by Erin Lausten
****
Laughter and the crystal clinks of glass filled the room. Cigarettes and cigars had long been relegated to the outdoors, but the room still shifted under low light and a cloud like atmosphere that created a smoky illusion.
A soulful musician strummed his age-beaten fingers against five metal strings and crooned into a microphone. Half the room acknowledged his existence, the rest focused on the drinks in hand and the company at their side.
Lisa kept a quiet watch over the room. Characters rode the wave of the crowd. A young man on the prowl had been beaten to the punch three times in the last half hour. As he half-heartedly engaged his fourth, his expression filled with the knowledge that his chance was slim.
A small dance floor fluctuated with partners cuddling up together in a semblance of movement that in very few situations would be considered a dance. But the music called for it and the passion flowed, despite any recognizable steps.
A waitress weaved through the patrons, a round tray filled with empty glasses held high above the jostling elbows that inevitably found their way into her breasts. Not even a flinch to mark she noticed. Lisa smiled behind her cranberry vodka. Those were not days she missed. She’d served her last beverage a year ago. A day before she started her new career.
“I think we should start a Facebook page,” Robert said from across the aged table.
“We have a Facebook page,” Janice replied from Lisa’s side.
“We do? When did we get a Facebook page?”
The conversation droned on and Lisa let it fall from focus. The conference had been fascinating, but she didn’t really want to come here to discuss work. There was plenty of time for that. At work.
The crowd by the door shifted and a tall figure emerged from the night. Lisa tightened her fingers around her glass and quickly looked away. How had he found her? He couldn’t have followed them. It had to be a coincidence.
She glanced back at the door and saw that the tall stranger had disappeared. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps her nerves were frazzled from the trip through the mystery shrouded New Orleans night.
“Hello, Lisa.”
She jumped as the voice enveloped her from behind. He gazed down at her, a knowing smile hooded by darkly intense eyes. Lisa gaped.
“Well, hello,” Janice crowed when she caught sight of the new stranger at their table. “Are you a friend of Lisa’s?”
“I would like to be,” he drawled. Lisa groaned and raised her eyes to the ceiling.
“Oh! Are you foreign?” Janice asked, her calculating gaze passing between Lisa and the new prospect. Janice had a terrible habit of playing the matchmaker. It might have been tolerable if the woman had been any good at it.
“I am from Italy, originally.”
“Oh how romantic!”
Lisa rolled her eyes and said, “Oh come on. Just because someone comes from a particular country does not make them automatically romantic.”
Janice glared at her then turned back to the gentleman. “Don’t mind her. She has conference fatigue.” She held out a hand. “So, I’m Janice.”
“And I am Carlo.” He let his smile slide across his lips and drew Janice’s pudgy hand up for a delicate kiss. Lisa couldn’t help but drop her mouth open. No one kissed hands like that anymore. It was antiquated, bordering on chauvinistic, and she was jealous as hell.
“Where on earth did she find you?” Janice breathed.
“He just kind of dropped into my life. So, Carlo, what brings you here?”
Without losing a beat, he lifted his head and returned Janice’s hand to her stuttering possession. “I had hoped to catch you here, cara mia. I felt our last conversation ended unresolved.”
“Right,” she replied.
“Hey Lisa, it’s your song,” Robert said from across the table, completely unaware of the tension radiating from his companions.
She turned her head to the musician as he plucked the strings in the familiar melody to Nat King Cole’s classic song, Mona Lisa. It had a bluesy flare, but could never compare to the original. It was a song that she had heard far too many times in her life.
“Mona Lisa?” Carlo breathed into her ear, his closeness sending shivers up her arms. Were they shivers of anticipation or aversion? How was it she couldn’t tell anymore?
“My mother had an unused degree in Art History. She decided torturing her children with obnoxious names would make her feel like the student loans had been worth it.”
“Or perhaps she knew that only a masterpiece could appropriately describe your beauty.”
Janice let out a little squeak and snatched Lisa’s hand. Cherry red nails bit into her skin from the claw-like grip, “Oh my goodness, he’s good.”
“Good at what?” Robert piped in. Lisa considered banging her head against the table.
Carlo leaned in and took her hand. “Dance with me, Mona Lisa.”
“I…uh…”
Janice hooked her foot around the metal bar at the bottom of the chair and tipped Lisa into Carlo’s arms then looked away, suddenly finding the wall art fascinating. He took advantage and gathered her to his side then weaved them through the crowd toward the dance floor.
“I don’t really know how to dance.”
“It seems that in this place, that is no handicap. The steps to this dance should be simple for a woman of your obvious intellect.” He slid them between two couples already swaying in a close embrace and took her into his arms. “It has been quite some time since I danced with a woman.”
“I think the last time I danced was my senior prom,” she said and his heady masculine scent flowed across her senses. All the warning bells that had previously rang in his presence remained silent. Instead, a warm sensuality tickled her arms and pushed against her rapidly increasing pulse. “Why did you follow me?”
His arms tightened around her waist and he brushed his cheek against her hair. “I believe I am entranced by the mystery of your smile, Mona Lisa.”
She stepped back and perked a brow. “That’s just another pickup line. Don’t you think I’ve heard them all?”
He frowned then pulled her back into his arm. “You seek authenticity in your flirtations.”
“I expect people to be real with me. You’ve already come across as a little stalkerish, so you’re not winning any points here.”
“You want me to be real?”
“Yes.”
With a flourish he cradled her in one arm, swung around, and leaned her back in an impossible dip. His lips descended until they stood a breath from hers. “Then I will be—real,” he let the last word play on his tongue as though it amused him.
She was about to respond with a smile when his expression darkened. “I am not a good man. I seek what I desire and take what I consider mine. You live in a simple world, safe and confined.”
His eyes drifted to her lips and her breath caught in her throat. He continued, “Any other time I would have walked past a woman like you and never taken a second look. But something has drawn me to you. Something I cannot explain and it intrigues me.”
Her lashes fluttered as she thought of how to respond. That had sounded real enough. A little too real and a little too dangerous. Before she could put a word through her lips he swung her up and re-initiated the simple steps to the dance. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Lisa steadied herself with a hand against his chest. It heaved slightly, betraying his otherwise smooth countenance. "Didn’t you just say you weren’t a good man? Having dinner with you sounds like a bad idea to me.”
“Quite possibly.”
“Yes.”
Caught off guard, he stopped and looked down at her. “Yes?”
“Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t look twice at a guy like you. But I find I am intrigued. I don’t see how dinner with you could hurt.”
His head swooped down and his lips claimed hers in a quick and heated kiss. Fingers tightened in his shirt and she swore a
ll the air had escaped the room. She couldn’t draw a breath for the life of her. As quickly as he initiated it, he ended the kiss. He placed his lips to her ear. “Perhaps tomorrow you can share the secret to your smile. For you have yet to grace me with one. I find it a mystery far more interesting than a mere painting.”
At that he stepped away and disappeared into the crowd. Lisa caught a glimpse of his dark hair and masculine shoulders as he passed through the door and then allowed herself to take a breath. A deep one. The kind of breath you take when you know you just took a gamble and you wouldn’t know the outcome until all the cards were thrown on the table. What on earth had come over her?
