Field of Pleasure

by Farrah Rochon

  Chapter 6

  “No.” Liani snatched the black slacks from Chyna’s grasp and pivoted, staring into the open closet.

  “What was wrong with those?” Chyna lamented.

  Liani glared at her with annoyance usually reserved for parents chastising a recalcitrant child.

  “You are going out with Jared Dawson,” her friend said. “You need to think sexy, and pants are not sexy.” Liani gestured to Chyna’s lower half. “You are five foot eight with a pair of the most incredible legs I’ve ever seen. Show them off.”

  Chyna flashed her a flirtatious smile. “You’ve been checking out my legs?”

  Liani practically growled. “Stop playing around and pick a dress. I have to leave in a half hour, and it’ll take at least that long to do your hair and makeup.”

  Chyna settled on her favorite little black dress. It was sleeveless with a scooping neckline, practical but elegant. “I don’t want to go over the top,” she reasoned. “I’m not even sure where we’re going. We may decide to just stay at the Patisserie and have paninis.”

  “This is Jared Dawson we’re talking about,” Liani stressed unnecessarily. As if Chyna needed a reminder of whom she would be meeting in just under an hour. “He is not going to take you to a coffee shop for sandwiches. Jared doesn’t skimp. I’ve told you stories of how he doted on that stupid girlfriend of his.”

  “Well, I’m not stupid and I’m not his girlfriend,” Chyna pointed out. She sat in front of the mirror and waited for Liani, who was retrieving makeup from a collection that would make the girls at the Sephora counter seethe with envy. “It’s not as if this is anything serious,” Chyna continued. “The only reason I’m going out with him is because I knew he wouldn’t stop asking until I caved.”

  Liar.

  Liani looked up from the cosmetic case and shot her a look that said she was wholly unconvinced.

  “Okay, fine. I also think he’s just a bit gorgeous, too,” Chyna conceded.

  “Thank God. I was about to question your sanity. Turn toward me.” Liani caught Chyna’s chin between her fingers. “Actually, I still think you’re crazy,” she muttered through thinned lips as she drew a thin black line along the lower lash of Chyna’s eye. “If Jared Dawson was in hot pursuit, I would be all too ready to let him catch me.”

  “I don’t have time to get caught,” Chyna complained.

  This conversation was starting to sound like a broken record. No matter how many times she stated her case, Liani couldn’t comprehend the work Chyna had to do just to survive. She didn’t have parents living in a penthouse on Fifth Avenue whom she could fall back on. The only safety net Chyna had was the few thousand dollars she’d managed to save over the past eight years.

  “Even if you’re not looking for anything serious, just have some fun for once,” her friend implored. “If you’re not careful you’re going to burn out before you reach thirty.” Holding the liquid eyeliner brush in one hand, Liani captured Chyna’s chin with the other, and with a concerned plea, said, “Promise me you’ll let yourself enjoy Jared.”

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘enjoy,’” Chyna said with a guarded chuckle.

  “Enjoy his company, not him as in him. At least not yet.” Liani winked.

  Chyna sat for a few minutes more while Liani put the finishing touches on her hair. Moments later, Liani was packed up and ready to go.

  “Have fun tonight,” her friend demanded. She blew Chyna an air kiss as she backed out of the door and carted her suitcase of cosmetics down the stairs.

  Chyna slipped into her dress, then spent way more time than necessary trying to decide between her silver necklace or the faux pearls. She decided on the less formal, but still tasteful, silver.

  She had no idea where Jared was taking her tonight, but figured simple and classy would work for ninety percent of the restaurants in New York. Twenty minutes later, Chyna walked into the Patisserie and found Jared sitting at one of the front tables.

  He rose as soon as he saw her, his eyes traveling her full length.

  “You look fabulous,” was his greeting.

  So did he. In his slacks, jacket and shirt with no tie, he’d dressed elegantly but not overly dressy.

  Simple and classy. Score one for her.

  “Thank you,” Chyna answered. “Sorry, I’m late. Blame it on me being a girl. It always takes us longer to get ready.”

  “That’s okay. I like girls.” His mouth quirked in an infectious smile. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

  “As soon as you tell me where we’re going.”

  “I’d rather keep it a surprise,” he said, opening the door and gesturing for her to exit the bakery ahead of him.

  “I’m not underdressed, am I?”

  “You’re perfect,” he said. His simple compliment affected her way more than it should have. Just like the rest of him.

  As she walked alongside Jared, Chyna once again questioned the wisdom of agreeing to this date. This was so not like her. At any given moment she had a dozen things to do, and having dinner with a rich football player had never made the list.

  She shook off the unease and concentrated on what Liani had advised. She’d enjoy the evening for what it was, but come tomorrow, she was done. No more dipping her toes into the pool of luxury and wealth. She wasn’t about to get caught up in this fairy tale.

  Jared guided her half a block down to a silver Mercedes Coupe. He unlocked it and held the passenger side door open while she slid onto the cool leather. It was a nice step up from the N train.

  “This car is gorgeous,” she said when he sat behind the wheel.

  “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if you were wearing a skirt, so I didn’t want to come in the SUV. Sam always hated getting into the SUV with a dress.” He thumped both hands against the wheel and expelled a sigh. “And that’s the last time I mention her name tonight. You have my permission to punch me if I say it again.”

  Chyna hesitated for only a second before saying, “I’m sorry for what she did to you, and for how publicized it all was. That had to have been hard to endure.”

  “It was,” he said. “But no more talk about the woman whose name I will not mention. Tonight is about getting to know you, Chyna McCrea. Are you willing to let me peek inside that pretty little head of yours?”

  Chyna felt her cheeks warm, but couldn’t do a single thing to stop it. Her paltry attempt to remain unaffected was no match for Jared’s charm.

  “Just a peek,” she returned. “You may get bored if there’s no mystery.”

  “You’re not boring, Chyna,” he said with a seriousness she hadn’t expected. “I’m guessing you just haven’t had anyone to show you what it means to have fun.” He leaned over the console, his mouth hovering scant inches from her ear. “Get ready, because I’m going to teach you a thing or two about how to have a good time.”

  Chyna inhaled a deep breath as she pulled the seat belt across her chest. “Lead the way.”

  Jared rolled to a stop in front of the Time Warner Building at Columbus Circle, handed his keys to the valet and came around the car. The doorman guided Chyna over to him and Jared placed his right hand at the small of her back. His fingers tingled where he touched her. This close, the soft, flowery fragrance that had suffused every inch of his car was even stronger. Jared closed his eyes for a second to soak in her scent.

  When they entered Per Se, the maître d’ greeted them with a broad smile. “Mr. Dawson. Welcome. Rena said you would be dining with us this evening. We have an excellent table reserved. Follow me, please.”

  Jared started to follow but felt a hesitation in Chyna’s step. He glanced at her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. The overbright smile that didn’t even marginally reach her eyes told a different story. She couldn’t be disappointed? He’d scored a table at one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan.

  The maître d’ led them to a table for two just to the right of the glass-fronted fireplace. It affor
ded a glorious view of Columbus Circle backdropped by the towering treetops of Central Park. He placed menus before each of them. “The sommelier will be with you shortly.”

  Seconds later, the sommelier arrived with the wine list. Jared waved off the leather-bound portfolio and said, “Give me your best suggestions.”

  The man rattled off several wines, with selections ranging from Napa Valley all the way to the northern region of Italy. “One of our most exclusive is a ’49 Bordeaux. The Château La Conseillante is rich and vibrant and would go well with the moulard foie gras on tonight’s menu.”

  Jared nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Excuse me, but how much is a glass of that?” Chyna asked.

  The sommelier’s eyes snapped with surprise. He quickly recovered, answering, “It is only sold by the half bottle, madam. And that is fifteen hundred and eighty dollars.”

  “No way.” Chyna shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jared, but absolutely not.”

  Caught off guard by her protest, Jared glanced awkwardly at the sommelier. “Would you give us a minute?”

  “Of course.” He sketched a slight bow and retreated.

  Jared leaned forward, and in a hushed voice, asked, “Chyna, what’s going on? You got something against red wine?”

  “When a half bottle is equivalent to a month’s rent, yes.”

  So this was a money issue? Did she think he’d ask her to split the bill at the end of the night?

  Her eyes roaming the menu, she continued, “I’m not a huge fan of restaurants that don’t list the prices of the food on the menu and charge a couple of thousand dollars for a bottle of wine as if it’s nothing.”

  Jared sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “The à la carte menu is in the back. Prices are listed there.”

  She flipped to the back and continued her diatribe. “I get that you’re a big-time football player and you’re used to paying fifteen dollars for a beet salad, and—oh, for God’s sake—eighty dollars for a steak? Seriously, eighty dollars? That’s outrageous.”

  “It’s just a steak.”

  “Exactly. You could get the same steak for twenty dollars at dozens of restaurants around the city. Why would you pay four times that much?”

  Jared shook his head, completely baffled. Of all the things he could have imagined to put a wrinkle in their night, a debate over the cost of dinner had never entered his mind. He’d eaten at this restaurant more times than he could count. He was used to spending several hundred dollars on a meal without batting an eye; Samantha had expected no less.

  He’d set out to impress Chyna by taking her to one of New York’s most elite restaurants. Instead, he was in the midst of a lecture on food cost.

  “You don’t have to get steak,” he reasoned, trying to infuse a bit of humor into his voice. “The chicken is cheaper.”

  “I could buy a week’s worth of groceries with that amount,” she mumbled. She looked up from the menu and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I have a hard time controlling my practical side. This is all just so much more than I’d expected.”

  “We can go someplace else,” he quickly said, seeing a way out of this awkward situation he’d managed to land himself in just by trying to order a bottle of wine.

  She darted a quick, worried glance at the podium where the sommelier and maître d’ stood. “But we’re already here.”

  “There’s no rule that says we have to stay, Chyna. And if you’re going to spend the entire meal thinking about what you could have bought with each bite you swallow, I doubt you’ll enjoy it. Why don’t we find somewhere else?”

  She bit her bottom lip and said with a tentative smile, “Really?”

  For the chance to see more of those smiles, he would be willing to go Dumpster diving. Jared snatched the napkin from his lap and tossed it on the table. Chyna didn’t give him a chance to reach her. She pushed her own chair back and rose. The maître d’ hustled to the table.

  “Mr. Dawson, is there something wrong?”

  “Please apologize to Rena and thank her again for holding the table, but we won’t be eating here tonight.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” the maître d’ said. “Is there something I can do? Suggest a less expensive wine, perhaps? We have an extensive collection.”

  “No, but thanks for the offer.” Jared reached into his pocket and snagged a hundred-dollar bill from his money clip. He shook the maître d’s hand, pressing the money into his palm.

  As they waited for the valet to return with the car, Jared turned to Chyna and said, “I’m not sure where we’ll find a table on such short notice on a Friday night.”

  “I know a few places,” she said. “Do you eat Moroccan?”

  Jared thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried it.”

  “Excellent.” She grinned. “I have the perfect place.”

  Two hours later, they were back in Brooklyn at a tiny Moroccan restaurant two blocks away from the bakery where he’d picked her up. Although the huge pillows they sat on were comfortable, Jared had lost all feeling in his left foot, but he didn’t care one bit. He’d cut the damn thing off before he gave up his spot on this floor.

  He scooped up a heap of couscous with a bit of pita bread and dipped it in yet another sauce. There were at least a dozen of them on their table, along with a huge bowl of couscous in the center, a platter of chicken and several bowls of vegetables that were either steamed or smothered in succulent sauces. And the twenty-dollar bottle of wine Chyna had ordered was one of the best Jared had ever tasted.

  “God, this is good,” Jared said around a mouthful of food.

  “You should try mixing them up.” She gathered a helping with her fingers and dipped it in one sauce, then another. “Here.”

  His heart started to jackhammer at the sight of her holding the food out for him to sample. Jared sensed the moment when she seemed to realize what she’d offered. Her eyes rounded and she began to pull her hand away, but he caught her wrist and pulled it closer. His eyes locked with hers, he closed his mouth around her fingers, dragging his teeth along her skin ever so slightly. With deliberate slowness, Jared drew each of her fingers into his mouth, licking a drop of sauce from her knuckle, swallowing the salty flavor of her skin.

  “This sure beats an overpriced steak,” he said.

  “I’m happy you like it.” The words rushed out of her mouth on a shallow breath.

  Something told him he was pushing it, but Jared blocked the thought as he scooped up couscous and dipped it in several sauces. He held it out to her.

  “Your turn.”

  Chyna hesitated a moment before leaning forward and sucking the food from his fingers.

  The arousal he’d been fighting all night burst to life within his pants. Desire, potent and raw, pulsated throughout every cell in his body.

  Jared squelched a groan as Chyna drew her mouth from his fingers, but he couldn’t help the swift breath that escaped when she licked her lips. It took every ounce of control he possessed to stop himself from toppling the table over and capturing that delicately pink tongue.

  “Thank you,” she said. “That was better than I’d imagined.”

  It was fifteen hundred and eighty times better than he’d imagined, and that was just her mouth on his fingers. He couldn’t imagine what would happen when he finally tasted that mouth with his own.

  He shut his eyes for a moment, visualizing sheep in a meadow. When that didn’t work to taper the erection trying to make a break for it behind his fly he tried counting back from fifty.

  Chyna held up the cabernet. “Would you like more wine?”

  He was seconds from bursting through his pants and she was offering wine? Forget the wine. Why wasn’t she offering to swipe the food from the table and drape herself across it?

  “I’m good,” Jared managed to get out, though that was the understatement of the year. He was more than good. Despite their rough start at the first restaurant, tonig
ht had been damn near perfect.

  “Tell me more about the training you guys are doing at the practice facility,” she said with a nonchalance that told Jared she had no idea of the state she’d put him in when she’d closed her lips around his fingers.

  “Do you really want to talk about football?” he asked. “Why don’t you finish telling me the story you started in the car about how you and your friend Liani first met? Sounds like that was some fight.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’d hardly call it a fight. Liani didn’t stand a chance. By the time we met I had been through five years of public school. She was no match for me.”

  “Why did she pick a fight with you?” Jared chuckled.

  “Because I upstaged her at our first dance recital. She had been the best dancer at Miss Cecilia’s Dance Academy until I showed up. She hated me. But all it took was one butt whipping to straighten her out.”

  “From what I see Liani looks pretty tough. I think you got off lucky.”

  “Yeah, right,” Chyna huffed. She gestured to her face. “Don’t let this sweet smile fool you. I can hold my own.”

  Lifting one hand, he lightly fingered a loose tendril of silky brown hair that rested against her cheek. “That sweet smile does all sorts of things to me. It’s one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.”

  A pink hue blossomed on her creamy skin, and Jared instantly started thinking of other ways to make her blush.

  The conversation floated from her rocky start with her best friend, to which of the players kept the dirtiest locker area, to an upcoming ballet performance at Lincoln Center. Jared would rather drive rusty nails through his fingers before suffering through the ballet, but one look at the way Chyna’s eyes lit up while she talked about it and he knew the first thing he’d do tomorrow was find tickets.

  He didn’t realize how long they’d been sitting until the attendant came to their table to tell them the restaurant would be closing in fifteen minutes. He checked his watch. It was a quarter to midnight.

  “Where did the last two hours go?” Chyna asked.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think either of us was too concerned with the time.”