by Meg Watson
“Oh, is this a fancy dinner?” he asked. “I should have dressed up, huh.”
“Uh, no you’re fine,” I said, glancing at his khakis and the logo from his real estate company on his polo shirt. “Come on in. I have someone I want you to meet.”
He stepped awkwardly forward and I gave him my cheek to kiss but nothing else.
“We’re in the living room,” I said, leading the way.
“OK, this is fancy,” he muttered as the kitchen staff came into view. “Why didn’t you say?”
“Oh, they’re just here for the night,” I said, waving my hand. “Anneka? This is Kevin Kemper. Declan Burke? Kevin Kemper.”
Anneka and Kevin shook hands cordially while Declan squinted suspiciously at me. Then he pivoted and shook Kevin’s hand.
“Hey, Jackson?” he called out over his shoulder. “Come and meet Margot’s friend.”
Jackson came in through the sliding screen door from the pool and crossed the living room. His eyebrows knit together briefly but then smoothed and he glanced at me with an expression of mild surprise. I curdled a tiny bit.
Woops. I hadn’t really considered his feelings. Actually I hadn’t really considered that he had feelings.
“Jackson Burke,” he said, shaking Kevin’s hand and smiling handsomely. “You in real estate?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Oh, this and that,” Jackson averred, crinkling his face into a humble smile. “Are you listing the house, Margot?”
“No, Margot and I are old friends,” Kevin answered. “I’m actually based out of San Francisco now.”
“Ah, San Francisco,” Jackson said, looking at me meaningfully. But the expression was gone in a flash. “Let’s get you a drink, Kev. What will you have?”
Ohhhh shit, I groaned inwardly, realizing Jackson had put it all together just like that: Kevin the ex-boyfriend, who I had gone to see in San Francisco, the night before I met the Burkes while wearing my trashy day-after outfit, and now I had invited him to dinner. God, you’re a jerk sometimes, Margot.
“Where did you come from!” I said with over-acted surprise as Bridget hobbled into the living room on red stilettos, clutching two bottles of wine. As per her usual, she had just let herself in. She paused for a moment and leaned back from the four of us, taking in the scene. Finally Kevin walked over to her and held out his hands.
“Malbec,” she drawled and stared at him like he smelled awful. Kevin took the wine with a perplexed expression and stalked back to the wet bar.
“Honey baby!” she cooed at me, throwing out her arms and leaning over in an air hug. “Oh look, we’re both wearing blue.”
“We sure are,” I agreed, checking out her skin tight Chinese silk dress. She may have been poured into it. “You can sit in that?” I whispered.
“I’ll just unzip it,” she explained.
“Huh.”
“Oh my god,” she whispered dramatically, staring at the gathering at the wet bar. I stood in front of her to block her access.
“Seriously, Bridge. I can have you killed.”
“Oh, you say that all the time.”
I watched her eyes but didn’t turn around, preferring to see my men through the expressions that flitted across her overly made up face. Her eyebrows arched as far as the Botox would let them but only at the outside corners, and her mouth formed a perfect red O of amazement. A flush started at her collarbones and marched straight up over her cheeks, gleaming pinkly.
“Please fix your face,” I hissed at her.
She blinked. Twice. Then she looked at me. Her kohl-black eyes shone brightly. Were those actual tears?
“Sweetheart, I am so filled with love for you right now, I just don’t even know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Seriously, Bridge. Be good.”
Who me? she mouthed dramatically. I glared at her and pantomimed some kind of cruel punishment. It may or may not have made any sense, but I was under the gun.
I turned around to see what she saw. Declan and Jackson were standing casually with Kevin chatting like a trio of magazine models. Jackson wore a tight, black t-shirt that clung to his biceps, and Declan wore a raw silk jersey with the buttons half undone. Kevin had on his customary logo polo, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that.
All three looked at me at once, and a thrill whipped through my chest like a thunderclap. Jackson winked one bright blue eye. Declan started walking toward us.
“Declan,” she purred as she held out her hand, taking tiny, wobbly steps toward the bar.
“Wonderful to see you again,” he said suavely, picking up her hand and kissing the knuckles. She giggled and I tried not to roll my eyes. “You remember Jackson of course…”
“Of course.”
“And I’d like to introduce you to Anneka Torsson.”
“How do you do?” Anneka said graciously.
“How do you do?” Bridget said politely, then turned her head to me and blinked her eyes in a cartoonish expression that said perfectly: Zoiks. Get a load of her!
I loved her for that.
One of the white-coated chefs appeared at Bridget’s elbow and asked if we would like to start salads now, so we all meandered over to the table. Bridget staggered dangerously behind me and held her hands out stiffly from her thighs for balance. She took her seat at the head of the table and grinned delightedly while we all stared at the remaining chairs and each other, momentarily perplexed.
Jackson stepped forward and pulled out the chair next to Bridget for me and I sat, grateful he had taken the initiative. When his hip brushed mine, he nudged me just slightly. The silk slipped across my lace thong and ripples of pleasure flickered through my body. He slid in next to me as Declan led Anneka to the far side of the table, then sat across from me. Kevin scowled for a moment before taking the seat at the other end from Bridget.
“What we have here is a sweet pea tendril salad,” Mike explained as the plates were set before us, “with heirloom pear tomatoes and dungeness crab.”
“I think this is what we had last time,” Bridget said, wrinkling her nose. “Oh wait, my mistake. Last time we had burritos from that place at the bottom of the hill.”
“I could see how you’d mix that up,” I nodded.
Bridget sighed and plucked a small tomato from the bowl, popping it in her mouth. I watched her chew out of the corner of my eye as I placed my napkin in my lap. Choking to death would be exactly the sort of drama she would think up. Everybody else underestimates just how diabolical she is really willing to be. Not me.
“Oh, hey,” Declan said to Anneka, “I think your drink is still at the bar.”
He stood and walked behind Bridget to cross the living room. I watched Bridget inspecting his ass muscles clenching in his dark-washed jeans.
“Even his feet are sexy!” she whimpered.
“So what kind of crab is ‘dungeness,’ anybody know?” I yelled out over her, and lifted my fork with a rigid smile.
As the dinner progressed, my nervousness dissipated. Declan began talking to Bridget about some sculpture he’d bought from her years ago, and Anneka began telling Kevin about Holland’s extensive dam history. Jackson kept one knee against mine under the table, and every so often he stroked the inside of my calf.
This was nice. It was urbane. And it felt sort of delicious to have such a naughty secret under my dress.
“This is really nice,” Jackson said affably.
I nodded. “I was just thinking that.”
Mike came in with the dinner course held grandly in front of him. “Lamb with a sweet cherry reduction and potatoes Anna,” he intoned smoothly.
As the dishes were set before each person, everyone congratulated him on a beautiful plate. The peppery, deeply savory aroma wafted into my face and was almost satisfying by itself. I’d never smelled anything so good.
Even Bridget shoveled it down with gusto. Usually she expressed her disdain for my cooking by pinching off tiny pieces of bread a
ll night while her dinner cooled on her plate like a museum specimen. But tonight she had even eaten the curling pea shoots without a complaint. I felt like I’d won something. Watching her flirting coquettishly with Declan, rolling her eyes like a silent movie star, I could see she had worked up a stellar appetite.
“Oh, poo,” she whined. “The malbec is gone.”
“I think Mike paired a syrah for the dinner course,” Declan suggested gently.
“But… Malbec,” she said as though his words made no sense.
“I have more in the cellar,” I replied automatically. I didn’t want anything to spoil her evening.
Jackson immediately stood as well. “Let me help carry,” he offered.
“You’re a peach,” I smiled. “Back in a jiff!”
Jackson followed me to the kitchen and I walked as modestly sexy as I could, feeling his eyes on my thighs. We avoided Mike’s pointed glare about daring to bring wine to the table and I led Jackson around the back wall, through the butler’s pantry that led to the cellar.
“It’s just there,” I said, gesturing to the cellar entrance.
Suddenly he was pressed up behind me, his face in my hair and his hands on my hips. I bit back a gasp as he pulled my ass onto the front of his jeans, already rigid with his erection.
Silently, he leaned down and mouthed my neck, hard, with his lips over his teeth. I marveled at his cleverness. That wouldn’t leave a mark.
He pushed me toward the bathroom and we walked there together. I was breathless with fear and excitement. He pushed me gently toward the sink and spun me around so my ass rested on the edge, closing the door behind him.
“Jackson, there are like nine people behind that wall!” I whispered, but my body was already on fire.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, brushing my hair back from my face and staring into me. He raised my chin to kiss me but I held up my hand.
“Lipstick,” I explained apologetically. The last thing I wanted was for us both to be wearing ruby red when we went back to the party.
He nodded, grinning slyly. “I have to kiss you,” he said, and slid his hand down the back of my thigh to my knee, then he raised my knee and hooked it over his hip. I leaned back on the sink.
“I want you to kiss me,” I said in a plaintive whisper. “But if we don’t get Bridget her wine she will start giving Anneka fashion advice or something.”
“No,” he shook his head with a smirk. His eyes danced. “Now.”
I almost started to object when he suddenly fell to his knees in front of me, draping my leg over his shoulder. I bit my lip, hard, as he dove straight for the crotch of my lace thong, mouthing my swollen, wet lips through the fabric.
“Oh my god!” I muttered urgently.
My fingers clawed the edge of the sink and held on for dear life. He nuzzled and bit and nosed my covered sweet spot with fervor, then used his free hand to drag my thong to the side.
The first flick of his warm tongue along my wet furrow sent shocks through my body. Fear mixed with desire as I realized there was an excellent chance I would come, and an even better chance that it would not be quiet.
Covering my lips with his lips, Jackson sucked ardently at my pussy. His tongue flicked my tiny nub back and forth at first firmly with his tongue pointed, then softly with it flat. The variation drove me insane, and I felt the fruit of my orgasm filling quickly, growing instantly bright.
My hips bucked against his warm, urgent mouth. I wanted to come as fast as I could. As though he read my mind, he slid two fingers into me while he licked my hard nub, pulsing them forward toward my navel.
My whole body rocked as his fingers instantly found my g-spot. I held my breath, stifling a scream, and grabbed the back of his head. White fireworks shot off in succession like a blinding blitzkrieg as the dual sensations of my clit and g-spot battled for prominence. Jackson lapped at me feverishly, his fingers working like pistons that blasted my pussy with spasms of ecstasy.
The build-up threatened to overwhelm me and I worried briefly that I would cry out, but the fruit swelled and then suddenly burst. Red streamers of passion cut across my vision as I came and came, clenching in waves, releasing all the sweet juice the fruit held.
Jackson jumped up and clapped his hand across my mouth, holding me tight to him. “Hush!” he commanded, and I came to my senses enough to silence the animal that was crying in my throat.
He held me tightly as I rocked and rocked with each wave until my legs were quaking and limp.
“Margot,” he admonished me gently, grinning. “There are like nine people right behind this wall! Be quiet.”
I nodded obediently. It felt like I had sprinted up the block. “You shouldn’t make me come so hard,” I explained, shrugging. I wanted a nap.
He shook his head, the dark wave of hair sweeping across his eyebrows. I imagined him carrying me across the dining room to bed, and fucking me for a few slow hours before we went to sleep. That would be nice.
“Hey,” came his voice from far, far away. “Stay with me, baby. We have to get the wine.”
“Wine,” I sighed agreeably. Fuck the wine.
He brushed my hair back from where it had stuck to my humid forehead. “Yes, baby. Go get the wine. I’ll cover for you. See you at the table.”
Just like that, he dragged me back to standing on my rubbery legs and opened the door after checking the hallway for intruders. Suddenly I was able to focus on my mission and darted out and immediately through the cellar door, tiptoeing silently down the stairs to the wine racks.
The room seemed preternaturally bright as I scanned the reds section for a couple appropriate bottles of Malbec. As my fingers drifted along the labels, the dusty, dry paper felt almost taste-able next to my skin. I had to chuckle at that. My senses were so turned on, they didn’t even make sense anymore.
Is this what those vampires feel like? I thought vaguely as I cradled a couple bottles and reached for the light. All my senses crackled with energy, like I had just been turned on with too much power. I flipped off the switch and climbed the stairs again in the dark.
***
The conversation rose and fell with the natural rhythm of a body of water. I could feel Kevin’s eyes on me frequently but I didn’t glance back, though I loved the feeling of finally getting his attention. Every once in a while I would look at him as he was talking and think how strange and far away he seemed. Though he was just at the end of the table, he was practically a stranger now.
“So, Bridget,” Anneka called from across the table, “Kevin says you’re an art dealer?”
Bridget pursed her lips and nodded, swishing her wine around in her mouth.
“That’s very interesting,” Anneka persisted. “What kind of art?”
Bridget shrugged. “Oh, all kinds,” she said vaguely.
“And what is your favorite?”
“None of them,” Bridget drawled.
Anneka’s polite smile froze on her face and she looked around to see if she was missing another joke.
“You’re kidding,” she said gamely. “You’re, ah, pulling my legs!”
“Nope,” Bridget said. “They’re all a bunch of entitled brats making precious little squares of wallpaper. And they all expect a prime spot on the Great Refrigerator Of Art History too. No offense.”
“None taken,” I shrugged. I was feeling pretty darn easygoing.
Anneka looked affronted. She glanced at Declan and Jackson for guidance and then shook her head slightly.
“So Amsterdam is actually named for the dam on the Amstel…” she began telling Kevin as Mike brought out a creme brulee with berries for dessert.
Everything began to get swimmy and dreamy as the wine stuffed my head with cotton wool. I cracked into the brulee with my spoon, imagining vividly licking the dollops of sweet custard from the divot between Jackson’s pecs. Or Declan’s. Whatever.
I glanced sidelong at Kevin, seated at the far end of the table. When did I
ever want to eat anything off of him? He leaned his head politely toward Anneka as she prattled on about the waterways of her homeland, but he didn’t look particularly enthralled.
Why did you even invite him? I asked myself.
He seemed small and silly compared to Declan and Jackson whose presences settled over the table like a minty, money-and-confidence-scented fog. In his logo polo, Kevin looked ridiculous and petty. I wished I had just ignored his text. Now I didn’t even want to chat with him; I just wanted him erased from my history.
Or maybe I’m the petty one, I mused. Exactly what kind of point was I trying to make?
I’m sorry, Kevin, I thought, knowing I’d never tell him to his face.
Finally Bridget raised her wineglass and sat forward, pouring off another inch into her glass with a sigh. She fixed me in her tipsy gaze.
“All right,” she muttered, “let’s see the goods.”
I nodded and bit back an excited smile.
“If you’ll excuse us?” I said, pushing back from the table.
Bridget eyed the half bottle of remaining wine and then shrugged, scooping it up as she wobbled down the hall to the studio. I followed a few feet behind, hoping she would take a second alone before I had to explain myself.
When I got there, she was standing right where I wanted her, right in front of the lemon branch. I saw her raise her wineglass halfway to her mouth, then raise the bottle instead and swig from it directly.
“You should slow down,” I called from the doorway. “You have definitely had enough wine.”
I strolled up behind her and took the glass from her hand, finding a non-lipsticky part of the rim and quaffing half of it.
“What… the hell… is this…” she finally whispered, shaking her head.
“Oh,” I said. “Well…” I stood back and looked at them again. I tried to see it through her eyes, the eyes of the gallery owner who had to actually sell it.
“OK, maybe it’s too much,” I started. Maybe it was. It had felt so right at the time though.
“They’re… I don’t know what to say,” she sighed. “They’re awesome. They’re amazing.” She turned to me, nodding. “Bitch, they’re fucking amazing.”
