by MARTIN, KC
They could have easily remained quiet, examining the food choices, and letting that question evaporate into the air. Laine focused on the calligraphy scribed parchment pages before her, letting Colin off the hook. She felt rather embarrassed for having blurted out that question. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. She reached for another sip of bubbles. She would need more soon. Her nerves had not yet abated.
Colin looked up from his menu. He reached his hand across the table and linked to her fingers before she could pull her hand back from the stem of her glass. Laine felt a surge of heat pass between their fingertips again.
“Laine,” he said, searching for a hold on her eyes. She surrendered to his green gaze, listening.
“I shouldn’t have said ‘over with’. That’s not really what I meant.”
Giammo swept up to their table again. Colin let go of Laine’s fingers. Giammo’s smile flattened.
“A little more of this is in order I think.” He flourished a bottle of Spumante and refilled their glasses. “Any questions about the menu?”
Colin closed his menu. “Bring us your favorite antipasti, Giammo. We’ll leave the entrées up to you as well.”
Giammo’s smile flexed and widened under his moustache. “Perfecto.”
“Is that all right with you, Laine?”
With relief, she closed her menu. She was having a difficult enough time deciding what to say let alone eat. “Perfecto,” she said echoing Giammo, who took their menus away and left them with their refilled flutes. Laine gulped back two quick sips. After swallowing, she felt slightly emboldened.
“Do you think maybe I shouldn’t have called you? Or rather, emailed.”
Colin leaned forward. “The short answer? No. Make that a vehement ‘no’.”
Laine looked up. His green eyes bore into hers, and then something in them changed. His eyebrows titled downwards. “Unless you think it was a mistake?” He leaned back in his chair, taking a thoughtful sip.
“Do you think you shouldn’t have? Is this not…” He frowned, and Laine realized, for the first time, that Colin, who seemed so confident and easy going, might have his own insecurities about this reunion. She’d been so preoccupied with her own feelings she hadn’t given a thought to his.
“It’s not a mistake to me. I didn’t mean to imply that. Honestly, I wish I hadn’t waited so long.”
Colin broke into a relieved smile. “You did take your sweet time about it.” He leaned forward again, reached for one of her hands. “But we’re here now. It’s nice, isn’t it?”
There was that word again. Laine nodded.
A black-vested waiter arrived with their antipasti. Laine realized she was famished. And the night was still young. They had plenty of time for questions and awkward pauses and holding hands and more ‘nice’ kisses.
Chapter 11
Colin
He felt like he was botching the whole evening. Laine looked amazing. He’d wanted to eat her up at first sight. His eyes had devoured her as she’d walked down the hotel stairs. It was all he could do not to sweep her off her feet and race back up the stairs with her, throw her on his bed, and begin ravaging her. He wanted to be a gentleman, to pace himself, to savor each moment with her. He’d been waiting so long to see her again. But there was an animal inside of him that would have liked to succumb to his most primal appetites, appetites that hadn’t felt whetted like this in such a long time. But he was a gentleman more than an animal, and he’d waited months for her already, a little longer wouldn’t hurt. Well, it did, but he figured it was worth the discomfort, if it meant he wouldn’t scare her away. And she seemed a bit scared, or remote, or something. Hesitant. She said she was nervous but he knew sometimes that just covered up misgivings. Maybe she’d been disappointed meeting him again. He certainly hadn’t given a stellar performance last night. He wanted tonight to go smoothly, perfectly. He wanted to win her heart. But he could tell she was holding back. Not quite sure if this is what she wanted. He wasn’t sure how to convince her. He decided to be as gentlemanly and smooth as he could be. If he appeared confident, she might develop confidence in him, begin to trust him. He’d need to stay in control, which he knew would be challenging. As soon as he’d seen those red shoes again he’d felt like a bull facing a matador’s cape, the red making him crazy with a drive to chase her. He’d given in once already. That kiss. He’d taken her by surprise but he couldn’t help it. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sit across a dinner table for hours without having first tasted her luscious lips. He’d been fantasizing about them since that night in Paris. He imagined those lips trailing across every inch of his skin, and arriving, finally, at a particularly taut, swollen part of his anatomy where those lips would linger…
Colin shifted in his seat, readjusted the napkin conveniently covering his lap.
They had finished their appetizers and main courses and were awaiting a serving of tiramisu to share. The bottle of red wine on the table was three quarters empty. Giammo or the other waiter had subtly topped up their glasses all evening. Colin definitely felt buzzed, which only made him more aware of the animal pacing behind the gentleman’s gate.
He and Laine had swapped stories about their families, growing up, school, early work days, and a bit about past relationships, but not too much. Laine had shared with him her break up with some idiot named Richard who’d failed to see all of her amazing qualities. Colin was secretly grateful for his idiocy, of course, or else Laine might not have ended up in his arms in Paris, but he was also mad at him for hurting Laine. He didn’t like to think of her being hurt. Colin wanted to wrap his arms around her and protect her from anything hurtful in the world. He hadn’t really felt that about the women he’d dated recently. This was new for him. So much of this was new to him.
Laine had visibly relaxed with the wine and food and conversation. Colin knew that conversation was like a mental massage for most women. Though he couldn’t help fantasizing about a physical massage… How was he going to get her back to the hotel and up the stairs?… He adjusted his napkin again.
“What are you thinking about?” said Laine, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight.
Oh boy, thought Colin. Daft question. Why didn’t women drop that sentence from their vocabulary? What exactly did they want to hear anyway? Ninety percent of the time the honest answer would have something to do with sports, sex, or some mechanical problem. Colin secretly thought that when women asked that, they were more interested in the thoughts they were thinking, not the bloke’s. Or maybe they really did want an honest answer? Doubtful. Colin didn’t want to botch up his answer, but he’d hesitated long enough. Laine’s eyebrow had lifted expectantly.
“Honestly?” said Colin. This was to buy time. Could he really say what was on his mind? How he wanted to get her back to the hotel, and get her naked, as quickly as possible? He was done with the wining and dining foreplay? He’d said yes to coming to Florence because he thought there was a chance to recreate the passion in Paris? How he wanted to shag her senseless, watch her writhe under his touch, hear her moan with each of his thrusts? Damn, he had a raging woody now.
“Yes, honestly,” said Laine, just as the tiramisu arrived. Colin grabbed his spoon for something to do. He took a quick bite, just to buy more time. The flavors melted and exploded in his mouth. As sweet and amazing at that was, it only made him think of what it was going to be like to have Laine melt and explode in his mouth later, if she would… If he didn’t mess things up.
She dipped her spoon into the creamy top layer. Colin watched her lift the spoon to her lips. She parted those beautiful lips, and just before she slipped her full spoon between them, she whispered, rather seductively,
“Tell me.”
Then Colin felt something graze his leg. He knew what it was, saw Laine lean back, wrap her mouth around her spoon and withdraw it slowly as she watched him. Under the table, her foot slid along his inner thigh until… He wanted to pull away, so she wouldn’t discover where
his private thoughts had taken him, but she got there first.
“Oh god,” he muttered, feeling her touch, watching her eyes widen, and then feeling her toes knead against him. He closed his eyes for a second.
“Whatever you were thinking about, don’t stop,” she said.
Colin opened his eyes and saw her gazing at him. Her soft, brown eyes shone under slightly lowered lids. Her cheeks looked slightly flushed. From the wine, or…?
“You know what I’m thinking?” said Laine.
Colin shook his head. He didn’t trust his voice to form coherent words at the moment. With one hand he awkwardly dipped into the tiramisu, with the other he held Laine’s soft foot against his near to bursting erection.
“I think it’s time to say goodnight to Giammo. I think he’s worked his magic.”
Colin nodded, and then, without really thinking, he said, “I have a bath tub.” Immediately he felt like an idiot.
Laine indulged an amused smile, one eyebrow arched. “Do you?” She seemed on the brink of laughter,
“In my room,” he clarified. “Back at the hotel.”
She nodded, still smiling. “I think I might like to climb into your bath tub.”
Colin put down his spoon and looked around for a waiter.
Chapter 12
Laine
She’d done it. She’d slid her foot up Colin’s leg and across his thigh and had been mightily rewarded for her courage. As soon as her toes had touched his hard length, she’d felt something like an electric shock running through her body. It started and stopped between her legs.
As they’d talked, and eaten, and drunk their wine, Laine had grown more relaxed and more enamored with this green-eyed British bloke across from her. She loved his accent. She loved the way he talked about his parents, his love/hate relationship with all things British, his suspicions and judgements about Americans (“present company excluded”), his travels, his work — he felt he was much more of a salesman than an art aficionado, having fallen into being a broker because of his parents’ contacts and a willingness to travel. He really did like art, had a profound appreciation for its beauty and history, and the fact that some people valued it very highly made his job rather lucrative most of the time. It wasn’t steady or predictable work, but it was challenging and satisfying. When he found out that Laine had studied visual arts and art history, as well as art administration, he asked her whether she’d once aspired to being an artist herself. This made her blush deeply and become tongue-tied. It was a dream she’d put aside a long time ago, but Colin’s genuine care and curiosity made her realize how much she had once longed to be the creator not just the observer. She shared her vulnerability about this, and he was tender and understanding. She had diverted the conversation as soon as she could. She didn’t want things to get too heavy on this ‘first date’.
She tried to be a little more light and airy after that, remembering that he was probably looking to replay their sexy one night stand in Paris. There was nothing wrong with that. He hadn’t come to meet her in Florence to hear about her heartbreak with Richard or her lost dreams about being an artist. Even though he listened attentively and asked questions. Laine guessed he was just being polite. He still hardly knew her, but he was attracted to her, and her to him. They could just enjoy that for now. When Laine let go of her other expectations, let herself simply enjoy his company, his smile, his beautiful eyes, she felt looser and more emboldened. So much so that she had slipped one red heel off her foot and lifted it under table until she had felt something pleasantly shocking.
Colin called for the bill and insisted he pay for this evening’s dinner. Laine did her best to accept graciously.
“Looks like the bubbly was on the house, anyway. We’ll have to thank Giammo on our way out.”
Laine wasn’t sure if she was prepared to do anything except beeline for the hotel. She still felt Colin’s shape against her toes, though she’d removed her foot to slip it back into her heel and so she was ready to go. It was a kind of phantom feeling, a physical memory, but it made her toes warm and that warmth traveled up her leg and warmed the dampening vee between her thighs. She had a feeling this was the kind of outcome Giammo had been hoping for and he wouldn’t be too bothered if they left without saying goodbye, so long as it was in the heat of passion.
Colin signed the bill with a flourish, removed his napkin from his lap, and then stood and reached for Laine’s hand. It trembled slightly when she offered it up. Laine realized she was trembling all over. Was she nervous or excited? She was pretty sure both.
Colin led her out under the courtyard’s blanket of overhead twinkling lights and then through the candlelit interior of the restaurant. The conversations were now quieter, people sat more closely together, more of them touched and stared into each other’s eyes, a few couples were already kissing. Giammo’s definitely possessed some kind of romantic magic.
Colin reached for Laine’s hand before they walked out the door. Laine saw Giammo pouring Spumante into glasses at a nearby table. She smiled at him, sure that her cheeks were slightly flushed in anticipation of what was to come. Giammo nodded approvingly and winked as he filled the glasses on the table before him. Laine wondered fleetingly whether Giammo’s Spumante carried the magic.
Outside, the air was cooler. Colin draped Laine’s wrap over her shoulders and then he left his arm there, holding her close. They walked somewhat awkwardly for a few steps before falling into an easy pace with one another. Colin leaned in and nuzzled her ear.
“Dinner was delicious but you are the course I’ve been waiting to taste.”
She sighed and tilted her neck so he could kiss it. “Feel free to take a sample.”
He stopped walking. His mouth fell hungrily on her throat. His soft warm lips and hot roving tongue took her breath away and made her knees go weak. He worked his way up her neck to her ear and then across her jaw bone to her lips. His mouth pushed hers open wide and his tongue probed deeply. His obvious passion overwhelmed her.
“Oh, Laine,” he murmured, pressing his hips against hers. They were standing in the middle of the street, with nothing to lean against. Laine clutched him for balance, and he must have mistaken that for equal ardor because he opened his hands against her buttocks and pulled her roughly toward his hard length, as if he wanted to climb up inside her right there. She heard a car engine and a tinny beeping. Headlights arced through the darkness. Colin broke the kiss and pulled her hurriedly off to the side before an old Fiat barrelled by.
Laine felt something tug at her foot but didn’t know what it was until she was leaning against the pillar of a loggia running the length of this block.
“Are you okay?” said Colin. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Ever since your foot touched—“
“—My foot,” said Laine, looking down. It was at an odd angle. In the rush from the street, one of her heels had gotten caught and broken off. Her face fell. Her favorite red shoes! She looked toward the street. Colin followed her gaze, saw what she was looking at and dashed out to retrieve the broken piece. He carried it back, looking sheepish.
“It’s my fault.”
Laine shook her head. For some strange reason she felt on the brink of tears. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It was just a silly shoe! But these shoes had helped bring her and Colin together three months ago, and they were helping make tonight a perfect evening. Until now. Broken. Was it a bad omen? She looked up at Colin who saw the tears forming in her eyes and seemed surprised.
“We can get it fixed. It’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Doesn’t Italy have the best shoemakers in the world?”
He was trying to cheer her up but didn’t he see that it wasn’t the fact that the shoe had broken but the fact that the shoe had broken tonight, of all nights. She didn’t know if she could stop the tears from coming. She felt ridiculous and irrational, but she couldn’t really help it.
“It’s ruined,” she said, meaning the evening, not the s
hoe. Colin was probably right that it could be fixed.
“I’ll find a shoe repair first thing in the morning. I promise.”
He kneeled down and slipped the foot bed off her foot. He pulled the unbroken shoe off, too.
“You’ll have to walk in your stockings. Unless you want me to carry you?”
Laine shook her head. She could walk. She just felt so disappointed, and clumsy.
“It was all supposed to be so perfect,” said Laine quietly, feeling the magic of the night fade, the heat of passion between them cool. Colin stood up and threaded her arm through his. He seemed to catch on now.
“Tonight?” he said. “You wanted tonight to be perfect? And your broken shoe ruined that?”
Laine nodded.
Colin started to laugh.
Laine couldn’t control it. Her tears started to fall.
Colin must have realized his response wasn’t appropriate because he stopped in mid-gufffaw. Laine’s response wasn’t appropriate either and she wiped a corner of her wrap against her eyes, no doubt smearing her fastidiously applied mascara.
Colin stopped walking and turned to her, her shoes, in three parts, clamped in the fingers of one hand. With his free fingers, he wiped away a tear that Laine had missed.
He was still smiling, the feature left over from his quickly aborted laughter. “You have to admit it’s kind of funny,” he said gently.
Yet to Laine it was tragic. She had taken such a risk coming here, reaching out to Colin, pretending to be the kind of woman who could build an affair out of a one night stand, believing she could give a hot guy a foot job under the table at a restaurant. She was fooling herself. Sure, it was just a shoe. It was also just her life. Just her messy, clumsy, very unsexy life. She sighed heavily.
“Hey,” said Colin, using two of his fingers to lift up her chin so she would meet his gaze. His eyes seemed to twinkle. More of that stoppered laughter, Laine guessed.
