Sultry Pleasure. Lindsay Evans
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tuxedo outfit the keys to the Mercedes.
Marcus slid the valet ticket into his pants pocket. Then, almost as an afterthought, he shrugged off his blazer and threw it in the backseat of the car. He thanked the valet, then walked with Diana to the back of the long line.
* * *
As Marcus joined her in line, Diana looked at him in surprise and admiration. She’d expected him to approach the front of the line and demand to be seated immediately. Her estimation of him rose.
“What is this place?” she asked
“This is Gillespie’s,” he said. “A nice and simple lounge where we can have a bite to eat, get to know each other and spend the evening together without being on the water.”
She didn’t rise to the teasing bait in his voice. “Sounds nice,” she murmured, amused despite herself.
“I hope you’ll think so when we get in.”
As they waited in line, Diana noticed that a few newcomers left their expensive cars and headed directly to the door, expecting star treatment. But they didn’t get it. People already waiting gave each other knowing looks as the newcomers were directed to the back of the line.
A couple of D-list movie stars were up ahead of her and Marcus. A musician whose song was on rotation on Top 40 stations. And many women who looked like models, tall and haughty with beautifully applied makeup and rich-looking men on their arms.
The line moved quickly, and it wasn’t long before they were inside. Gillespie’s turned out to be more than a restaurant; it was also a lounge and jazz bar. A moody piano played over the speakers, audible through the voices riding the air, setting a sophisticated and mellow mood. Diana liked it right away. The hostess, a gorgeous brown-skinned woman with her long hair twisted in a bun, showed them to a table upstairs that overlooked the stage.
The delicious smell of food wove through the restaurant. As Diana opened her menu, a waiter walked past with a cast-iron skillet sizzling with a mixture of green peppers, onions and shrimp. Diana’s stomach growled. She blushed and looked up at Marcus. He was watching her.
“You’re not looking at the menu,” she said.
“I already know what I want.” His steady look made it clear exactly what he was talking about.
The heat in her face burned even hotter, but she kept her voice level. “The only thing you’ll have in your mouth tonight is listed right there.” She dipped her head toward the closed menu in front of him.
“That sounds very discouraging,” he said with a low laugh.
“I’m just letting you know not to expect anything more than dinner tonight.”
He shrugged. “The pleasure of your company is all I need.”
She rolled her eyes and lifted the menu to look at the offerings. It wasn’t long before their waitress appeared. Marcus placed his order still without looking at the menu. After a hesitating moment, Diana ordered something that looked decent but wasn’t too expensive.
She didn’t want him thinking that just because he paid for a fifty-dollar steak, he was entitled to lay her on her back at the end of the night. Although she worked in the nonprofit world and often relied on rich men and women to keep the good work of the foundation going, she knew all too well that most of them would commodify any woman if given the chance. If they wanted her, those rich people assumed she had a price. Granted, she’d never felt the delicate thrums of attraction for one of them before.
“Why don’t you trust me?” he asked.
“Who said I don’t trust you?” She looked at him with studied innocence.
He chuckled, tilting his head to look at her with his brilliant eyes. “I like you, Diana. I enjoy your company. If at any point you don’t like what’s going on tonight, you can just get up and go. I’ll call you a taxi and that will be that.”
His kindness suddenly made her feel ridiculous. She took a sip of the champagne he’d ordered for them and looked around the restaurant. On stage, a woman had joined the pianist, singing a soulful version of Nina Simone’s “My Baby Just Cares for Me.”
Looking down at the performance, she realized that most of the crowd was actually paying attention to the music, pausing their conversations and their meals to watch the woman with a head of blazing red hair vamp it up while her husky and sensual voice made an invitation out of the song.
“I like it here,” she said after a few minutes watching the singer. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“You’re welcome.”
After their meal came, they sat in a comfortable quiet, allowing the music to fill the spaces between them. The food—a creamy onion soup rich with the taste of butter and garlic, and seared scallops simmered in orange butter and served on a bed of edamame and quinoa—was delicious, probably one of the best meals she’d ever eaten.
Marcus offered to share his braised lamb shank served with red cabbage and gorgeous golden polenta. She declined but watched him eat his meal with obvious pleasure, slowly savoring each bite and licking his lips before taking a sip of the wine.
After the waitress took their dinner plates away, they sat back with drinks to enjoy the performances on the stage. Diana sipped her champagne, sweetly relaxed in her chair as she turned her head to listen to the delicate, intertwined voices of the twin girls, no older than teenagers, who were singing now. She felt Marcus’s eyes on her, a gentle weight, but she did not look up.
“Dance with me,” he said.
In that moment, she couldn’t imagine saying no to him. He guided her to the dance floor near the main stage, where there were only a dozen or so people already dancing. Marcus opened his arms, and she stepped into them.
The twins sang a slow and lulling version of “Blue Gardenia,” one of them sitting on the edge of the stage with her cordless microphone while the other swayed on her feet in front of the corded mic, her voice wrapping the room in a velvet curtain of sound. Their voices were low and deep, surprising for such small girls. Diana tried to focus on them instead of the man whose arms were wrapped around her.
Unlike the last time they danced, she felt an intimacy between them, their bodies moving in slow communion to the strains of the jazz song. He smelled solid and warm, spicy, like cedar and sandalwood.
She pulled his scent into her, unable to help herself. He didn’t pull her into him and force his crotch into hers, only held her delicately, allowing their bodies to come close during the song, then drift back apart. They swayed, and she smelled him. They turned, and his warmth flowed over her. His hand pressed into the small of her back while his thighs brushed against hers during the dance. A whisper of his breath moved at her ear.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured.
And God help her, she believed him.
She slipped her arms around his neck and moved closer, a little horrified that she was so susceptible to flattery. But it felt good that this handsome man thought she was beautiful and wanted to spend time with her. She was enjoying his company. When the song ended, they kept dancing by silent agreement, moving even more slowly as the singers took on a Sade song, “Lover’s Rock.”
Their hips swayed together. Flutters of arousal moved through Diana’s belly, made her skin tingle whenever it touched his. She knew she should be worried, that she should move away from him and regain control of herself, but it felt too good. His touch. The music. The desire winding around them like a silken ribbon.
The song ended and Marcus slid his hands around her waist, pressed his mouth to her forehead.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmured.
She trembled at the urgency in his voice. Her hands tightened for a moment on his shoulders. Her body was hot with the need for that kiss. “Not here,” she said, not sure how she would react to his touch in front of all those