Forgotten Desires: A Short Story in Aid of the Eve Appeal (2 page)

‘But what will he expect?’ I ask, being pulled back to the here and now when my eyes land on my wardrobe again. Nothing is screaming out to me.

Tasha laughs. ‘Um…you?’

‘You know what I mean. Elegant? Sexy? Conservative? What if it’s not what he wants?’ I drop my arse to the bed and take another long, healthy glug of wine. At this rate, I’ll be half drunk before I even make it to my date.

And as if she’s heard my thoughts, Tasha speaks up. ‘Are you drinking?’

My glass halts in mid-air, and I come over all guilty. I don’t know why. Tasha would drink wine for breakfast if it was socially acceptable. ‘Might be.’

‘Is that a good idea?’

Her perfectly reasonable question makes me eye my near empty glass warily. I don’t know. Is it? It also makes me wonder whether what I’m about to do is a good idea. Or is it just utterly stupid? A date? I haven’t been on a date for years, and though this man is my dream guy – everything I want and need – the approach I’m taking might not be. Or it could be. It could be just what I need, and it could also be the start of something amazing. I nod decisively to myself. Yes, the unknown is sometimes daunting, but I’ll never know the benefits unless I give it a whirl. There’s no denying I need some spark in my life – something other than work and necessary but boring chores. At that thought, I glance over to the corner of the bedroom where I dumped my work bag. I have a million emails to answer. Then I reflect back to the state of the kitchen when I sprinted down on my hunt for wine - dirty dishes everywhere waiting to be loaded into the dishwasher. The overflowing laundry basket pops into my mind, too, swiftly followed by an ironing pile that could give Everest a run for its money in the height department. My apprehension and excitement just took a nose dive. Maybe I should cancel and spend the evening catching up on household chores and work. The thought doesn’t thrill me, but, sadly, the feeling of satisfaction when I’m done
does
. ‘I might cancel.’ I breathe, casting my glass aside and falling to my back on the bed.

‘Don’t you dare!’ she barks, startling me. ‘Kelly, come on! You work too hard, and definitely don’t play hard enough. Have a night off, for God’s sake! The world won’t end if your house isn’t clean. And you’re not going to go out of business if you don’t reply to an email the moment it appears in your inbox.’

I laugh quietly to myself, thinking how well Tasha knows me. She’s right, I know that, but this is real life. ‘The world doesn’t revolve around fantasies.’ I say quietly, almost sadly.

‘You’ve neglected your personal life, Kelly. Give yourself a break. Give yourself a chance. Give
him
a chance.’

My body deflates and I close my eyes, allowing Tasha’s words to sink deeply into me. She’s right. Life might not revolve around fantasies, but it also doesn’t revolve around working yourself into the ground until there’s nothing left of you to give. There has to be a happy medium. Between everyday mundane chores, and working my fingers to the bone, I’m feeling like there’s less of me to give by the day. ‘So what do I wear?’ I ask, sitting up, feeling resolute and determined all of a sudden. It could be the wine, I’m not sure, but I’m not about to question it right now. I have a date to get ready for. With a hot man.

‘Good girl!’ she sings down the line. ‘Go all out. The works. Legs, a little cleavage and the highest heels you own.’

I chuckle, knowing exactly which heels I’ll be wearing. ‘Black? Tight?’

‘Yes!’ she squeals, delighted. Then she goes silent, and if I could see her, I know she’d have a crafty look on her face. What’s she plotting? ‘And no knickers.’ She adds, making me gasp.

‘It’s November!’ I’m horrified, and it’s obvious.

‘It’ll drive him insane! Maybe put them in your bag and give them to him when he arrives.’

‘Tasha!’ Oh my God! What is she thinking? That’s not me. I can’t do that!

She’s falling apart, her laughter crossing the line into hysterics. The minx! ‘Step outside your comfort zone, Kelly.’ she titters, just as I reach for my shortest, tightest little black dress. ‘You might like where you find yourself.’ She hangs up.

Her words play on repeat in my mind while I look the dress up and down. Or what there is of a dress…which isn’t much. Yes, it’s been a while, but me and this dress are about to be reacquainted.

I fly into action. I’m suddenly back to where I need to be, and I’m going to continue pretending that the wine hasn’t assisted. Okay, so maybe a little, but Tasha’s words most definitely have. A lot.

My underwear is racy. My heels are ridiculously high. My make-up is light. My hair is piled up.

And I’ve taken the plunge.

My knickers are in my bag. The ones, quite sadly, that I forgot I even had. They’re black, lacy and all kinds of sexy. It seems a shame not to be wearing them.

I assess myself in the mirror, thinking how…seductive I look. It’s me, just enhanced. Holy shit, if I were a man, I’d fancy me! I just hope he appreciates it. He
better
appreciate it. I take a quick selfie and send it to Tasha before grabbing my purse and heading out the door, back straight and head held high.

I arrive at the hotel bar, fully aware of the looks I’ve been receiving since I stepped foot out of the house. From the front door to the taxi, I was ogled by too many men. From the taxi to the hotel, I was looked at with raised brows by a group of women. And now I’m crossing the lobby of the hotel to the bar, my path being followed by the posh clientele. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t bothered. I’m not used to the attention. Trousers and a shirt. That’s me six days a week. On the remaining day, I’m all about the sweatpants.

My mobile pings the arrival of a text and I rummage through my bag, smiling when I open and see a message from Tasha.

You look fucking gorgeous. And remember, any men who look at you are wishing you were theirs. And any women who look at you are wishing they are you! Have fun! I want to hear the juicy details tomorrow! xxx

I purse my lips and have a quick peek around as I continue to the bar. As predicted, I’m being observed by quite a few people, and in a moment of pure horror, I wonder whether they’re thinking that maybe I’m a hooker. Oh, hell no! My intended destination changes, and I make a dash for the ladies, feeling like every set of eyes are on me. I arrive, not so lady-like, in the lavatories and stare at myself in the full-length mirror. I’m not sure what I expected to find; I look no different to when I left home, and I felt lovely then – glamourous and chic but not too over-done. And my dress really isn’t that short at all – sitting nicely mid-thigh. I’m being paranoid. Jesus, I used to parade around London most weekends in far less than this. But that was ten years ago, when life was carefree and my only responsibility was myself. I’ve sacrificed self-fulfilment for job-fulfilment. Why can’t I have both?

My phone interrupts my mental debate with another message from Tasha.

And above all, remember…never put out on a first date!

I roll my eyes. This is ridiculous. Giving my lips a top-up of gloss, I strut my way to the bar and perch on a stool, placing my purse on the marble-top. But then I remember something and retrieve my cute leather purse, opening it up and pulling out a red rose, a ridiculous cliché if ever there was one. I should have emailed him back and told him that I’ll be holding my knickers instead. Bet there won’t be any other women in the bar doing the same. It’s not like he would miss me.

I start to twiddle with it, before forcing myself to stop. Then I start fidgeting on my stool, pulling my dress down my thighs a little. And now my eyes are darting around the bar, looking for him. He’s not here. Damn, I should have been late! What was I thinking? Glancing down at my watch, I note it’s two minutes past eight. His nerve irritates the hell out of me. He sends me an email, lists his demands – when, where, with no scope for declining – then the cheeky bastard doesn’t even have the decency to turn up on time? I slap myself all over the fancy hotel bar for being so dim. I should be playing a game.
His
game.

‘Sauvignon!’ I blurt to the barman as he passes, ignoring his alarmed look at my abrupt demand. I can’t even force an apologetic look, my annoyance and nerves getting the better of me.

The barman’s hasty, clearly sensing the anxious vibes I’m shooting around the hotel bar. ‘Madam,’ He nods as he slides the glass toward me, and I just about manage a small smile in thanks before I swig half. I told myself no more alcohol. Mega fail. I can’t be sorry, though, because my whole body seems to relax again as the chilled liquid trickles down my throat, stripping the apprehension and exasperation away with it.

With my eyes cast down, watching the calm swirl of my wine in the glass, I slowly swivel on my stool, feeling a whole lot better.

Until my knee hits something.

Another knee.

A trouser-clad knee.

All of that apprehension has just steamrolled back up my throat, choking me. I’m just staring at the leg, daring not venture upward. He’s motionless, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I can hear his breathing, steady and slow, I can smell that scent, and though I’ve not yet looked at him, I know what I’m going to be faced with when I do.

Confidence.

Intensity.

Oh, he’s
really
playing a game, sneaking up on me and catching me off guard. I bet he’s been watching me since I arrived, choosing his best moment to have the most impact. He’s succeeded. There’s no room for irritation now. It’s all been hijacked by the want coursing through me at a rate so fast, my heart is now clattering in my chest. And it’s in this moment, when I’m recognising all of the lost feelings – hunger, desire, need –I decide that I like his game. He’s had the desired effect, just like I expect he was hoping.

The sexual tension is palpable already. There has been no interaction – no feeling or words, only this light touching of our knees. Yet I know he’s going to reduce me to a steaming pool of lust the moment I make eye contact with him. He’s exuding all kinds of talents already with that one little bit of contact, his pure sexual appetite being injected into me, and when I finally convince my eyes to journey up his seated form, my breath hitches and my skin tingles madly. I take him all in, not ashamed to take my time and refresh my memory. His chest. Oh, Jesus, that chest. Broad, tight, covered in the white cotton of a lovely shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, revealing firm, strong forearms. A clear mental image of him relaxed in his office chair pops into my mind, and I’m suddenly envious of all the women who actually work for him. I bet they all take spare knickers to work with them. I’m hot. Buzzing. My nerves have been blitzed by unrelenting shots of desire. And now I’m at his neck, I know that one flick of my eyes to his will tell him all of that.

I feel it.

I feel
him
.

The sense of contentment it fills me with isn’t something I’m going to question. I need this. He needs this. The attraction between us is tangible, has been from the moment I clapped eyes on him.

Taking in a long, confidence boosting breath, I let my gaze travel over the dark stubble of his neck and jaw, liking what I see more and more, until…

Bang!

Our eyes meet. And hold. I know mine are pleased – delighted, in fact – and his are gleaming with victory already. He’s got me. Holy shit, he’s swoon worthy. Chiselled jaw, full lips, mussed dark hair and equally dark, intense eyes. I want to eat him up. The fact that I was an inch away from crying off seems ludicrous now. He’s gorgeous – so bloody handsome. I almost forgot
how
handsome. But boy have I had a stinger of a reminder.

‘Kelly,’ His voice is rough, making my name sound like pure sex. ‘Pleasure to see you.’ His lips move slowly, casting me further under his spell, as his hand extends toward me.

I smile, accepting his offering, letting him do all the shaking. I have to physically stop myself from telling him that the pleasure is all mine. Or I hope it is…or will be. I inwardly cringe at my wayward thoughts.

Don’t put out on a first date!

I almost laugh. That rule can’t apply if your first date is with a creature like this, surely? That just doesn’t seem fair. I need to text Tasha for advice.

‘And you, Alex.’

He takes me by surprise when he leans in and brings his mouth to my ear. Every muscle south of my waist clenches and fire races through my veins. Isn’t this a bit familiar for a first date?

‘You look stunning,’ he whispers, pushing soft lips into my flesh, just below my earlobe. I start to shake, remaining exactly where I am when I should probably be telling him that this is too much for a first date. But I can’t. He feels too good this close. He pulls away, still lightly holding my hand. It takes everything out of me to steady my trembles. I want to appear sure of myself, confident and maybe a bit of a challenge. I’ve achieved none of those things. He’s probably looking at me and thinking I’m a sure thing. He’d be right.

It’s a few silent moments of him staring at me, and me staring right back before he licks his lips slowly. Seductively. And it steals my breath. Oh God, I’m blushing furiously. Everywhere is hot, my face, my blood…between my thighs.

Be a challenge, Kelly! Drive him wild with your lost allure!

I take drastic action in an attempt to level the playing field.

And pull out my knickers.

And place them on the bar in front of him.

I bite my lip and physically stop my hand from reaching out and snatching them back before the barman – or anyone else, for that matter – spots them. I’m being bold. It’s both thrilling and terrifying.

Alex slowly casts a sideway glance and just stares at them for a few moments. He’s shocked, and it fulfils me beyond any job related achievements. Two can play this game, mister! Then I watch as he unhurriedly takes them from the bar, toying with them for a few seconds before lifting them to his nose and inhaling deeply, looking into my eyes. The act is tactical and fucking hot! But he doesn’t slip them into his pocket as I expect. No, he puts them straight back on the bar, even spreading them out so they’re on perfect display. My panicked eyes shoot up, looking for the barman or any fellow customers. My relief is profound when I find we’re alone. He’s thrown my bold move straight back in my face.