Obsession. Kayla Perrin
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The night is young. And don’t forget, you’re not looking for a new husband. Just someone to give you a night of endless orgasms.”
As I started to laugh, I felt someone’s eyes on me. As surely as if someone had reached out and touched me.
Slowly, I turned. Got a jolt when my eyes connected with his.
And in that instant, I knew.
He was the one.
7
As my eyes made contact with the sexy stranger’s, the corners of his mouth lifted in the slightest of smiles. It wasn’t a polite smile, but the kind that seemed to say I want you.
My heart fluttered as I returned his smile. Then I elbowed Marnie. “I think I’m in business. Over there. The guy with the dark hair hanging past his shoulders.”
“Ooh, the one who looks a bit like Antonio Banderas? I didn’t know you were into Spanish guys.”
Now that Marnie mentioned it, yes, he did look a bit like Antonio Banderas, but with slightly darker skin. He looked black, but mixed with another race. Maybe white. Maybe Hispanic. All that mattered to me was that he was hot, and that he was the first guy I’d had a connection with tonight.
“I haven’t been into any guy besides my husband,” I pointed out.
“Whatever you do, don’t mention the word ‘husband’ when that guy gets here. Cuz honey, with the way he’s looking at you, you know he’ll be here any second.”
I met the man’s gaze again. Even though he was about twenty feet away, I could see the lust simmering in his eyes.
Lust for me.
That reality turned me on.
I swallowed, knowing that I was feeling the same lust. This was the connection I’d been hoping to find. Something instantaneous, and electric.
And yet, this was foreign territory. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel sexual attraction for another man in the past ten years.
The man started toward me, and my heart thundered in my chest. The very fact that I hadn’t been with another man in ten years suddenly got to me, making me nervous. Would my heart really let me go through with this, even though my brain said I should?
“Shit, Marnie. He’s heading over here. What do I say? Maybe having an affair is really a crazy idea.”
“You say hi,” Marnie told me, and gave me a little shove.
I stumbled slightly into the man’s path, feeling like an idiot as I did so. I shot an annoyed look over my shoulder at Marnie, who gave me a false apologetic look.
Then I drew in a breath and turned back to the man.
“Hello,” he said. He had some sort of accent. Maybe Marnie was right and he was Spanish.
“Hi,” I responded. “How are you tonight?” Duh! Couldn’t I have thought of something more intriguing to say?
He chuckled softly. “I’m well. And you?”
“Oh, I’m feeling pretty good.” Okay, I had to stop drinking. I sounded like an idiot.
The man’s eyes roamed over me from head to toe, and I got the feeling that no matter how foolish I sounded, he wasn’t going anywhere.
“You are very beautiful,” he said simply. But his eyes said he wanted to have me for dessert.
“Thank you.”
“May I buy you another drink?”
“Oh, no.” I waved off the suggestion. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“You’re sure?”
“Well, maybe one more wouldn’t hurt,” I said, backtracking. My nerves had me babbling. That, and the realization that if I was actually going to have an affair, I could use some more liquid courage.
“Strawberry margarita?” he asked.
“How did you know that?”
“I noticed,” he replied, making me wonder if he’d been watching me for longer than I’d realized, orif he’d simply made a lucky guess.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, and started for the bar.
I watched him go, butterflies dancing up a storm in my stomach. He was sexy, no doubt about it. He also had a mysterious quality about him. Something that was a little dark.
And a lot tempting.
“Girl, if you don’t like him,” Marnie said into my ear.
“I do,” I responded. “He looks like exactly what I need. Very different from Andrew.” Which was important. I didn’t want to fuck a guy who would have me thinking about my husband. I wanted someone different. A guy who didn’t wear a suit and tie every day. A guy who looked like he had a bit of a bad boy in him.
That was the man who wore a devilish grin as he approached me carrying two frosty drinks. He wore black jeans and a white shirt that was unbuttoned to the mid part of his chest. He had no chest hair that I could see, but perhaps closer to his navel…
“One drink for you,” he said, handing one to me. “And one for your friend.”
“Why thank you,” Marnie said, accepting the drink.
“Yes, thank you,” I echoed. And it was nice of him to buy a drink for Marnie. It was a small thing, but the last time I’d been out with Marnie and Andrew, Andrew had asked Marnie for cash before heading to the bar to buy her drink. I’d been embarrassed that he couldn’t fork out the cash to buy a drink for my friend.
Andrew could be very frugal—and not just where Marnie was concerned. He said it was because we were saving for a family. I understood the argument but missed the romantic gestures of our early days. He no longer did spontaneous romantic things like send me flowers on occasion or surprise me with my favorite perfume.
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
“Sophie,” I replied. “Yours?”
“Pietro. But you can call me Peter.”
“Pietro? What is that?”
“Italian,” he responded.
“Aww. I guess that means you’re Italian.” Brilliant deduction, Sophie. I sipped the margarita, though I clearly didn’t need it.
He nodded. “And you are stunning. I’m sorry if I can’t stop staring at you. I’ve simply never met a woman more beautiful.”
I’d been married for eight years, and out of the game, as Marnie had said. But I still knew a line when I heard one. And yet, my vagina throbbed at the compliment nonetheless. It was the way he was looking at me that had me believing everything he said. His eyes had an intensity that was both unnerving and thrilling. I had the feeling that he could look inside my mind and see everything I was thinking.
Everything I wanted.
“To be exact, I am part African, part Italian.”
“And part hot,” I blurted out, then laughed at my uncharacteristic boldness.
He reached for my hand. I let him hold it. “You’re not shy, are you?”
“What I am is a little drunk.” I swayed slightly, proving my point. “Say something to me in Italian. Anything.”
“Tu guardi bella.”
“That sounds nice,” I said, impressed. “What does it mean?”
“It means you look beautiful.”
Peter’s eyes were steadfast on mine. The heat in his gaze literally warmed my skin.
“Are you married?” he asked.