“Okay,” she started as Tal led her into the lounge of a really nice hotel. “If I'm going to have another drink with you, you have to give up some more information.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, taking them right up to the bar.
“Your Mr. Mysterious act is cute and all, but I don't feel like getting chopped up into pieces tonight,” she explained. He rolled his eyes and waved for the bartender.
“I'll share if you share,” he replied. She snorted.
“I've told you lots. You know what job I do, what town I'm from, how long I'm staying here, how -,” she began to prattle off.
“I want to know why a married woman is standing in a bar with me,” Tal cut her off.
Misch blinked at him as she felt the blood rush to her face.
“There's nothing wrong with having a drink with somebody,” she defended herself. He smirked down at her.
“You say that, but I don't think that's what you're really thinking,” he said in a low voice.
I'm entering a danger zone. This is too much.
“This is a bad idea. Thanks for the drinks,” she grumbled, grabbing her tote bag from off the floor.
“Stay.”
She'd been in the act of turning away, but she stopped. Looked back at him. He had grabbed her arm, was holding her in place, and his heavy gaze was once again searing her. He had such intense, dark eyes.
“What's your last name?” Mischa demanded. He let go of her arm.
“If I tell you, will you stay?” he responded.
“I'll think about it.”
“Canaan.”
“What was that?”
“My last name – Canaan.”
Tal Canaan. So interesting. So fitting.
“Where are you from?” she continued. He shook his head.
“That kind of information, you have to earn,” he informed her. A shiver ran down her spine.
“What are you doing in Italy?” she pressed.
“I told you, I was sent here on a job,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, I meant what's your job?” she clarified.
“My job is … hard to explain. I work for the government,” he answered evasively.
“U.S.?”
“No.”
“Italy?”
“No.”
“Somewhere in the E.U.?” she kept guessing.
“Misch,” he sighed. “We were having a nice time. I'm sorry I fucked it up. Let's just shoot the shit and have a couple drinks. Be pals.”
Not exactly poetry. Not exactly a pick up line. But it was nice to have someone to talk to, after a week of speaking only insurance lingo. Misch leaned against the bar, and took her drink when it was offered to her.
“To new friends,” she toasted him, setting a boundary and making a statement. Tal smiled and clinked his glass to hers.
“New friends,” he echoed, then took a drink. But when he moved his glass away, his smile had a decidedly sly look to it again.
They had more drinks, talked about football. Talked about Misch's dancing days. Talked about the year he'd spent in Thailand. Mr. Canaan had traveled quite a bit throughout his life, it seemed. He wouldn't say where he was from, or where he was currently living, but Misch began to think it was because he didn't have a home base. He seemed to be a modern day gypsy.
Conversation flowed between them, in an easy manner that somewhat shocked her. She felt comfortable with him, and was finding herself happy to realize she'd made her first friend. She would be in Italy for a while, so having a friend would help. It was looking like Tal could be that friend.
“What's the most exotic place you've ever lived?” Misch asked, vicariously living through him. He handed her another drink, her third since they'd been there. She was feeling a lot looser, most of her nerves gone. She was in a foreign country, having drinks with a friendly man. A very friendly, very good looking, man, but she focused on the friendly part.
“Hard to say. Everywhere is exotic if you look at it in the right light,” Tal replied, pulling the straw from his whiskey-and-coke. He ran his tongue along it, capturing the excess liquid, before tossing it onto the bar. Misch ate up every movement.
Just a friend ...
“Really?”
“Sure. I was in the tundra once, in Siberia – amazing sunsets, like you wouldn't believe. Like the snow is on fire. Also lived in Bosnia, great culture,” he broke it down.
“I never thought of it that way. I was thinking palm trees. Jungle,” she explained.
“Typical.”
“Hey!” she laughed, coughing on the sip she'd been taking. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“That means I think you've led a very sheltered life, Ms. Rapaport,” he told her, his voice low. She cleared her throat and took a gulp of her vodka-tonic. Mostly vodka.
“Mrs. Rapaport,” she corrected him.
“Ah, yes. Of course. How could I forget,” he gave another tight smile.
“Is there a Mrs. Canaan?” Misch tried to sound nonchalant. Failed miserably. Tal's smile got bigger.
“Would you care if there was?” he countered. Her blush was back, though whether it was from embarrassment or excitement or the liquor, she couldn't tell.
“I … I'm not … we're not …,” she stuttered. He narrowed his eyes, but kept smiling.
“Charming. Utterly charming. Will you excuse me for a moment?” he suddenly asked, putting his glass on the bar top.
“I, uh, sure,” she managed to nod. He chuckled and leaned down close to her.
“Don't let any other men hit on you, I won't be here to save you,” he cautioned her.
She snorted.
Misch watched Tal walk out of the bar. When he was out of sight, she let out a breath she'd been holding and sagged against the bar, downing the rest of her drink in one gulp. What was she doing? What in the fuck was she doing!? What was going on? She was a little tipsy, a little excited, but that was it. Nothing was happening, he'd actually been a perfect gentleman.
Would you care if there was a Mrs. Canaan?
She had to leave. Mischa had to get out of there. Before something happened that she couldn't take back. “Just friends”, who was she kidding? This wasn't a fucking game. When Tal came back, she would explain that to him. Hammer it into him. They were both adults – she was attracted to him. He seemed to be attracted to her. But that didn't have to mean anything. It didn't have to go anywhere.
“Ciao,” a soft voice said close to her.
Misch whirled around to find another gentleman standing close to her. Fuck, was she in heat or something!? Were “cheating-whore” vibes coming off of her in waves!?
“I'm with somebody,” she snapped.
“Ah, American!” an Australian accent rolled out of the guy.
“And married,” she continued, showing him her ring finger.
“I'm just being friendly,” the guy claimed, holding up his hands. She cringed and felt like a bitch.
“Sorry, I'm sorry, it's just been a weird night,” she sighed.
“Sorry to hear that,” Mr. Aussie started, then leaned a little closer. “Maybe I can help cheer you up?”
“No thanks. I really am here -,” she began, gesturing towards the door.
“What're you drinking? I'd love to buy you another,” he offered.
“Oh no, I've already had too much. I'm with someone, I'm just waiting for him to -,”
“Well, if you've had too much, then one more can't hurt,” he suggested, then winked at her. She actually laughed.
“Did you really just say that?”
“Bartender! One more for my lady friend!” he called out, pounding on the bar top. Misch waved the bartender away.
“No no no, I don't want another, I said -,”
“Baby, I can't leave you alone for a second.”
Misch had barely turned towards Tal before his mouth was on hers. She gave a muffled squeak, completely shocked as he pressed his entire body against her, pinning her against
the bar.
Eight years. It had been eight years since she had touched lips other than her husband's. Eight years since another man had touched her in an intimate manner. She didn't know what to do, didn't know how to respond. She'd automatically braced her hands against his chest, but then froze up.
Tal wasn't frozen. He was pressing against her so hard, the edge of the bar was painful against her lower back, and she was practically bending backwards over it. One of his hands had grabbed onto her hip, gripping the material of her dress in his fist. His other hand was on the back of her head, holding her lips to his, keeping them there.
He moaned and she gasped, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth. Her brain went into complete nuclear meltdown. She didn't know which way to turn, what to do.
Stop him! This isn't okay! You're married! You're not gonna do this!
This is what you want. This is what you came here for.
God, he's good at this. God, he tastes good. God, is this what kissing feels like!?
Hell. You're. Going. To. Hell.
God, he feels good.
Before she could sort those thoughts out, Tal pulled back a little.
“Can I help you?” he asked, giving a condescending look to the Australian man who was still standing next to them. Misch had already forgotten about him. Forgotten her own name. She just stared up at Tal.
“Sorry, I didn't realize the lady was here with somebody,” the Aussie said quickly. Tal's hand moved from Misch's hip and his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.
She kept staring. She was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open. Her thoughts were still scattered all over the place. Tumbled about the bar, laying at her feet.
“That's funny,” Tal started, “because I could've sworn I overheard her specifically telling you that she was here with somebody.”
“My mistake. Sorry.”
“Yeah, big mistake. Get the fuck out of here.”
The guy got out of there.
“Wha … what just happened?” Misch panted, raking her hands through her hair. Tal leaned down and grabbed her bag, shoving it into her arms.
“C'mon,” was all he said, then he was pulling her out of the bar. Misch struggled to keep up with his pace.
“Where are we going?” she breathed when she realized they weren't heading out of the hotel.
Tal didn't answer. They were moving towards a bank of elevators, and one had just opened up, depositing a group of people into the lobby. He picked up his pace, practically dragging her into the lift.
He let go of her and she lost her balance, stumbling into a corner. By the time she righted herself, he'd pressed a floor button. When she turned around, he was back up against her, flattening her against the wall. She held her breath, staring up at him. It was the best lighting she'd seen him – he really did have super dark eyes. Black whirlpools, intense as they swallowed her whole.
I never stood a chance.
“God, you tasted good,” he echoed her thoughts from earlier, lowering his mouth to her neck.
“Tal … we can't … I'm …,” Mischa struggled for air. For thought.
“In another country, looking for something you aren't getting at home,” he finished for her as his hands swept over her hips.
Am I that transparent?
“That doesn't mean I'm going to -,” she ended in a gasp when his hands slid down to her butt and gripped her, hard.
“Yes, it does.”
“No, I'm not -,”
“Yes, you are.”
“Please,” she whined. He chuckled.
“You'll be saying that a lot more tonight.”
When his hands moved up to her breasts, she felt like she was going to jump right out of her skin – she actually jerked to the side involuntarily, her body so shocked by the contact. She started shivering and his hands stopped moving.
“My husband is the only one who's touched me like this in eight years,” she whispered. There was a long pause.
“I'm willing to bet it's been a long time since anyone has touched you like this, period,” Tal called her out as the pressure from his hands increased, pushing her breasts together.
Correct.
“How do you know these things? How do you know me?” she asked. He finally lifted his head, looking down at her.
“I'm a very observant person, Mischa,” he sounded serious.
She felt like shit.
“I don't know how to be this kind of woman,” she said, her voice small. He chuckled.
“I'll teach you.”
When Tal kissed her that time, it broke something. Broke her. Misch groaned and opened her mouth to his, pressed her tongue against his. She pushed her body back against his, wanting to feel every inch of him, every moment with him.
“God, oh god, oh god, oh god, what am I doing?” she panted when his mouth moved to her cleavage.
“Making two lonely people very happy,” he breathed, his hands skating down to her legs. His fingers slipped against her bare thighs and began dragging their way up. Her shivering grew stronger.
“It's been so long, I don't know if I know how to do this anymore,” she warned him. She choked on her voice when his fingers hit her underwear.
“You're doing fine.”
“But what if I'm -,”
“Time to be quiet, Mischa.”
Tal was a tall man, a lot taller than her, and he had long legs. Long arms. So of course, he had long fingers. They tapped out a rhythm against the pulse inside her thigh, made her pant in time. Then tiptoed to the side of her panties, his middle finger sneaking its way inside the material. Inside her body, inside her brain.
“God, I shouldn't be here,” she groaned, moving onto her toes.
“Feels like you've been ready and waiting for this,” he chuckled in a low, ominous sounding voice as his finger swam in her heat.
“Oh my god.”
It wasn't at all like she'd imagined. Back in the U.S., when she'd been planning her little fling, Misch had figured she'd be a flirty vixen, with a thin veil of guilt over everything she did. But it wasn't like that. She was a shivering mess, incapable of speech, unsure of what to do, and guilt didn't exist anymore. Confliction didn't exist. Concern didn't exist. Marriage didn't exist.
The elevator came to a stop, but Tal didn't. He didn't pull away from her till long after the doors slid open. Then he pulled her out by her hips, walked her backwards down the hall with his mouth attached to her. He finally let go of her when he had to open his door, and they stumbled inside.
“Do you need anything?” he called out, striding across the suite. Misch shut the door behind her and slowly followed him.
The room was large. There was a kitchenette by the entrance, and she moved into the living room, which had huge picture windows with a stunning view. To the left were two large double doors, which Tal had pushed open and walked through, heading into a bathroom on the other side of the room. The bedroom.
With a king sized bed.
I can't do this.
“What have I done!?” Misch hissed to herself, letting her bag fall to the floor as her hands went into her hair. How had she gone from a quiet drink alone, to making out with a stranger in an elevator? Granted, one of the sexiest strangers she'd ever met in her life, but still. Sexy didn't matter – she was married.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Tal's voice called out. She turned back around to face him. He was making his way across the bedroom, but he wasn't looking at her. He was focusing on his wrist, on taking off a large, complicated looking watch. Once he got it off, he tossed it onto a dresser, then stopped to look at her. She looked back at him.
“I can't do this,” she stated bluntly.
He smiled. That annoying, smirky, sly smile.
Her panties got slightly damper.
“And why not, Mischa?” he asked, his voice low as he folded his arms across his chest.
“Because, I'm married. I don't want to hu
rt him. I like you, I really do, but I just … can't. I don't … I don't want this,” her voice fell into a whisper.
“You don't want me?” Tal clarified. Misch looked away.
“It's not that,” she sighed.
“You do want me.”
“That doesn't matter. I'm married.”
“That didn't matter, two minutes ago.”
“Well, it matters now.”
“When was the last time he touched you like that?”
She looked back at Tal.
“A long time,” she replied.
“How long?”
“Months. I'm not sure. Maybe six, maybe more.”
Tal stared at her for a long moment. His eyes wandered over her face, then down her body. Clear to her feet. Back up again, lingering at her hips and breasts before locking onto her eyes.
“I would touch you like that everyday,” he said softly. She gave a sad laugh.
“Words are easy to say – I'm sure he felt the same way, at one point,” she replied. Tal shook his head.
“No, I doubt he ever did, or else you wouldn't be here right now, about to get fucked by a different man,” he corrected her. Misch shook her head.
“I told you, I can't do that with you,” she stressed.
“Say you don't want to.”
“What?”
“Say you don't want to. Say this isn't what you wanted when you went to that cafe tonight. Every night. All those bars, all those restaurants. Say this isn't what you're looking for,” he commanded her.
“I don't want this,” Misch's voice was barely a whisper. His eyes narrowed.
“And the rest?” he pressed, his voice hard.
It was pointless. She couldn't say it. Of course she couldn't say it.
Everything he said was true.
He knew it, too. He stormed through the double doors, steaming up to her so fast, he literally swept her off her feet when his arms went around her. Her toes barely touched the carpet as he crushed her to him.
It was like he wanted to devour her. His tongue was rough and aggressive, plunging into her mouth, and the hand he'd moved to the back of her head pulled at her hair, hard enough to sting.
Just like in the elevator, there was no thought. No worry. She was pulled along by him, going in the only direction she could go – forward, at hyperspeed. There was no stopping, no shifting, no changing direction. This was it. This was meant to happen. This was going to happen. This was something she wanted to happen.
My Time in the Affair Page 3
