.

“I'll think about it.”

“Canaan.”

“What was that?”

“My last name – Canaan.”

Tal Canaan. So interesting. So fitting.

“Where are you from?” she continued. He shook his head.

“That kind of information, you have to earn,” he informed her. A shiver ran down her spine.

“What are you doing in Italy?” she pressed.

“I told you, I was sent here on a job,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, I meant what's your job?” she clarified.

“My job is … hard to explain. I work for the government,” he answered evasively.

“U.S.?”

“No.”

“Italy?”

“No.”

“Somewhere in the E.U.?” she kept guessing.

“Misch,” he sighed. “We were having a nice time. I'm sorry I fucked it up. Let's just shoot the shit and have a couple drinks. Be pals.”

Not exactly poetry. Not exactly a pick up line. But it was nice to have someone to talk to, after a week of speaking only insurance lingo. Misch leaned against the bar, and took her drink when it was offered to her.

“To new friends,” she toasted him, setting a boundary and making a statement. Tal smiled and clinked his glass to hers.

“New friends,” he echoed, then took a drink. But when he moved his glass away, his smile had a decidedly sly look to it again.

They had more drinks, talked about football. Talked about Misch's dancing days. Talked about the year he'd spent in Thailand. Mr. Canaan had traveled quite a bit throughout his life, it seemed. He wouldn't say where he was from, or where he was currently living, but Misch began to think it was because he didn't have a home base. He seemed to be a modern day gypsy.

Conversation flowed between them, in an easy manner that somewhat shocked her. She felt comfortable with him, and was finding herself happy to realize she'd made her first friend. She would be in Italy for a while, so having a friend would help. It was looking like Tal could be that friend.

“What's the most exotic place you've ever lived?” Misch asked, vicariously living through him. He handed her another drink, her third since they'd been there. She was feeling a lot looser, most of her nerves gone. She was in a foreign country, having drinks with a friendly man. A very friendly,
very good looking,
man, but she focused on the friendly part.

“Hard to say. Everywhere is exotic if you look at it in the right light,” Tal replied, pulling the straw from his whiskey-and-coke. He ran his tongue along it, capturing the excess liquid, before tossing it onto the bar. Misch ate up every movement.

Just a friend ...

“Really?”

“Sure. I was in the tundra once, in Siberia – amazing sunsets, like you wouldn't believe. Like the snow is on fire. Also lived in Bosnia, great culture,” he broke it down.

“I never thought of it that way. I was thinking palm trees. Jungle,” she explained.

“Typical.”

“Hey!” she laughed, coughing on the sip she'd been taking. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“That means I think you've led a very sheltered life, Ms. Rapaport,” he told her, his voice low. She cleared her throat and took a gulp of her vodka-tonic. Mostly vodka.

“
Mrs.
Rapaport,” she corrected him.

“Ah, yes. Of course. How could I forget,” he gave another tight smile.

“Is there a
Mrs
. Canaan?” Misch tried to sound nonchalant. Failed miserably. Tal's smile got bigger.

“Would you care if there was?” he countered. Her blush was back, though whether it was from embarrassment or excitement or the liquor, she couldn't tell.

“I … I'm not … we're not …,” she stuttered. He narrowed his eyes, but kept smiling.

“Charming. Utterly charming. Will you excuse me for a moment?” he suddenly asked, putting his glass on the bar top.

“I, uh, sure,” she managed to nod. He chuckled and leaned down close to her.

“Don't let any other men hit on you, I won't be here to save you,” he cautioned her.

She snorted.

Misch watched Tal walk out of the bar. When he was out of sight, she let out a breath she'd been holding and sagged against the bar, downing the rest of her drink in one gulp. What was she doing? What in the fuck was she doing!? What was going on? She was a little tipsy, a little excited, but that was it. Nothing was happening, he'd actually been a perfect gentleman.

Would you care if there was a Mrs. Canaan?

She had to leave. Mischa had to get out of there. Before something happened that she couldn't take back. “
Just friends
”, who was she kidding? This wasn't a fucking game. When Tal came back, she would explain that to him. Hammer it into him. They were both adults – she was attracted to him. He seemed to be attracted to her. But that didn't have to mean anything. It didn't have to go anywhere.

“
Ciao,
” a soft voice said close to her.

Misch whirled around to find another gentleman standing close to her. Fuck, was she in heat or something!? Were “
cheating-whore
” vibes coming off of her in waves!?

“I'm with somebody,” she snapped.

“Ah, American!” an Australian accent rolled out of the guy.

“
And
married,” she continued, showing him her ring finger.

“I'm just being friendly,” the guy claimed, holding up his hands. She cringed and felt like a bitch.

“Sorry, I'm sorry, it's just been a weird night,” she sighed.

“Sorry to hear that,” Mr. Aussie started, then leaned a little closer. “Maybe I can help cheer you up?”

“No thanks. I really am here -,” she began, gesturing towards the door.

“What're you drinking? I'd love to buy you another,” he offered.

“Oh no, I've already had too much. I'm with someone, I'm just waiting for him to -,”

“Well, if you've had too much, then one more can't hurt,” he suggested, then winked at her. She actually laughed.

“Did you really just say that?”

“Bartender! One more for my lady friend!” he called out, pounding on the bar top. Misch waved the bartender away.

“No no no, I don't want another, I said -,”

“
Baby, I can't leave you alone for a second.
”

Misch had barely turned towards Tal before his mouth was on hers. She gave a muffled squeak, completely shocked as he pressed his entire body against her, pinning her against the bar.

Eight years. It had been eight years since she had touched lips other than her husband's. Eight years since another man had touched her in an intimate manner. She didn't know what to do, didn't know how to respond. She'd automatically braced her hands against his chest, but then froze up.

Tal wasn't frozen. He was pressing against her so hard, the edge of the bar was painful against her lower back, and she was practically bending backwards over it. One of his hands had grabbed onto her hip, gripping the material of her dress in his fist. His other hand was on the back of her head, holding her lips to his, keeping them there.

He moaned and she gasped, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth. Her brain went into complete nuclear meltdown. She didn't know which way to turn, what to do.

Stop him! This isn't okay! You're married! You're not gonna do this!

This is what you want. This is what you came here for.

God, he's good at this. God, he tastes good. God, is this what kissing feels like!?

Hell.
You're. Going. To. Hell.

God, he feels good.

Before she could sort those thoughts out, Tal pulled back a little.

“Can I help you?” he asked, giving a condescending look to the Australian man who was still standing next to them. Misch had already forgotten about him. Forgotten her own name. She just stared up at Tal.

“Sorry, I didn't realize the lady was here with somebody,” the Aussie said quickly. Tal's hand moved from Misch's hip and his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

She kept staring. She was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open. Her thoughts were still scattered all over the place. Tumbled about the bar, laying at her feet.

“That's funny,” Tal started, “because I could've sworn I overheard her specifically telling you that she was here with somebody.”

“My mistake. Sorry.”

“Yeah, big mistake. Get the fuck out of here.”

The guy got out of there.

“Wha … what just happened?” Misch panted, raking her hands through her hair. Tal leaned down and grabbed her bag, shoving it into her arms.

“C'mon,” was all he said, then he was pulling her out of the bar. Misch struggled to keep up with his pace.

“Where are we going?” she breathed when she realized they weren't heading out of the hotel.

Tal didn't answer. They were moving towards a bank of elevators, and one had just opened up, depositing a group of people into the lobby. He picked up his pace, practically dragging her into the lift.

He let go of her and she lost her balance, stumbling into a corner. By the time she righted herself, he'd pressed a floor button. When she turned around, he was back up against her, flattening her against the wall. She held her breath, staring up at him. It was the best lighting she'd seen him – he really did have super dark eyes. Black whirlpools, intense as they swallowed her whole.

I never stood a chance.

“God, you tasted good,” he echoed her thoughts from earlier, lowering his mouth to her neck.

“Tal … we can't … I'm …,” Mischa struggled for air. For thought.

“In another country, looking for something you aren't getting at home,” he finished for her as his hands swept over her hips.