by Lara Hunter
“Do you know ‘Ma Cherie Amour’?” he asked him.
The violinist nodded.
“Mais bien sur,” he affirmed, launching in to the opening notes of the signature love song.
“He just said, ‘But of course!’” I clapped my hands, adding with a smile, “Those French lessons you’ve been giving me between our meetings are really starting to stick.”
Letting loose with a melodious laugh, Oliver surged with a flourish from his seat and extended a chivalrous hand in my direction.
“Care to dance?” he offered on a whisper, arching his feathered eyebrows in my direction.
In lieu of a verbal answer I accepted his hand, standing from my seat to join him on the compact dance floor that occupied the center of Le Jardin.
Taking me gentley into the clasp of his strong, sturdy arms, Oliver pulled me closer than close as we swung across the crisp tiled floor; staring deep into my eyes as our hands joined and our gazes collided.
“Now Oliver…” I let loose with a nervous laugh. “Let’s make this our first and last dance of the evening. We do have work tomorrow, and we’d better get to bed early.”
I regretted my words seconds later, as the mention of the word ‘bed’ brought a curious gleam to Oliver’s cocoa hued eyes; a gleam that soon erupted into a narrow eyed leer that stole my breath.
“Why Ms. Ashton,” he murmered into my ear. “I do like the way you think.”
I had heard enough.
“I meant that we should go to bed separately, at our respective homesteads,” I clarified, clearing my throat loudly. “We do, after all, have a meeting with your dad and our new clients first thing at 9 a.m…”
Shushing me gently, Oliver pulled me closer to him and nestled my neck; his full, moist lips rubbing my skin
“No more talk of business, Lily.” Oliver said my name like the sweetest poetry. “I want you to enjoy your time with me, my dear. Think of this whole experience… as your fantasy.”
Without awaiting a response, Oliver pulled me closer to him; his luscious lips nestling my earlobe as he began to croon in my ear; singing the tender lyrics of ‘Ma Cherie Amour’ into my ear as I melted in response.
Throwing my head back, my eyes closed as I basked in the sounds of a flawless melody; my heart pounding as he pulled me closer still. As my head lowered to rest in the cradle of his massive, sculpted chest, my mind swimmed with memories of our first passionate kiss—suddenly I felt his lips on mine, as I recalled with relish our momentary indiscretion.
Only suddenly I realized that the kiss I experienced was no memory of times past. Oliver’s lips had claimed mine as he swayed me across the dance floor; bending my body backward in a thrilling dip as his smooth, full mouth rubbed and massaged my own.
For a timeless moment I surrendered to his kiss; devouring his lips as our tongues entangled and the music surged around us.
And then it happened. Of course it did. It just had to; as the violinist delivered the final notes of “Ma Cherie Amour,” someone just had to say it.
“I’ll have what she’s having.”
Bolting upright and out of Oliver’s arms, I bounded toward our table; collecting my purse and turning for the door.
“I’m taking a cab home,” I said over my shoulder, avoiding Oliver’s probing gaze and vigorous words of protest as I trotted across the floor. “I do believe, Oliver, that we’re doing too good of a job enacting this charade. It’s starting to feel just a little too real.”
These words echoed in my mind the next morning, as I walked with slow, trudging steps into our office suite; groaning aloud as I spotted a shiny gold bracelet awaiting me at the center of my desk, its gleaming surface catching the light as it seemed to await my arrival. This sight came as an unwelcome capper to a long and nearly sleepless night; one dotted with forbidden dreams of the man for whom I was beginning to develop a genuine affection. That is, when he wasn’t annoying me to no end.
“Oliver!” I called aloud, rolling my eyes heavenward as my boss sauntered casually around the corner. “What did I say yesterday? I really do appreciate the gifts, but this gold bracelet is just too much…”
“This is one of the bracelets I bought for you yesterday, at Dalton’s Department Store,” he interrupted me, making a broad gesture in the direction of the controversial bauble. “You wore it to dinner then, after our dance, you wrenched yourself so violently from my arms that your bracelet came off in my hand.”
I froze.
“Oh, I see,” I let loose with a self-conscious chuckle, quickly retrieving the lost bauble and affixing it to my wrist. “Sorry about that.”
Oliver chuckled.
“And I in turn am sorry if I came on a little too strong last night,” he allowed with a nod. “We’re having such a wonderful time together, and sometimes I get lost in the moment.”
I sighed.
“I’m having a wonderful time too,” I admitted, adding with a shrug, “I think we just need to remember to keep our heads about ourselves and, furthermore, to think with those heads as opposed to other, more delicate body parts.”
Oliver nodded.
“Never an easy proposition for me,” he muttered, tone completely serious. “I think I have an idea, though. Why don’t we have a day date this Saturday? I could meet you at the Remington Country Club, where my family has a running membership, and treat you to some tennis lessons.”
I thought for a moment, then nodded.
“It’s a public place, we’ll be out in broad daylight, and our only vigorous physical activity will involve a tennis racket and some—um—balls,” I finished weakly, adding with a curt nod, “Sold.”
Chapter Five
~
Lily
Driving up the tree lined boulevard that fronted the Remington Country Club, I basked in the vision of the ebullient florals that lined my route; the ruby red roses, golden hibiscus and lavender lilies that filled the meadow beside me.
And in the midst of all this fragrant greenery was a man that himself resembled a sprite of the forest, with his thick, flowing cinnamon hair, round cocoa eyes and flawless features; if, that is, forest sprites ever made it a habit of wearing skintight blue jeans and a partially buttoned shirt. Oh, and freshly polished cowboy boots.
“Sheesh,” I said aloud, grinning through gritted teeth as he waved to me from the midst of the meadow where he sat in the center of a checkerboard blanket lined with what appeared to be various food items. “He doesn’t have to be quite that hot, does he? I mean, really…”
Just briefly I lowered my gaze to regard my own apparel for the day; a crisp white tennis dress delivered to me just that morning via the nice folks at Dalton’s; who, I’d noticed, had gotten a heck a lot nicer since my ‘benefactor’ had started paying my tab at the store; indulging my every whim and buying me just the perfect outfit for every occasion, including this one.
My lovely white cotton tennis dress bore a V-necked pattern of pearl pink beads at the collar and flared flatteringly at the skirt; highlighting and accentuating my curvaceous form.
Sure, the outfit is cute enough, Let’s just hope that my terminal cuteness somehow makes up for the fact that I can’t play tennis. Indeed, I can assure everyone that even Oliver is not going to ‘love’ my loves out there on the court.
Pulling up to the side of the curb, I parked my car and made my way into the meadow, coming to an abrupt halt at the border of the blanket.
“So you asked me to meet you on the tennis courts,” I told Oliver, adding with arched eyebrows, “It looks like you only made it half way to the courts before collapsing exhausted in the middle of this blanket.”
Oliver laughed.
“Actually Lily,” he revealed, spreading his arms across a spread that included thick, succulent ham slices, brie with crackers, succulent chocolate bon bons and a bottle filled with sparkling champagne. “I always prefer to have a bit of lunch before I play. Care to join me?”
Soon I found myself sippin
g champagne and chomping on brie as Oliver proceeded to quiz me about pretty much every aspect of my earthly existence.
“So Lily,” he asked at one point. “Did you always want to be a personal assistant?”
I shook my head.
“When I was kid, Oliver, I spent all of my time writing stories,” I told him, smiling at the memory. “All through my childhood, I swore to everyone who would listen that I was going to be a world famous novelist. My parents indulged me to a point, but always suggested that I have a plan B, which quickly shifted to plan A when I turned 16. My dad was starting his own business and couldn’t afford to pay someone minimum wage to answer his phones and schedule his appointments. I became his PA and what little money I did make, I saved away for college.”
“And you did brilliantly at school, from what my father tells me,” Oliver praised, tipping a crystal champagne flute in my direction. “Still I wonder… do you still write stories?”
I shook my head.
“When it comes to fanciful, romantic stories, I’m afraid I haven’t had much inspiration throughout the course of my adult life,” I snorted.
I took in my breath as Oliver surged across the blanket, covering my hand with his as he said, “Well perhaps we could change that, my dear. Perhaps I could inspire you.”
Eager to change the subject instead, I cleared my throat and said, “So what about you, Oliver? Did you always want to take the reins of your father’s business?”
Oliver shook his head.
“Actually, much like yourself, I always had an artsy side,” he revealed, pulling his hands back as he seemed to take the hint. “I loved to draw and paint, and even had some work featured in some student art shows. My subjects basically included anything that didn’t move, from high school girlfriends to fast sport cars, usually ones I owned. Sometimes, though, I just liked to sit out in my mother’s garden and paint the roses and lilies.”
I shook my head.
“Honestly, Oliver, I never knew we had so much in common,” I declared, gracing him with a gentle nudge. “I myself used to pen poems about these very same subjects… the flowers, that is. I never had any hot girlfriends or sports cars to speak of, and since my mom never did maintain a personal myriad of plants, I usually ended up out in a field somewhere, penning verse about violets.”
Oliver nodded.
“At one time, Lily, just about anything could inspire me to draw, sketch or paint,” he admitted, tone soft and almost wistful. “My mom always encouraged and supported me, bless her heart, she came to every art show and even bought some of my work to put up in her study at home. She also encouraged her friends to check out and even buy my work. For a while I had a nice little business going, doing what I truly loved.”
I smiled.
“Your mom sounded like a wonderful woman, Oliver,” I told him.
Oliver nodded, ducking his head as he seemed to reflect on the woman he’d lost too soon.
“She was the absolute best,” he agreed finally, tone soft and sincere. “And when she died, so did my dreams. Dad basically told me to throw away my paints and get my mind on the family business. He even went so far as to throw away the paintings and drawings that Mom kept in her study. He said he wasn’t about to support some artsy type who was afraid of a hard day’s work.”
I shook my head.
“Oliver, I’m so sorry,” I told him, voice low and sincere. “I didn’t know.”
Oliver nodded.
“It explains a lot, doesn’t it?” he pressed me, adding as he raised his arms in a long, lazy stretch, “Maybe if I had been allowed to do what I really love, or at least give it a try,then I would be more committed to my work.”
I nodded.
“Perhaps. On a general basis, people are always at their best when they’re doing something they love,” I agreed, adding with a smile, “Though I must say it, Oliver. Now that you have managed to apply yourself at work, you’re doing a great job. I’m really beginning to wonder if there’s anything you can’t do. You’re a financier, an artist, a connoisseur of fine food and wine… and, from what I gather, you play a mean game of tennis. Care to demonstrate this last skill for me, out there on the courts?”
Taking this as a definite hint, Oliver stood from the grass and offered me his arm; letting loose with a slow, very flattering wolf whistle as I also rose, giving him his first good look at my fetching new tennis dress.
“You’re beautiful darling,” he praised, pressing two warm, full lips soft against my cheek as we cleared our green space.
“Thanks,” I nodded, adding with eyebrows arched, “Do I look cute enough to distract you from your game today, thus lending me a mere sliver of a chance to win one match? Or at least tie?”
Within moments I found myself standing on the green clay courts of the Remington Country Club; my plain white tennis shoes pounding the pavement as I ran back and forth; managing to strike every ball that Oliver shot in my direction—returning it clean and clear over the net, in the direction of my impressed opponent.
“Excellent!” Oliver applauded me, all the while trying to keep up with my long, strong strokes and quick moves. “You’re a natural. And compared to many of my other dates, most of whom are scared senseless of chipping a fingernail or messing up their hair while playing, you bear a dangerous resemblance to a Wimbledon champion.”
“You’re playing a real woman now, baby!” I exclaimed, delivering as I did a powerful stroke that sent our ball high into the air above us. “Watch out!”
Losing myself in the game, I started to make exaggerated sound effects as well as coordinating decidedly uncoordinated dance moves as we played. Finally surrendering the cause, Oliver dropped his racket and doubled over in a fit of hysterical laughter, thus forfeiting our first match in my favor.
“Sorry about that!” I grinned broadly, adding with a shrug, “I had to find some way to win that doesn’t involve the direct application of any skill or talent. Maybe next time, and as I improve at this game, I’ll be able to beat you fair and square.”
Oliver nodded.
“I’m sure you could,” he assured me. “Might I make just one suggestion, though? We need to shift your stance just a bit. Do you mind if I show you?”
Nodding, I watched silently as he jumped the net in a single smooth flourish; approaching me with slow, sauntering steps and pinning me with an intent gaze.
Soon he stood behind me, approaching close as he wrapped his arms around mine.
“Just adjust your arms a bit, like this,” he spoke low near my ear. “And shift your legs, just like so.”
I found it almost impossible to concentrate on his words; this owing to his strong, masculine presence right behind me. My back touched his hard muscled chest as my rear grazed his rock hard thighs. And though he didn’t press himself against me in a rude or coarse manner, his very presence nearly overwhelmed me.
I felt his hot, crisp breath on my neck and inhaled his citrus-tinged scent; all the while all too aware of how beautifully and naturally my body fit against his.
“Are you all right, Lily?”
The sound of his deep, sonorous voice sent me over the edge, I turned my head to stare deep into his eyes. And I didn’t resist as, with a low but primal growl, he covered my lips with his.
His hot, soft lips massaged mine as he raised his hand to my flushed cheek; his fingers mirroring their tender motions as he continued to kiss me senseless. Our mouths merged, our tongues intertwined, and our breaths mingled as we lost ourselves in the moment and in each other.
