Dinner and a Movie (3 page)

Bernie mumbled a low excuse and hoofed it off to the restroom. Inside the handicapped stall, she hopped from foot to foot as she pulled the thin piece of black lace off her hips and then shoved it in her purse. Somewhere in the very back of her mind behind several closed doors she thought she could hear that angel pounding to be let out.

“Oh no, honey. Tonight I am going to be bad.
So very bad.”

In front of the mirror, she pulled out her favorite blood red lipstick and dabbed it over the sedate mauve that went so well with the brown skirt and ivory top. She removed the two clips from her hair that held it up,
then
fluffed the curls into a wild halo. If he wanted her to break the rules, she wanted to show him she was ready.

Her heart pounded. Could she do this? Why?

She closed her eyes and recalled the sensation of his hands on her arms, her legs and the warm clasp around her wrist. Where was her self control?

She gave herself a stern look in the mirror and decided she didn’t much care where it had went if only he would touch her one more time.

* * * *

Liam kept a close eye on the entry to the dining room as the salesman muttered something about tension, durability and ease of installation for his latest workout machine. He badly needed to finish what he started with Bernie in the hallway.

While he watched her fidget and wiggle in her chair, he couldn’t help but notice her high color and the pulse of tension at her temple. He only hoped sexual hunger consumed her as it threatened to him. He rubbed his thigh under the table and tried to ease the nervous anticipation. Would she return to her table without her panties? Or had he pushed just a bit too far and she left. It would be simple for her to block his number and walk out of his life. He doubted he would ever see her again. Then again, he wondered if once he brought her to a shuddering climax, would the magic still exist between
them?

“So, what do you think?”

Liam nodded and smiled at the man sipping a glass of dark red wine seated across the table.

She appeared in the light at the top of the stairs, unbound and bright. Her eyes flashed with eager anticipation, a goddess of fire—unafraid and hungry.

Liam’s body tightened. The room suddenly felt hot. Her very presence sucked the air from around him. What else would she be willing to do? Did she mean it?

“
Anything.
Any time.
Any place.”

The restaurant buzzed with activity. That narrow hall and the restrooms remained the only secluded areas. Yes! She had removed the very small physical barrier between her moist, fragrant pussy and his hands, lips, cock—or whatever piece of anatomy he chose to insert into that waiting, tight channel.

He bit his lip, swallowed the groan, and adjusted his growing cock once again. This was getting to be a painful problem. He doubted a modern
Camaro
had any more room in its backseat than the
’78
he borrowed from his cousin back in high school, and his Volvo had never been designed for any kind of gymnastics.

How was he to possibly quench their thirst? That it was mutual, he held no doubts. This flame would burn hot, singeing both of them as it consumed their desire.

She began to walk toward her table. Her friend sat with her chin on her hand, watching Miss Bernie with curious eyes.

Liam laughed, ignoring the salesman’s repeated questions. “Excuse me one moment,” he said before he rose and walked over to the women’s table.

Bernie froze, her eyes glued to her empty seat. The other smiled, and gave Liam an appreciative once over. “Hi. Can I help you?”

For a moment, he tossed about the idea of both women…and promptly discarded it. While Bernie’s passion simmered just beneath the surface, he could detect no spark of life in the other’s dull gaze. He placed his hand on Bernie’s elbow and gestured to his table with the other. “I was hoping that you two lovely ladies would agree to join me and my business associate for dinner.”

Sheila looked away, disinterested.

“Yes!” Bernie’s low voice washed over him. She sidled a bit closer. “That would be lovely. I’m Bernie…” She pushed her hand out, the overtly nervous gesture hiding their acquaintance. He took it, pulled her nearer and grinned.

Each time they touched he reveled in the tiny tremors of her body and struggled to keep his reaction to a polite level. Should they find their way to a bed, he could only imagine how she would appear lost in passion. She would scream, he decided, and probably scratch. Neither of them would survive this night without a physical mark.

“And this is Sheila,” she finally offered.

Her voice drew Liam back from the world where only their naked bodies existed. He shook his head and began to ask her what she was drinking, “Miss Bernie...”
But paused as his grin deepened when she shivered in response to her name on his lips once again.

“Mr. Clarke.” She flirted in return.

“Oh. Do you know each other?” Sheila piped in, clearly beginning to put two and two together.

Bernie flushed, and stammered her reply. “We met in the parking lot.”

Her friend collected bags and wine glasses before she led the way to the booth. She took the chair next to the salesman, offered up her hand and asked after his name.

Liam waited for Bernie to slide onto the bench, and followed her down. Their thighs
snugged
together. Trapped between his body and the wall, the little lady would have no means of escape. He shook out his napkin with his right hand and placed it on his lap, then reached beneath the table and placed his left hand on her leg.

She jumped.

He took a loud sip from his water.

Sheila gave the two of them an assessing glare, noticed his missing hand from the tabletop, turned to the other man and offered up a discussion on local sports. Liam bit his lip, stifling the cheer. He’d have to get the girl’s address and send her chocolates in thanks.

The skin of Bernie’s legs felt like silk over his seeking fingertips. She squirmed back and forth in her seat. The waiter stopped by and asked for orders. When he prompted the flushed lady, she could only manage a tight, “Whatever Mr. Clarke orders is fine.”

He stamped down the urge to crow. Never had he met a woman who trembled for him as she did. Impatience gnawed at his gut. But this was here, now—what could he possibly do in a crowded room? How much did he dare?

He pressed his hand between her thighs. She froze a moment before relenting and easing her legs apart. Heat rushed out from under her skirt. He tugged at the tight garment, pulling it up. Would she?

Bernie grabbed for her napkin and made a show of flapping it open; she lifted a bit and permitted the leather to slip over her hips. Unable to stop himself, his hand roamed up the flesh of her ass, down the long, long thigh and then trailed back. She would be wet, he could smell it.

She closed her legs again.

He gave her a small slap.

She glared. He grinned. “You don’t have much to say, do you Miss Bernie?”

The moment stretched. He watched as she fought whatever inner dialogue that told her she shouldn’t do as he asked. But she wanted to. The bra she wore did little to hide her arousal; the points of her nipples begged to be tormented. Her blouse slipped off her left shoulder. She twitched and it dropped a bit more.

“Well?”

She broke eye contact, looked down and opened her legs.

He ran his hand up her inner thigh, brushed over her pussy lips and lingered in the damp curls. She shuddered. Liam leaned over to whisper, “You should at least try to keep up with the conversation.”

Her eyes snapped open. Dark slashes of embarrassment colored her cheeks as both Sheila and the salesman stared with slack jaws.

With one finger, he slipped over the top of her pussy and slid between her plump lips. Her body still trembled with each brush of his hand. Her jaw worked in silence for a moment before she followed orders, drew a topic from the headlines and led the table talk.

Personally, he couldn’t be bothered with conversation. Liam had one purpose tonight. Whatever else would occur, he would possess this woman’s body. His cock ached to slide into her tight grasp. The rhythm of sex already beat in his blood. Nothing could distract him from his goal.

He pressed one finger into her channel.

She didn’t twitch, gasp or moan.

Determined to elicit some kind of reaction, he pulled out and pressed in with two.

Somehow, she managed to reach for her water glass and said something to her friend. But her tight jaw and shallow breaths hid nothing of her struggles. He thought they might be talking about a TV show.

Intent on wresting control of her tongue, he nudged in a third thick finger.

Bernie leaned back against the banquette and sighed, then laughed. The pointed tip of one boot ran up his calf.

Game on.

Liam whispered into her ear, “You will come by the time dessert arrives.”

She stopped talking. Her vaginal muscles rippled around his knuckles. He wiggled his digits, setting off another wave of shudders in her body,
then
removed them from her.

* * * *

Bernie sighed as Sheila laughed about the latest celebrity faux pas. So far, she felt as if she might be able to control her reactions to…Mr. Clarke. No matter how many times the short guy with the obnoxious laugh called him
Liam,
she just couldn’t get that past her mind. Mr. Clarke wanted her to orgasm…here.
In the middle of the dining room.
With Sheila sitting right there.

It wouldn’t happen. Not possible. Not in all her twenty four years had it actually occurred, so there were severe doubts about her ability to achieve that elusive loss of self-control. “Le petite mort” she had heard it called in some of her historical romances. How a person could suffer a little death, she wasn’t at all sure.

Sex was pleasant. Sex was…titillating in a distant sort of way.
Until today.

Fear and desire blended in her veins. She wanted his hand, his fingers, just where they had been. Now that he had retreated to skim his nails over the ticklish skin under her knee, she felt empty and a bit sad. Her inner muscles throbbed with want. Three thick fingers were glorious! She wanted to yell at him to put them back…anything back.
Something.
Soon.

Plates of food appeared before her. Lasagna and salad required a bit of concentration. She tried to cut and spear her dinner, but each time she thought his hand had numbed a square of flesh into acceptance, those talented hands discovered somewhere new to torment.

She tasted nothing while she wondered what he would do to her tight aching nipples. A bead of sweat now trickled its way between her breasts. The room continued to spin as she tried to bring her breathing under control. A low buzzing persisted, her tongue felt funny—the world beyond their table stopped existing. Concentration on anything more complicated than “pass the salt” became
an impossibility
. Bernie nodded at Sheila, smiled at the little man, and struggled to maintain enough balance so she didn’t fall into his lap.

“May I take this?” A voice interrupted her very pleasant musings on the sensations a finely muscled pair of hands can create.

Take what?
The demon wondered.

Her plate, you
doofus
.
The angel answered.