Perfect for You (14 page)

Her sister shrugged, looking away again. "I haven't seen you in a bit. And I thought I'd get something to eat."

"There's curry I made in the fridge. Help yourself."

Anna made a noncommittal reply. "So what time is your date?"

As if on cue, her buzzer sounded.

"I'll get it," Anna said, shooting off the bed and out of the room.

"Damn it." That's all she needed—her sister talking to Greg. Quickly she slipped her shoes on, swiped some lipstick, and checked herself in the mirror. She wondered if she needed more jewelry, but then opted against it. Her earrings and anklet were enough.

She took a deep breath. The butterflies she'd been feeling all afternoon all took flight at once.

This was it.

If his kisses were any indication, sex with Greg would be off the charts. A twelve on the Richter scale of love. Disney would call the most innocent of his kisses X-rated. They were steamier than the steamiest kiss she'd ever had.

Actually, she wasn't certain she had ever had a steamy kiss before Greg. Right now, she was hard pressed to remember one.

If anyone could get her juices flowing, so to speak, it was Greg.

Connor's face popped into her mind. Wincing, she pushed it aside. Connor was different, more of a forever type of guy than a muse-tempter. She'd give him her attention on Friday.

Tonight was just about her and Greg.

With a deep, steadying breath, she wrapped her violet pashmina shawl around her herself, grabbed her clutch, and went down to start the evening's adventure.

He looked good enough to eat. He wore a black suit with a blue shirt that matched his eyes. He wasn't wearing a tie, and the collar of his shirt was undone, drawing her eyes to the tanned hollow of his neck. He'd gotten his hair trimmed, though it was still longer than she'd expect on a professional. It looked soft, and all she could think about was running her hands through it and fastening her mouth to that bared spot of his neck.

Anna grinned at her like she could read her thoughts. "You kids have a good time. Make sure you're home by curfew."

"Please excuse my sister," Freya said to Greg. "She was dropped on her head a couple times as a kid."

He smiled. "That would explain things."

"Hey," Anna exclaimed. "I'm right here."

"And we're gone." Freya kissed her sister's cheek. "Don't burn down my flat, and no sex on my couch."

Greg chuckled as he escorted her out. "Does your couch see a lot of action?"

She snorted. "I'm pretty sure my couch is a virgin."

"Hmm."

She gave him a sidelong glance. "If you keep that train of thought up, we won't make it to dinner."

"We can't go back yet, because Anna is still watching us."

"That brat." Freya looked over her shoulder. "She is?"

"Of course she is. She wouldn't be able to resist." He stopped next to his car and held out a creamy white rose. "I got this for you. Normally I wouldn't think to get you a rose, but when I saw this one I thought of you. Its petals are velvety like your skin—" he brushed the flower on her cheek and then trailed it across her mouth in a feather-light touch—"and it's ripe and full like your lips."

She shivered, feeling goose bumps rise on her arms. She took it from him, touching her lips to his in a soft, prolonged thank you.

They quietly held hands on the drive, a heightened awareness between them. A couple times she almost asked where they were going but then decided to preserve the excitement that charged the atmosphere around them. There was something to be said for the element of surprise.

Needless to say, when they pulled into the parking lot under the Academy of Sciences in Golden Gate Park she was a little puzzled.

Since it was after hours, she couldn't imagine what they were doing there. She looked at Greg inquisitively. He wore a pleased expression. He took her hand—which was a guilty pleasure in itself—and confused her further by leading her away from the museum.

"Okay," she muttered under her breath.

He chuckled softly and squeezed her hand. "Your patience is to be commended. I would've thought you'd be jumping all over me, wondering where we're going."

"Would that have gotten me anywhere?"

"No," he laughed.

She smiled ruefully. "I didn't think so."

They walked to another set of buildings. If she remembered correctly, they were the aquarium and museum of natural sciences, but she wasn't a hundred percent sure since they were at the back and there were no signs except for the general "Do Not Enter" and "Employees Only" warnings. It was at a similarly marked door that Greg guided her to. She frowned, perplexed, and turned to Greg. He knocked on it in a short, syncopated rhythm.

More and more curious. "What do you have up your sleeve, Cavanaugh?"

He grinned. "What makes you think I have anything up my sleeve?"

"Well, if it's anything like what I have up my dress, I think we're in for a great evening."

He tripped on his own feet.

She smiled in satisfaction as the door opened.

A man in a white dinner jacket, black pants, and black bow tie greeted them with a dignified bow. "Mr. Cavanaugh, right this way."

Glancing back at Greg, she followed the man inside.

A butler-like man in a tux.

A long, dimly lit corridor.

Another longer, darker hallway with unmarked doors.

The mystery drove her crazy. Freya finally turned to Greg and whispered, "Where are we?"

"What happened to being patient?" He took her hand. "Don't cave in now, we're almost there."

She made a face. "Almost where?"

"If you'd rather, we can ditch the penguin and duck into a dark corner," he whispered into her ear.

"Tempting." She considered it for a long moment before shaking her head. "I can hang with the penguin a bit longer. It'll drive me crazy not knowing where he's taking us."

Fortunately, she didn't have long to wait before their host turned into another short corridor and stopped before a huge vault door.

"Are we robbing a bank?" she asked Greg.

He shook his head. "No, we aren't properly dressed for that."

She nodded, watching the man go through the process of turning tumblers left and right. A hydraulic whoosh followed a loud click and the doors of the vault opened.

Their host motioned them inside into what looked like a foyer. There was muted light glowing beyond the doorway. With another puzzled look at Greg, she pulled her hand from his and went to investigate the source of the faint illumination.

The room she stepped into took her breath away. Rows of cases swathed with black velvet lined the walls. The objects in the cases were arranged according to color. In front of her was a case of varying shades of amethysts, to the right were sapphires, and along the far wall were the most amazingly varied rubies, from the palest pink to reds deeper than blood. The jewels were backlit so subtly that it appeared like the stones themselves were the source of the light. The rays fractured off them into millions of tiny beams and rainbows.

There were all sorts of gems. They came in all sizes. Some were as small as her baby fingernail and there were quite a few that were the size of a man's fist. There were semi-precious to priceless stones, raw and uncut as well as polished and shaped.

"Wow," she murmured, caught up in the magic of the glittering rocks. She walked to the largest case. It was the only one that had more than one color stone in it. The placard to the side stated that they were all diamonds, from the typical clear to yellow. The blue diamonds reminded her of Greg's eyes.

She was so entranced by the stones that, when she backed away from the diamonds, she almost tripped over the table in the middle of the room. It was impeccably set for two people, complete with china and enough silverware for five courses. A single tropical flower floated in a small crystal bowl in the center, flagged by two tapered candles.

"What do you think?"

She hadn't heard Greg walk up behind her. She turned around and found him right there, achingly close to her. "It's exquisite," she said with feeling.

His smile started in his eyes, slowly worked its way to his mouth, and ended right at the base of her heart. He rubbed his thumb over her jaw. "It is, isn't it?"

She knew he wasn't just referring to the gems, and it lit her up like the case of emeralds to her left. "I won't ask how you did this. I think I'd rather savor the mystery. It's simply amazing."

"Inspiring?"

"Definitely." She nodded. "I wish I was a photographer so I could capture the play of light in the depth of the gems."

"I've wanted to bring you since I first saw this exhibit. Come here." He took her hand and drew her over to a freestanding case she'd yet to explore. It contained a good sized orange gem, beveled and polished into a rock that Elizabeth Taylor would have been proud to sport on her finger. "This is a
padparadsha
. An orange sapphire to us laypeople. It's quite rare, especially one this size."

"Are you some sort of closet gem expert?"

"Nah, I read the placard." He pointed at the sign mounted to the right.

Laughing, she pressed herself into him and pulled his lips down to hers.

The contact of their mouths sparkled as dark and deep as the rubies, mysterious and full of promise. She settled herself into it, relaxing against him.

His arms wound around her, holding her securely. His fingers skirted under her wrap, across the bare skin of her back before taking possession of it. She wondered what Greg did to earn the calluses on his hands. It was unexpected for a lawyer to have them. Weren't they supposed to be glorified pen twirlers?

He broke away from her just enough to mumbled, "What do you have on under this scarf?" He tugged the back of her shawl playfully.

"Just my dress." She let the wrap slide down her arms.

He swallowed audibly. "I think I may have a heart attack. Is that a dress, or a weapon to fell men?"

"Both," she said, grinning. Yes—the money spent on the dress was definitely worth it.

Greg had been successful at keeping his cool so far, but when she shrugged her shawl off one shoulder and then the other, letting it drape in the crooks of her arms, he just about lost it.

She wasn't wearing a bra.

It was obvious even in the semi-dark of the gem exhibit. Her pointy nipples were clearly outlined under the shimmery white fabric of her dress. He exhaled, trying to catch his breath, but
damn
.

Yesterday when he told her to dress formally he hadn't expected to be greeted by this. His fantasies couldn't have conjured up a more erotic vision. Her dress was so thin that the parts it did hide appeared less covered than tantalizingly displayed. He wondered if it was one of those clever dresses that fell apart if he found the one spot where it fastened.

A man could dream.

With one finger, he reverently drew a line down her neck to the spot where her neckline ended between her breasts. He watched, fascinated, as her nipples hardened. He imagined his mouth on them, licking them through the gauzy silk until they were visible through the wet fabric.

He could feast on them for an eternity.

"You are glorious," he said, giving each word emphasis. He bent down and placed a lingering kiss on her collarbone.

A discreet cough intruded on their moment. They both turned to find their host back, his eyes carefully averted.

"Mr. Cavanaugh, shall I open a bottle of champagne and serve the appetizers?"

"Yes, thank you." Greg kept Freya close to him as they watched their host go through the ceremony of popping the cork.

Two servers entered wheeling in carts with a variety of hors d'oeuvres. Instead of giving the artful food its due, all Greg could think about was the way Freya felt plastered against the side of his body and how much better she'd feel naked under him. Or over him for that matter—he was hardly going to quibble.

"Shall we?" He propelled her toward the table. As he speculated, her back was completely bare except for a couple curls trailing past her shoulders. So graceful, it was one long, flawless alabaster line. He touched his lips to the back of her neck as he seated her, grazing his teeth lightly on her smooth skin as he ran a hand along her spine. Unable to resist, he slipped his hand into the side of her dress to brush the curve of her breast.

At her soft intake of breath he lifted his head to see her looking at him. Her eyes glowed with heat as if she were sizzling from the inside out. All he wanted to do was sweep everything on the table aside, drag her down onto it, and lick every inch of her body.

The waiters chose that moment to serve them an assortment of appetizers from the selection they brought in. Greg reined in his libido and handed Freya a glass of champagne before taking his seat across from her. Too far away but safer than being next to her.

He lifted his glass but was momentarily distracted when she crossed her legs, baring a slim ankle circled by that delicate silver chain. He cleared his throat. "To this night's glittering pleasures."

Her lips slowly curved in amusement. "That was an apt toast." At her first sip of the fine vintage, her eyes closed to bask in the taste. "Good."

"All a part of the service."

She watched him over the rim of her glass. "I should have hired you to resuscitate my muse ages ago."

"Has she been faltering for a long time?"

"She's been completely MIA. Until recently." Freya shook her head. "Somehow you get her going. I don't understand it."

Because they fit together so well. But now wasn't the time to point that out. He needed to win her over slowly. If she wanted to use him to get her creative juices flowing again, fantastic. Anything to give him more opportunities to show her they had magic together.

She was it for him. He loved her. He just needed to show her that a playboy divorce lawyer was worth the risk.

Oblivious of his thoughts, she continued. "The Teuscher was just what I needed to get me through yesterday afternoon. That was divine inspiration on your part."