Flo brushed off his comments, not sure if they had crossed the line between teasing and complaining and not wanting to risk ruining her red hot surprise by guessing wrong. She knew that surprises were as popular with Dan as liver popsicles, but this was a special occasion and hopefully the start of a lot of new things.
“All right, I guess we can remove the blindfold and let you see where you are,” she said as she led him across the threshold into the luxury box. Before Florence could react, Dan whipped off the black satin sleep mask she had purchased as part of their red hot night.
“What is all this?” Dan asked. A wide smile broke out on his face as he surveyed the party decorations and a small table set for a romantic dinner for two. Flo had supplemented the green, gold, and black balloons—the official Dallas Stars colors—with tea lights and yellow rose petals scattered around the suite. Each of the monitors in the sky box also had the animated words “Happy Birthday, Dan!” exploding across their screens. It was a mix of seduction and sports that managed to have mutually satisfying appeal to both husband and wife.
“Happy birthday, sugar,” Florence shouted as she delivered a warm hug. Dan was not a man prone to expressing his emotions, but she could see that he was not only surprised but touched.
“Woman, what have you done?” he asked, smiling broadly as he continued to look around.
“It was all spelled out in the invite. Sweets on ice…starry evening…You’re here in this lovely, very private luxury box to watch the Stars in their first playoff game and celebrate any way you see fit, darlin’. The night belongs to you.”
“This is amazin’,” Dan said as he gazed down at the now empty arena and ice rink. “You can’t miss a thing from up here.”
“Here you go,” Flo said, joining him with two pilsner glasses, each filled with a shandy cocktail. She looked Dan straight in the eye and tried to hold his gaze as she’d learned. Dan smiled and quickly looked away, finding it more comfortable to put his attention toward the smoked oyster roll appetizer.
“A toast: Dan, may tonight be not only a celebration of your birth, but the birth of a new beginnin’ for us as well. I love you, darlin’. Happy birthday.” The two touched glasses before drinking.
“Whoo-wee. What is this?”
“Lemonade and lager beer. It’s called a shandy. What do you think?”
“Interestin’, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick to straight beer.”
“It’s your night—you can have any darn thing you desire,” Flo said, hiding her disappointment and anxiety behind a smile.
Well, that went over like a skunk at a picnic, Florence thought as she walked over to the bar area to replace Dan’s drink. Apparently beer cocktails were all the rage, and she’d gambled on Dan’s taste buds and lost. Hopefully dinner would be different. She’d worked closely with the chef to create a sumptuous and more sophisticated meal catering to her husband’s tastes and comfort level. Tonight’s seafood menu included shrimp and avocado quesadilla appetizers; a dinner of lobster tacos, yellow tomato salsa, and jicama salad; and for dessert a sexy fresh fruit and chocolate fondue—all foods Dan loved, but prepared with a more sensual twist.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” she said, following her script for a red hot night and taking a seductive sip before handing the pilsner glass over to Dan. He gave her a brow-furled smile, which Flo decided was a cross between intrigue and surprise, as she’d never before had the audacity to drink from his glass. “Come with me,” she cooed, taking his hand.
She led him over to the dinner table and, while trying to maintain eye contact, unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. She went back to the kitchen and plated their food, careful not to serve too much. Florence placed dinner on the table and before returning to her seat gave him an enticing kiss on the mouth.
Dan, feeling his penis stir, once again smiled with question marks in his eyes. In a surprising move that caught his wife totally off-guard, he raised his glass in a toast. “You know, I’m not really good at this kind of thing, Floey, but thank you for all of this. It’s really nice and very special.”
Florence tapped her glass against his, thrilled that he’d acknowledged and was touched by her effort. Dan’s words set the tone for harmonious dining. At first, she tried to use her WMS tricks—from flirting to playing footsy—but stopped when it became glaringly apparent that Dan still didn’t know how to relate to this unseen side of his wife. Reminding herself to remain patient and flexible, Flo put their red hot night on simmer and eventually they settled into amicable conversation. They covered everything from talking about the boys to gossiping about the neighbors to trying to figure out what model SUV they should buy next. With the help of good food and drink, talk turned into laughter and laughter into hand-holding. Florence sat back, happy that they’d returned to their comfortable old ways, but also disappointed that Dan was not responding to her new sensual side with the interest and vigor she’d hoped for.
Down below, they could hear the noises of the arena coming to life. It was still forty minutes until the face-off and before Dan’s attention was totally turned to his beloved Stars, Florence decided one last time to try to engage his senses and his imagination.
“Time for birthday gifts.” Flo walked over to the closet, where she’d had the staff stow Dan’s gifts. She removed from its hanger the sinfully soft cotton bathrobe.
“Why don’t you put this on?” she suggested, holding the robe like a valet.
Dan, tipsy and willing to oblige his thoughtful wife, stood up and turned his back to her, ready to slip his right arm through the sleeve.
“No, I mean, why don’t you take your clothes off and slip into this. You’ll love the way it feels—like wrappin’ up in a cloud,” Flo said as she reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Flo, I do not know what’s gotten into you. I do appreciate all this, but let’s wait till we get home and take care of business properly. You know, I’m just not built for this kinky kind of stuff. I don’t want to hurt your feelin’s, but this is all kinda new for me,” he added, reading the rejection on her face.
“New and you like it, or new and you don’t?” Flo harnessed her courage to ask.
“I don’t know—it’s gonna take some time to get used to. You’ve been actin’ kinda different since I got home.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not bad so much as different. It’s given me cause to rethink my decision to leave. Hell, I don’t think I’m cut out for the bachelor life anymore. Been married way too long.”
“But you left because you said you were bored. We can’t just ignore that. We have some things to work on. So maybe we should try startin’ over,” Flo suggested. “Start datin’ each other and revisit everything in six months and see where we stand.”
“I’m up for baby steps,” Dan agreed before giving his wife a quick hug and a kiss.
The commotion of team introductions down on the ice pulled them apart, and Dan moved away from her to his front-row seat. “Floey, could you grab me another beer?”
Flo exhaled softly before heading over to the bar. She couldn’t deny that she was disheartened that her intended evening had been more lukewarm than sizzling, but progress had been made. Dan had noticed the changes in her, and though he hadn’t embraced them totally, he didn’t seem to be totally put off by them.
He’s right, we’ll have to take it slow, she reminded herself. She would take the baby steps necessary to put her marriage back on course, but this time Florence Chase, now a weapon of mass seduction, would be stepping out in heels.
Chapter Twenty
Pia picked up line two, expecting to hear Florence’s comical report of her evening out, but instead her ears were surprised by the sound of Valen Bellamy’s voice.
“Good morning. I think it’s time we finished up our discussion, don’t you?”
“I thought we had done that,” Pia replied. “Can you please hold for a moment?”
Pia put him on hold
and picked up line one, let the location scout know she’d have to call her back, and counted to five before returning to Valen. She was pleased to hear from him, but only because she’d spent the past three weeks waiting for the call from her boss firing her for jeopardizing the company’s future.
“I’m sorry. You were saying?”
“I was saying that I was very impressed with you and your insights on the topic we were discussing and I wanted to continue the dialogue.”
“I see, though I find it interesting that based on our last meeting a man of your political leanings would find anything I had to say insightful.”
“Well, sometimes the messenger can make the message much more palatable.”
Okay, does he actually have the nerve to be flirting with me?
“Or cause a good message to get lost in a bad delivery.”
“I suppose I deserve that. I apologize for what seemed to be an attack on you and your colleagues. But in all fairness, that was a fact-finding mission. I didn’t have all the components in place, but I do now and I’m willing to fall on my sword, because I really do need you.”
I need you. Pia hadn’t heard those words from a man in a very long time, and they gave her an odd sense of satisfaction.
“I thought you made a great many sensible points, and as my campaign is about to be launched, I’d like to get your take on my ideas. How about it?”
“Wouldn’t you rather your staff do that for you? As you learned at our last meeting, I have a tendency to tell it like I think it is.”
“And that is one of the many things I already like about you. In my business there is an overabundance of yes-men. I don’t need another. Come on, Pia, political parties aside, we both want to help our people, so please join me for breakfast tomorrow at eight.”
A hundred different excuses for why she couldn’t meet with him ran through her head, each batted away and discarded by the fact that her boss would be very unhappy if she said no.
“Well, Mr. Bellamy, when you campaign that effectively, how can I say no?”
“I’m not sure what I said to enlist your change of heart, but obviously it’s something to figure out and remember when I’m stumping. I’ll have my secretary call you with the address, and I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“Okay. See you at eight.”
“Pia?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Bellamy is my dad. Please call me Valen.”
Pia stood midblock on East Fifty-first Street, next to the Sutton Synagogue. She was confused. Valen’s instructions, relayed through Dee, were to meet him at Greenacre for breakfast, but instead of a restaurant she walked into a pocket-size emerald green sanctuary. With each step forward, Pia’s smile widened. Immediately she was drawn to the park’s focal point—a huge waterfall cascading down the granite back wall. The falling water created a soothing barrier to the city sounds, eliciting a sense of solitude and privacy.
She stood mesmerized under a grove of honey locust trees, their fragile leaves forming a protective sunscreen and projecting lacy shadows across the stones underfoot. Hedges of fuchsia rhododendrons and white azaleas, supplemented by gorgeous blue and purple hydrangeas in big pots scattered around the park, provided bursts of color. The upper and main tiers were empty but for two singles, one reading the newspaper, the other meditating, both enjoying themselves in this awe-inspiring city oasis.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Valen asked, walking up beside her. “This is my favorite spot in the entire city. If you close your eyes, smell the flowers, and listen to the waterfall, you can almost believe that you’re in some tropical paradise.”
“You really do believe in serving the public, don’t you?” Pia asked, begrudgingly impressed by Valen’s sensual nature.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that only a man dedicated to the public good would be willing to share something so beautiful. I’ve lived in Manhattan for years and never knew about this place. And now that I do, I’m not telling a soul. I’m keeping this amazing secret to myself.”
“And you call yourself a Democrat,” he teased. “Come, let’s sit. I promised you breakfast, and as I aim to do with all my campaign pledges, I shall deliver.” Valen led her past the small concession stand and toward the back of the park, then down a short flight of roped-off stairs. There behind the hedges and next to the waterfall was a table—the only one in the small park set with white linen, china, and silverware. At each place setting was a glossy white box tied with a red and white gingham bow.
Pia was stunned. This looked like a setup for a romantic date, not a business meal. Pia was savvy and experienced enough to know that any man who went the extra mile like this did so not because he was interested in a woman’s ideas but simply because he was interested in the woman.
“You did this for me?” Pia asked as Valen helped her into the chair.
“You know how we politicians are—anything to get a vote. But in all truth, I do some of my best thinking here, and yes, I did want to share this with you. Mimosa?”
“Uh, no, thank you.” Pia was confused and oddly touched that he’d wanted to share his favorite place with her. Where was the man she’d spent the afternoon sparring with not so long ago?
“You don’t drink?”
“Not much lately. Watching my waistline,” she offered. It was the truth, though for reasons other than Valen suspected.
The way he pursed his lips, it was clear to Pia that he had just swallowed a flirtatious comment. And though she was curious, it was probably for the best that she not know what he was thinking. If his thoughts were running parallel to hers, the idea of sharing a romantic breakfast in this beautiful setting should be sending the same uneasy chill down his spine that was currently zipping down hers.
Pia quickly tried to assess her feelings. It wasn’t fear that was confusing her; it was something much more dangerous—the delicious agitation caused by the potent mixture of intellectual interest and overwhelming physical attraction to the wrong man.
“I think I owe you an apology,” Pia said, commanding her brain to focus. “I was pretty rude walking away from your meeting like that.”
“Apology accepted. And I offer the same. Sometimes passion can get the best of you,” Valen said in a voice equal parts sincerity and innuendo. So equal, Pia wasn’t sure whether he was once again flirting.
“So that’s why you…well, you smirked at me.”
“Smirked?”
“Yes. Smirked. Every time I said something you got his look…a smirk…on your face, as if what I was saying was so totally off-base that it was…cute or something.”
Valen’s face broke out into a crooked smile.
“That’s it! That’s the smirk!” Pia declared.
“I don’t know what my face is showing, but my mind is and was thinking, This is really a bright and interesting woman. So any smirking was strictly complimentary.”
Okay, he’s flirting, Pia thought through her grin.
“May I ask you a question?” she said, choosing to reside on the side of mystery and ignore his comment altogether. “Why politics?”
“I think it was my mother’s influence above all else. Whether the Boy Scouts or PTA or Jack and Jill, she was always involved in some sort of leadership position. She said by leading she was sure to make a difference.”
“So what kind of difference do you want to make?”
“I want to give our people options beyond political parties—real options. We need to teach our folk that choice goes beyond someone holding out their hands and saying, ‘Pick one.’ And Easter Elizabeth Bellamy was all about creating options.”
“Easter?”
“She was born on Easter Sunday and my grandmother thought it was the perfect name. My mother decided to continue the holiday tradition with me.”
“So Valen is short for Valentine?” Pia asked, drawn again to the gray eyes behind his glasses.
“Yes. My birthday is February fourteen
th.”
“Well, it could be worse—she could have named you Cupid. So you don’t have any other siblings named Christmas or Cinco de Mayo, do you?” Pia asked, smiling broadly.
“No. I do have one sister named Tina. She was unfortunately born on a regular old Tuesday.”
“And your son?”
“Well, he in fact was born on Arbor Day. So in keeping with family tradition, he’s named Spruce Sapling Bellamy.”
Valen’s delivery was so deadpan, Pia didn’t know how to react. It wasn’t until he burst out in warm laughter that she realized he was joking.
“His name is Robert. Maybe we should eat before this gets cold,” Valen suggested, with a chuckle.
“This is all very thoughtful,” Pia commented as she untied the gingham ribbon and opened her box to find a gourmet breakfast of a shrimp and crab burrito and fresh fruit.
“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering for you.”
“Not at all. It’s wonderful…” A briny whiff of seafood hit Pia’s pregnant nose with a vengeance. She quickly closed the box, hoping to stop the smell and the swell of nausea creeping up on her.
“You don’t like shrimp?”
“I’m allergic to shellfish,” Pia fibbed, hating to lie but feeling she had no other option. It was rare enough that a man made this kind of effort, and she hated to crush his enthusiasm. “But it looks lovely, and I do so appreciate your thought.”
“Thoughts are nice, but they won’t feed you,” Valen said, obviously disheartened. “Looks like I’ve got two strikes already—you don’t drink and you don’t eat shellfish. My batting average is looking pretty dismal this morning.”
“Do you think the concession stand over there serves tea and maybe an English muffin?” she asked, trying to salvage his ego and her stomach.
“I’ll go check.”
Pia closed her eyes until the wave of discomfort passed. Then she concentrated on the park sounds, merging her thoughts with the rumble of falling water.
She was impressed that Valen hadn’t done the typical restaurant thing. She liked that he had instead exercised his creativity and sensual side when picking out this tiny paradise to share with her. His attention to detail said a lot about him, and it was telling Pia that she definitely needed to know him better.
Weapons of Mass Seduction Page 15
