by Ali Parker
Brice was already there, his back to her as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the street below. He turned when he heard her and inhaled sharply. "Gorgeous," he said as he stepped closer and pulled her into his embrace.
"You certainly are," Janna replied, her heart beating faster as she took him in. He was dressed in charcoal gray slacks with a striped white-and-blue button-up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the shirt was covered by a tight dark blue sweater with big black buttons, the top three of which were unbuttoned. No tie got in the way of the smooth patch of exposed skin, and Janna took the opportunity to press a kiss to his neck. He smelled clean and fresh and tasted like springtime.
"Let's not start that," he growled when she nibbled lightly at his neck. "We don't have time to finish." As if his words had summoned their guest, a knock at the door interrupted their tender moment. Brice had to let Janna go to open the door, and she turned towards the windows, suddenly nervous. Who invited a guest to a date?
She certainly wasn't expecting the short older man Brice was ushering into their suite. He was nearly bald, and his eyes were hidden behind enormous lenses an inch thick. Brice led him over to Janna, putting a friendly hand on the smaller man's shoulder as he introduced them.
"Janna, this is George Isley. Mr. Isley, this is Janna Puchina."
"George Isley? The George Isley?" Janna had trouble breathing. "The George Isley that painted Island Sunset, that George Isley?"
The smaller man lets out an embarrassed laugh. "That George Isley, yes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Puchina."
"Please, call me Janna," she said, shaking the man's hand and hoping her nervousness didn't make her hands tremble. George Isley was one of the most respected abstract watercolor artists in the world, and he was standing here in front of her, shaking her hand.
"Mr. Isley, if you'd be so kind," Brice broke in, gesturing towards the room he'd entered earlier to change. Janna followed and had to stifle another gasp when she realized his room didn't just contain his dirty clothes. The three paintings of hers that he'd bought at the gallery show were displayed in front of the windows on bronze easels, the room's diffuse lighting coupling with the flighty sunshine to provide an almost ethereal light for her work.
Janna looked at Brice, unsure of what was to happen now. He smiled down at her, bringing his hands up to her shoulders to rub lightly in reassurance. "I asked Isley here to look over your work, maybe give you some pointers. It's an opportunity many new artists would jump at, and I thought that you might like--"
"I love it," she said without hesitation. "I can't believe you brought him here. That had to blow your budget."
Brice laughed. "Actually, he was in Portland to advise the Museum of Contemporary Art on a new exhibit which is being funded by a grant from the Masterson Foundation, and said he wouldn't mind coming down for the afternoon to meet a promising new talent. At no cost."
"Uh huh," Janna said with a knowing grin. "That's what I call clever accounting." Brice looked like he would protest, so she kissed him before he could. "I don't care. I love it."
"Then stop wasting time with me and go talk to your new mentor." He let her go, although she could tell that he didn't want to. Yet another selfless act by her playboy. She'd thought he'd brought her here for some afternoon delight, and instead, he was settling himself into an armchair in the sitting room, opening The New York Times to read. With a wide grin, she turned her attentions to Mr. Isley.
Two hours later, Janna looked up as Brice wandered back into the room. She realized then how the time had flown. "Well, Isley," Brice said, pulling the older man's attention away from her paintings, "what do you think?"
"She's definitely got talent. If she decided to commit to it, she could go far."
Janna beamed, shining under the honest praise of someone she respected. "Thank you so much for your critique, and the advice," she told the man, shaking his hand. "Although the dissertation doesn't leave that much extra time for painting."
"Sounds like you have a tough decision to make."
* * *
The ride to their final destination was short, and Brice made sure she spent the entirety of it on his lap. He overrode her protests about wrinkling silk and molded her curves into his hard lines. "Mmmm..." he murmured into the hollow of her throat. "You taste so good, like subtle sweetness."
"Brice," her voice was low, pitched between a whisper and a moan. Janna pulled him in tighter, writhing against him and letting out a hungry whimper.
"Shh..." he soothed her, stroking across her shoulders and down her arms as he nibbled gently on her neck. Too soon he felt the limo slow, and for the thousandth time, he cursed himself for setting a time limit for their dates. At the time the arbitrary limit had seemed prudent, but today it was stifling. If he'd had time, he would have ordered Chase to drive around the block until he told him to stop. And he would have made love to her until they both screamed. Hell, he would have spent several hours fucking her in the hotel suite, if they weren't in such an unholy rush.
Using every ounce of his self-control, Brice gently placed Janna onto her seat and assisted her in adjusting her dress. Chase pulled her door open and helped her out, while Brice took a second to breathe deeply and try willing his erection into non-existence. Fat chance.
Climbing out of the limo Brice risked a glance at his watch. 4:55 pm. Shit. That gave him a little over an hour to enjoy Janna's company before their date "expired." He looked up from his watch and caught sight of the grin on her face, and forgot all about time limits and budgets. Fuck winning some stupid wager. Spending time with this quirky little vixen was enough.
"Hey, I've been here before," Janna said as they walked past the large chainsaw sculpture of a stylized bear. "It's not far from campus. Good lemonade."
"Lemonade?" he asked, not bothering to hide his smirk. The idea that this folksy tavern was the place to order lemonade was as unlikely as the wooden bear sculpture actually shitting in the woods.
"Yeah. It's really strong. Must be all the booze they mix in it."
He chuckled. She kept him on his toes with ease. It was a rush trying to keep up with her.
"So how are we gonna fill the last hour?" she asked as they made their way past the bottleneck at the bar. Janna looked around, and Brice caught the confusion on her face. The bar was nearly packed, and it was only 5 pm. Even if this was a college town, the action never started this early. He also saw the moment when she realized most of the people around them were wearing Masterson Foundation t-shirts.
"I told the volunteers that they could head over to the bar to celebrate when they'd finished donating their time. And according to the text from my foreman, they've finished installing the playground at the Afterschool Program. So it's about time we start celebrating."
Her smile was the best reward he'd ever received. Brice had been negotiating deals with his father since he'd graduated from college, and his life had been full of what most would consider worthy accomplishments.
They all paled in comparison to Janna's smile.
"Drink?" he asked, taking her hand and pulling her through the crowd to the bar. His employees parted before them as if he were Moses, and soon the bartender stood before them expectantly.
Janna pulled his head down to hers and whispered breathily into his ear. "Feeling brave?"
Her breath on his neck drove a shiver down his spine. "I'm always ready to live dangerously where you're concerned."
"Two lemonades," she told the bartender, who nodded with a knowing grin. Two tall glasses filled with a pale pink liquid and accompanied by a wedge of lemon on the rim were placed on the bar in front of them. Janna picked up hers and gestured for him to grab his own. "To winners that take all!" She held her glass high.
"And to gracious losers," he countered, clinking his glass against hers and taking a long drink of the sickly-sweet liquid. Although it went down like over-sugared lemonade, there was a distinct burn in the aftertaste. Powerful stuff
indeed. Without a word, he captured her hand and led her away from the bar and towards the stage. Lights began to swirl, and the DJ chose this moment to step up to the mic.
"Hey everybody, welcome to the Afterparty, sponsored by my man Brice Masterson." The crowd went wild, and Brice almost choked on the drink he was attempting to swallow. He thought he covered it well, giving a small wave, but meeting Janna's eyes he realized she'd caught his momentary lapse.
She remained silent, however, as the dj continued his shtick. "So let's get this thing started with a party anthem, sung by Sheila Jefferson and Tammy Windsong from Accounting."
Two giggling women hopped up the two steps to the low stage and took their places before their microphones. Bubbly pop music began spilling from the speakers as the ladies broke into a terribly off-key rendition of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.
Janna began to laugh. "You brought me here for karaoke?"
Brice nodded. "You seemed to enjoy singing along to my playlist in the car."
"Your playlist? You mean the one you had Tony set up for you?"
"Full of songs that I had painstakingly organized, yes." She wouldn't give up on her prejudices easy, but Brice realized that he didn't want her to. It was too much fun to spar with her. Her wit was sharp, but her intelligence was like a samurai's katana blade.
"Well you were right," she said with a cheerful grin. "I love karaoke."
"Then let's get our name on that list before we run out of time." They perused one of the big black books, trying to find an appropriate song. Brice's inspection of the song list was interrupted when a group of his employees approached and asked if they could take some pictures with him. His grin was genuine when he agreed, and a few more moments of his precious time slipped away. When he returned to the song book, Janna had already scribbled down a title and was passing it to the dj.
"What are we singing?" he asked, pulling her into his arms when she returned from the stage area. The accountants had been replaced by three construction workers who were launching into a raunchy country ballad.
"You'll find out soon," she replied, snuggling deeper into his hold. Brice moved them onto the dance floor and began to sway with her, relishing the feeling of her firm but still pliable body. Beneath her whisper-soft skin lay lean and toned muscles, muscles that pulled and flexed when their bodies were intertwined. Like now. Or every time they'd made love.
"Sweetheart," he said, unable to resist pressing his cheek to hers. He slowly stroked a stray curl away from her forehead, then gazed into her crystal blue eyes. "We're running out of time."
"I know," she said, lowering her chin to rest on his shoulder. "If only some fool hadn't insisted on a time limit..."
"Believe me, I'm currently kicking myself repeatedly for that one." Glancing at his watch, he frowned. "I've only got 32 more minutes left to impress the judge. What do you think my chances are?"
Janna rubbed her nose against the column of his throat, and he wished, not for the first time today, that they were alone together in some quiet place, where he could leisurely undress her and spend hours sampling every inch of her glorious body.
"Initial polling is favorable," she replied. "But perhaps we should invite Tony so that he might share in the victory spoils?"
"Now why would we want to invite anyone else?" He whirled his tongue around her ear, and his cock throbbed at her swift indrawn breath.
"He should be rewarded for all his hard work, once you claim your title as, what was it again, Universal Champion Dater?"
"World Champion Datesmith," he corrected her. "And that title will be entirely mine, as I'm the one who earned it."
"With the help of your assistant, of course," she countered. "And he did a fantastic job, making all the arrangements for today. I mean, just coordinating the volunteer efforts alone must have taken hours. Not to mention finding out my favorite charity and restaurant, arranging for George Isley. The hotel suite. This party. I can't believe he was able to do it in only six hours."
"He wasn't." Brice moved to cup her face and draw her eyes to him. "I didn't use Tony. I made all the arrangements myself."
"What?" The disbelief in Janna's eyes caused a sensation, not unlike pain to creep into his chest. "Tony didn't plan all this?"
"He didn't plan any of it. I did. And you're right; it took a hell of a lot longer than six hours."
Janna stared at him. Her blue eyes were wide and filled with an emotion he wasn't able to read. "I can't believe it," he whispered. "For once, you're speechless."
With a shake of her head Janna opened her mouth, but before she could respond the DJ's voice rang out. "Coming up to the stage next we've got a dynamic duo that's sure to please. Put your hands together for Janna and your own Brice Masterson."
The applause was boisterous, and Brice briefly wondered if an open bar policy this early in the evening was advisable. He hoped half his staff wouldn't call in tomorrow with hangovers.
Such momentary distractions were forgotten, however, when he stepped on the stage and felt an unusual rush of butterflies in his stomach. While he was comfortable speaking before crowds, he wasn't used to singing in front of them. He leaned over to whisper into his partner's ear. "So what's the tune?"
The first bars of the song comes over the sound system, and Brice laughed, hoping to disguise the nervous anxiety that was flooding through his system. Whose bright idea was it to involve karaoke? he thought to himself and quickly remembered that it was his own. At least the song was familiar. Taking a deep breath, he waited for the words before him to illuminate.
"Now I...had...the time of my life..." The words came out stilted, his nerves getting the better of him. The next few lines didn't come any easier, and soon his face was aflame, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. He got through the first part of the song and exhaled shakily, turning his eyes to Janna as she lifted the mic to her lips to sing.
"'Cause I've had the time of my life...and I owe it all to you."
Brice was amazed. He'd heard her singing along in his car, but it had been nothing like this, a full performance before an enthusiastic audience. Janna's eyes seemed to shine as she sang the words, and she winked at Brice and smiled at him. She wasn't a professional, but she could definitely carry a tune.
Too soon it was his turn again. He kept his eyes on the screen, following the rapidly-lighting words and trying to ignore the crowd before him. It was even worse than if they'd sung karaoke on a random night because the audience was comprised entirely of people on his payroll. He prayed his image as their employer wouldn't be ruined after this.
At least they weren't holding their ears and throwing things. Yet.
Janna seemed to sense his anxiety and stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder as she took over the song. "We saw the writing on the wall...as we felt this magical...fantasy." It wasn't as hard to join his voice to hers as she thrust her hip sideways against his, playfully.
As they sang the line about taking each other's hand, Janna grabbed his, wrapping her fingers around his own in a tight, reassuring grip. She circled around him but didn't release his hand, forcing his arm to come up and around his head. Continuing her circle, she tugged on his hand gently, and he realized she was attempting to twirl him. He gave in with a grin, knowing she was playing off the scene that had made the song famous.
If she wants some dirty dancing, I'm happy to oblige, Janna set the atmosphere, turning what would be awkward and embarrassing into something fun, something special. Watching her impress the crowd made preserving his dignity less important than having a good time. When she walked in front of him again, still holding his hand, he took the opportunity to pull her back into his chest.
He remembered the movie. It had been all the rage in seventh grade when he'd first started noticing girls. They'd noticed him right back, and soon he'd had more girls than he could count eager to spend hours walking around the mall together. Like any good middle schooler, Brice spent his spare hours at the Central Valley Mall, han
ging out in the arcade, cracking jokes with his friends in the food court, and seeing countless movies in the multiplex which had boasted only six screens during most of his middle and high school years.
Every single girl he'd dated during that initial year had wanted to see one film, and one film only. They liked the romance, the seduction of an experienced lover. The appeal was also in the dancing, he supposed. Or hell, maybe it was Swayze's biceps that made the girls want to see it so bad. Whatever the reason, Brice had sat through the film dozens of times.
Not only had he unwillingly memorized the dialogue, but even now, years after 1987 when he sometimes forgot what he was saying mid-sentence, he could flawlessly remember several of the dance moves from that final scene. It seemed a crime not to take advantage of those memories now.
If Janna wanted the crowd to have a show, Brice wouldn't stand in her way. He hadn't suffered through the two years of dance instruction his mother had insisted upon to waste his chance now. Catching her eye as she leaned back into his chest, he winked, then pulled her arm up and looped it over the back of his head, running his fingers seductively down her arm in imitation of the hunky hero of every late-eighties middle school girl's fantasy.
Brice felt her surprise, a slight stiffening of her muscles, but she immediately relaxed, realizing what he intended. Her slow smile lets him know that she was more than happy to play his game. From the roar of the crowd, it seemed more than a few of the ladies in the audience weren't immune to Swayze's charm either. He laughed, his warm breath blowing up a few curls around Janna's face.
She felt so good in his arms. Unlike the couple in the film, he and Janna were still expected to sing, so Brice couldn't engage them fully in the dance, but he kept her arm around his head as he moved his hands to her hips and rotated his own into hers.
