by Sara Ney
As my eyes rake over her cleavage, again, I wonder if she’s wearing lingerie underneath and what it looks like. My hand settles at the small of her back to guide her towards the restaurant—and hell if it doesn’t graze her ass while I’m checking it out.
Damn fine ass.
Makes me wanna slap it, too.
Mind out of the gutter, Keller.
Inside, we’re greeted by the hostess.
“Hi,” I start, clearing my throat. Here goes nothing. “Party of two for Neumann. That’s N-E-U-M-A-N-N. Not to be confused with New Man.”
Sadly, the hostess’s features remain stoic, not getting my joke and ruining all my fun. Nodding, she motions for us to follow, leading us to the back corner of the restaurant, taking a left to steer us down a hallway. Tabitha glances at me over her shoulder, puzzled, so I feign a shrug, pleading ignorance.
Shit. I hope this wasn’t a mistake.
“Here you go, sir. The private room you requested.” A door opens and the room we enter can only be described as opulent. Lavish. In the center of the secluded dining room, beneath an ornamental crystal chandelier, is a single set table. Draped white linens cover the surface. Candles and a crystal vase of four long-stem roses occupy the center: red, peach, yellow, and lavender. Several steaming plates of Tabitha’s favorite foods have already been served.
The hostess hangs back. “Your sommelier will be back shortly with the Chardonnay.”
Tabitha’s head rears towards me and her smoky eyes widen, appearing a shocking shade of blue. “Collin, what on earth…”
“Now, Rachel, before you say anything, don’t overreact.”
“Why are you calling me Rachel? What… Oh, sweet Jesus.” She looks around, confused. “Did you..? Wait. Is this what I think it is?”
“No?”
Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, skepticism written all over her face. I can’t tell if she wants to smack me or not. “Collin Keller, what is going on? Is this the date scene from the paperback proof you stole?” She whispers this last part. “Be honest.”
“Okay, yes. This is what it looks like. Are you mad?”
She gives pause, sets her purse down on the table, and then rewards me with a smile when I pull the chair out for her, a gentlemanly gesture that has her blue eyes softening.
I know I’ve got her.
Score one for Team Collin.
Nervously, she pushes a few strands of hair behind her ear. Sparkling green emeralds shine in her lobes. “I don’t even know how to be furious with you right now. I’m speechless. Later it might be possible that I’ll want to kill you, but right now… I can’t even believe you did this.”
This is the recreation of the first date scene from her very first book.
This is me romancing a girl who’s making it damn near impossible to romance her.
But I’m sure going to fucking try.
“Give me your best line.” Collin watches me from across the table, taking a forkful of steak and chewing slowly. “Tell me something you’ve only put on paper. In one of your books.”
“It’s only the one book, remember? Well, two. But the second one is just… me playing around.”
He rolls his eyes, still chewing. “Let’s assume there will be more.”
It’s right then that my chest swells and my heart begins beating wildly. Becomes huge. His words release a spark of affection inside me that I can feel—actually feel—blossoming into something bigger.
Something wonderful.
Collin believes in my dream.
Collin believes in… me.
I could leap across the table and kiss him all over his beautiful, sexy, freshly shaven face.
I bet he smells good. All sexy and mannish.
Collin breaks the silence. “Well? If you can’t think of one, I can supply one for you. Confession time: I read your proof three times before giving it back to you. I’ve got a few good zingers locked away up here.” He taps his skull with a forefinger, saying it so casually I have to replay it in my mind a few times.
“Three times!” I sputter ineloquently. “Why?”
“Because it was good?” He lays his fork on his dinner plate and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Mostly I just thought it was nuts that you wrote it. You. That’s what went through my head while I was reading. Holy shit, Tabitha wrote this. I’m in awe of you.” He says it so matter-of-factly, his voice a low purr. “I couldn’t stop picturing you at your laptop in that sexy little baseball hat, pen tucked behind your ear, dreaming up that shit. You’re so fucking smart.”
Tilting my head a little, I gaze at him with doe eyes. I know they’re doe eyes because my entire face softens and my whole body gives a blissful, dreamy sigh.
Collin straightens in his seat. “What’s that look you’re giving me right now?”
I quietly exhale. “What look?” Even that comes out sounding breathless and wistful.
His lips curve into a knowing smile. “Don’t deny it. You’re looking at me like this.” He puckers his mouth and flutters his dark, sexy eyelashes. Lowering his voice, he arches one perfect, masculine brow. “You’re totally thinking about climbing into my lap right now, aren’t you?”
Yes. “No.”
He relaxes in his seat and crosses his arms.
God, those arms.
“Pfft. That is not how I’m looking at you.” My lying eyes go to his lips—his full and soft and pliant lips. Well, I don’t know for sure that they’re soft, but right now there’s nothing I’d love more than to find out.
I almost groan out loud at the wayward ideas running rampant through my mind that have nothing to do with enjoying the rest of our four-course meal: Unbuttoning his dress shirt, one button at a time to expose his warm skin. Climbing into his lap. Kissing his neck. Finding out how happy his trail actually is, all the way down to his…
I take a sip of wine to occupy my hands and my tongue, guiltily glancing away.
Collin laughs. “You dirty, dirty pervert.”
“What?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that, as a romance writer, it’s practically my job to picture him naked. “If you must know, my thoughts weren’t dirty. I was—” I clear my throat so I can lie with a straight face. “I was just…” God, this is torture. “I was just thinking about how soft your lips look.”
“Soft. My lips?” If a man has ever looked disappointed by a pronouncement, it would be Collin Keller right in this moment. Actually, disappointed doesn’t even cover it; the man stares at me, crestfallen. “That’s it? You weren’t undressing me in your mind?”
“Pretty much.”
“Not my muscles or my… cash and prizes?” He raises his eyebrows again. “Soft lips don’t sound sexy. Soft lips sound like a snooze-fest.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The table we’re at is square. Small.
Intimate.
Just enough room for the two of us, a few plates, and not much else. Which means with very minimal effort I can prod. “Lean towards me for a second.”
I remove the napkin from my lap and brace my elbows on either side of our table. I watch, fascinated, as Collin’s hazel eyes run down the length of my neck, over my collarbone, and land on my exposed skin. On the smooth skin of my cleavage.
My breasts.
Lifting myself off the chair gets me closer still, my laser-like focus directed entirely on his mouth. He chooses that moment to slide his tongue over his lips. “Should I pop in a breath mint?”
He sounds so hopeful I almost giggle.
“Shhh.” My whisper is centimeters away, so close we’re sharing the same breath. Parting my lips ever so slightly, I kiss just his bottom lip. Softly, I rest my lips there before teasing him with one small suck. A tender pull. I was right: warm, tender, and so, so soft.
His large hands grab fistfuls of white linen table cloth and clench when I brush my mouth against the irresistible divot above his chiseled chin. Back and forth, back and forth, taking
the opportunity to inhale the masculine smell of him. Fresh. Woodsy. Delicious. Virile.
I could have the Big O just from the smell of him.
My kiss lands in the corner of his lips. Left side… right side.
His lips part a fraction and holy mother of… it feels so good.
Eyes quivering closed, his body shivers on an inaudible moan. Collin sits utterly still when the flick of my tongue meets his cupid’s bow, and I press my entire mouth firmly against his one last time before pulling away.
Mmmmm, mmm, mmm.
Satisfied, I plop back down, settling into my cushy dinner seat. Silently, I calmly lay the napkin across my lap and sink back into my chair, trying to get comfortable. I shoot Collin a long, meaningful look across the table.
He looks about as dazed as I feel.
I grasp my wine glass with unsteady fingers and take a casual sip. “Was that a snooze-fest?”
“Uh…” Collin un-fists the tablecloth and smooths out the creases. “I don’t know. We should probably do it again to make sure.”
I tsk, giving my head a shake. “Let’s save some of that mystery for later, shall we?”
“I thought you’d be more like Rachel,” he huffs with a pout but gives me a wink. “If I start calling you Rachel, will you start acting like her?”
“In my book, Rachel and Devon had sex on the table during one of their dates, remember?” I point out. “No offense, but I think I’d rather sit and eat this sourdough bread.” I set down my glass and pull a slice of bread from the loaf. “Wait. Having sex on the table tonight wasn’t part of your plan, was it?”
A loud, obnoxious snort fills the room. “No! God no—I was trying to surprise you by doing something romantic. I mean… unless you want me to bend you over the table. Shit, sorry, that was…” Chagrined, he blushes and starts over. “You know, this date is the best idea I’ve ever come up with. And you’re the one that came up with it. The details were easy to recreate. Wine. Food. Flowers.”
Speaking of flowers… “Do you even know what any of these colors mean?”
“The color of the roses? Yeah, I Googled it.” Collin takes a drink of Chardonnay. “Red means love, or in this case, passion. Yellow means friendship—or a new beginning.” My face reddens as he prattles on. “And peach means closing the deal.”
“What about the purple one? That’s not in the book.” I already know what it means because I had researched their meanings too, but I ask anyway. Just to see if he’ll say it.
He hesitates. “Promise you won’t freak out?”
I roll my eyes and tease. “Nothing you do would surprise me at this point; you’re like a loose cannon. Besides, I’m destined to be a famous writer of smutty romance—it’s impossible to shock me.”
Hair flip.
He gives a jerky nod, steeling up his courage. Him. This handsome hunk of man, nervous. Imagine that. “Alright, smartass. Lavender means enchantment.” His voice deepens. “Tabitha Thompson, I’m without a doubt enchanted by you.”
Lavender roses also mean love at first sight, but I don’t say it. Can’t say it.
He must know it, too.
Must.
The blush creeps from my cheeks then lower to my chest, over my body, down to my legs. I’m blushing everywhere—from the roots of my hair to the tips of my red painted toenails.
My lips part and I muster a feeble, “Do you Google everything?”
He’s not fooled by my casual countenance—not one bit. His beautiful hazel eyes wrinkle at the corners in amusement. “Pretty much.”
“Maybe you should stay off the internet,” I suggest quietly.
“Maybe I should.” He leans back in his dinner seat and crosses his arms, the blue dress shirt stretching and straining over his muscles. “But then again, maybe I shouldn’t. I’m always amazed at what I find.”
His underlying meaning makes me shiver—and not from the cool air being pumped into the room. Oh boy. Is it hot in here? Waiter! Oh, waiter! Could someone bring me a fan, or a pitcher of water to pour down my pants?
Or maybe that’s his line.
“And what did you find when you Googled me?”
“Well, Tabitha Thompson—did you know if you google Tabitha Thompson, a whole history of accomplishments pop up? Track and Field scholarship. Summa Cum Laude. A random picture from a Greek Formal you went to.” He reaches forward and picks a small baby carrot off his plate, popping it in his mouth. “Sexy dress, by the way.”
I look down at my outfit, my eyes hitting my generous cleavage. “This one, or the one I wore to Greek formal?”
“Both.” His eyes do a leisurely, appreciative scan of my exposed clavicle and the swell of my breasts.
I stab blindly at the plate in front of me with my fork, spearing a hunk of seafood and stuffing it in my mouth so I don’t have to reply.
Classy, right?
I swallow and say, “How did you know these were my favorite foods?”
“Easy.” Collin smiles. “Your brother through my sister. And the best part is, they’re my favorite foods, too.”
We continue eating in silence, giving each other furtive glances over wine and steak and lobster. When dessert comes—crème brûlée and banana cream pie, more of my favorites—we share, wordlessly passing the plates and spoons back and forth between us like we’ve been dating for years.
Heaven. Every mouthwatering bite. Every delicious time our eyes meet.
We sip wine, falling into easy conversation. So easy. Natural. Relaxed. Collin grabs my hand and finds my knee under the table with his other, giving my smooth skin slow, gentle strokes until I’m biting my lip and looking away.
Then we’re leaning into each other across the tiny table, our knees touching, our lips pressing together. My eyes flutter closed as Collin’s hand finds my inner thigh, the other finding the nape of my neck, pulling me in closer. Sweetly. Hungrily.
Aroused.
Our mouths part and our tongues touch, exploring deliberately. An unhurried pleasure that sends a shockwave of desire between my legs and surging through my body.
This isn’t just a kiss; this is an unspoken invitation for something more. More meaningful. Full of surrender.
I will worship you, the kiss whispers.
I will be good to you, the kiss promises.
It doesn’t last long. Collin pulls away first, resting his forehead against mine, stroking the underside of my jaw with his thumb.
He’s breathing hard.
I’m breathing hard.
“Tabitha.” His voice is a low, gravelly plead. “Tabitha, come home with me.”
I will worship you…
I will be good to you…
I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s too soon to be intimate. But I know if I don’t…
I’ll regret it.
I give a barely perceivable nod. “Yes.”
Yes.
Blare Wellborn did not sleep around. Didn’t do one-night stands. Didn’t sleep with men on the first date. But as she looked across the table at him, the only sensible thought running through her mind was… nothing. There were no sensible thoughts, only need and want and desperation. For him. For Collin Adam.
He slid his hand across her knee. “Blare, come home with me.” All she could do was nod, the words lost in her throat. When he got her home she would see to it that he worshipped the column of the smooth skin there—her favorite spot to be kissed.
“You want me to come home with you? I want to, but… I barely know you. We’ve only known each other, what—three weeks?”
He leans in and presses a kiss to her chin. “Blare Wellborn, I am enchanted by you.” With those seven words, all her fears melted away…
Greyson: What’s going on? Hello! I haven’t heard from you in days…
Tabitha: Sorry! I’m sorry. Work has been so busy.
Greyson: Busy? I hate when people say that. Busy is just an excuse.
Tabitha: You’re right—I haven’t been THAT busy, but I do have a
confession to make.
Greyson: A confession?! I like the sound of that!
Tabitha: The truth is, I’ve been spending some time with your, um.
Greyson: My, um… what?
Tabitha: I’ve been spending time with Collin. Your brother.
Greyson: WHAT? Since when? What kind of time?! How! What? LOL. I mean—WOW! In a good way!!!!!!!
Tabitha: Phew. I was kind of worried.
Greyson: Are you kidding me? You’re amazing. He’s awesome (most of the time)! My second and third favorite people. Cal is obviously my FIRST favorite… dating! Love it.
Tabitha: Not dating, just thinking about it?
Greyson: So where are you right now? What are you doing tonight?
Tabitha: We just went to dinner and now we’re… uh… heading to his condo?
Greyson: RIGHT NOW???? This very second??? Is he there with you?
Tabitha: Yes? Is that bad? I’m so nervous my hands are shaking.
Greyson: Tabitha Elizabeth Thompson, you’d better be “dating” if you’re HEADED TO HIS CONDO at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night!!!! Do I need to Mom lecture you about “safety”? cough cough
Tabitha: Oh god, please don’t.
Greyson: I’m not ready for nieces and nephews yet, just so you know. Even if he is 26. Nevermind—I’ll take a niece…
Tabitha: NO. Just no!
Greyson: Alright, I’ll stop, but only on one condition: you tell me everything later. Well, not EVERYTHING…
Tabitha: It’s a deal. <3 you
Greyson: <3
We don’t go through the pretense of wanting after-dinner drinks when we arrive at my condo, don’t make small talk in my living room, don’t loiter in the kitchen.
I bypass a tour entirely, assuming she took one during my housewarming party, and lead her by the hand up the stairs to the master bedroom. I give it a squeeze when I push open the double doors, and she steps over the threshold first, walking to the bed, sitting, and crossing her legs.
