I’m sighing … just look at him, he’s breathtakingly gorgeous.
But, I’m so out of practice. It’s been a year since I went on a date and even then it was arranged for me. Talk about diving in at the deep end ... what should I do - leave?
I glance over to him again, he’s checking his watch: it’s now or never. I take one last look and make the mistake of examining his bone structure and that makes walking away even harder: a sharp and well-defined jawline, a Romanesque nose and an upper lip that forms into that perfect pouting ‘v.’
Be still my beating heart …
Classic sculptures of the male form come to mind, Michelangelo’s David or Prometheus; he could give them a run for their money. If she were alive, my mother would tell me to be careful what I wish for, but he is what I wish for and I thank my lucky stars that he’s here, impatient and waiting for me.
I exit the building, taking in the fresh evening air, preparing myself for my grand entrance; I re-enter via the foyer, pausing to look around. I catch his eye and he removes his hand from his pocket and fastens his jacket. He’s all smiles and fuck-me eyes and my heart starts to beat through my clothes. I’ve simply got to calm down.
Dodging the other theatre goers we move towards each other; I feel like a moth being drawn to an irresistible flame that will incinerate me with its smouldering beauty, but I refuse to give-in to the temptation to skip or run, I refuse. This is it.
He reaches for me with both hands and takes hold of my shoulders so I can’t look away. Just as I knew they would, his eyes burn into me, he’s assessing me like I’m some kind of precious object or oil painting. His gaze rests on my face and I can’t shake free: it’s like a gravitational pull and, as hard as I try, those dazzling flecks of blue and green hold me captive.
With a thankful sigh, he declares, "Miss. Parker you look stunning." Before resting his mouth a millimetre from mine, he says softly, "I knew you would."
Another great line, he’s really good at this.
I find my voice. "You look pretty good yourself Mr. Stone. Thank you for the invitation and the compliment."
He offers me his arm. "Would you like a drink before the play starts?" He places his hand over mine as if we’re an old married couple. It feels warm, firm, protective.
"That would be nice." I’m becoming more self-assured with every step. He seems to think we look good together, and who am I to question his judgment. I lick my lips, anticipating the drink, my mouth is so dry and I can feel the moisture leaving the corners and a sticky residue forming.
"What would you like to drink, Miss Parker?" His words have such a rich cadence that I can hear them ringing in my ears after he’s spoken. I’d forgotten the refined way he articulates his words, like they’ve been cultivated over time: the English language is in safe hands.
"Dry white wine please, and it’s Beth."
"Very well, it’s dry white wine and it’s Beth from now on," he declares, brushing my left arm with the knuckles of his right hand. His touch causes the hairs to stand up on the back of my neck and my back to straighten.
Is he doing it on purpose?
He hands me the wine, turns to face me and offers a toast. "To new beginnings ..." Strangely, as if on cue, we present matching smiles.
"To new beginnings ..." But I so want to say, ‘Look I know I was rude the other day ... but before I can get the words out ...
"… You’ve managed to get here in one piece without your glasses, I see." He seems to be finding something rather amusing.
“Yes, who knew... just don’t ask me to read you anything off the wine list."
What a stupid thing to say, why would he ask me to do that …
"I’ll try to remember." He winks at me, so I sip my wine and try to avoid those probing orbs of iridescent light.
I remember the flowers. "By the way, thank you for the lovely bouquet and the Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem; that was a surprising addition. It gave me something to think about." I’m feeling a little braver and turn to engage him. "But I suppose that’s why you included it?"
He refuses to be baited. "I’m glad you liked the flowers and enjoyed the poem, it’s a favourite of mine and, before you ask, no it’s not one I save for occasions like that. It was a one off, just for you."
I try to stifle a smile. "I see. Then I’m very flattered." Blown away would be nearer the mark. Nervously, I play with my rings and prepare to make small talk. "So, how’s your day been, Mr. Stone?"
I can’t believe I just said that.
"Pretty good, although I have to say it’s getting better by the minute, and please call me Ayden."
I love the way those two syllables come together, Ay-den …
When the bell sounds for the start of the play, I sigh with relief. I’m fighting to hold onto my composure, and that’s virtually impossible with my insides insisting on doing somersaults. “That’s a nice thing to say, Ayden."
He leans into me and, startled, I tip back a little. "What can I say, I’m a nice guy." He throws that out there, just waiting for me to catch it.
"I don’t doubt it." I pull my lips together, forcing myself to say no more, but Mr. Stone there’s so much more I could say in response to that. You’re toying with me - again, "Do you come to the West End often?"
Now I’m really scraping the barrel.
"Not as often as I’d like. What about you?" He has me in his sights again.
"Not as often as I’d like, parking can be a problem."
"Yes it can. But that can be said of so many cities around the world. Thankfully, I don’t have that problem."
"Why, don’t you drive?"
His mouth twitches slightly. "I have a chauffeur Beth, parking is his problem, not mine."
"Lucky you," I reply, much too tersely.
He broadens his smile in such a dangerous way it almost causes me to fall of my chair. "Indeed, lucky me. I feel very blessed."
Now he’s teasing, making me laugh or is it a giggle? He’s laughing softly too and his eyes are alight with amusement. I’m no expert, but I think we just connected. Then again, what do I know? Either way, I’m becoming more physically aware of him by the second. He’s doing something very indecent to my libido.
I think I’m being seduced.
With a playful glint he massages his chin with his forefinger, letting it roll in and out of that delicious dimple. "Maybe we should carry out a kind of survey and check out the parking arrangement in other cities?"
Is that a serious question?
With girlish enthusiasm I play along. "I hear Rome can be quite congested."
"Well there we are, let’s go to Rome and check." He stands and takes my arm.
Remaining seated, I offer a down turned smile. "No, I can’t. I’m sorry."
"Why ever not?" He mimics my expression.
"It’s a school night."
"Of course,” he says, as if he should have known. “Nevertheless, I hear Rome is nice this time of year."
I’m finding it impossible to conceal just how much I’m enjoying his company and partaking in our silly conversation. In fact, I can’t remember when I ever had this much fun with a man, with or without clothes on.
"Rome’s nice at any time of year,” I say confidently. “Or so I’ve been told."
He ushers me towards the door, stopping to whisper in my ear. "Then we’ll have to go."
Effortlessly, he takes my hand. With a spring in my step I accompany him through one door and then another and up a flight of stairs, until we enter a private box overlooking the stage. It’s red and plush and beautiful.
"A box to ourselves? This is lovely Ayden."
He directs me towards the seat on the left overlooking the stage while he moves towards the seat on the right, next to an ice bucket with the neck of a rather expensive looking bottle of something sticking out of it.
"Can I pour you a glass of champagne Beth?" He asks with so much self-assurance it makes me think, you’ve done this before.
"Believe me it’s nothing, I didn’t want to ... overwhelm you." He considers his words carefully.
"Then you’ve succeeded. I’m flattered but not overwhelmed." I flutter my eyelashes and dismiss the idea with a hand gesture which makes us both smile.
"Good. Let’s watch the play and then we can get to know each other."
With that, the curtain rises and I’m left with a full glass of champagne and a brain working overtime, analysing the word ‘know?’
Does he mean in the Biblical sense?
Every so often I turn out of politeness to share a moment and catch him studying me, but I’m so consumed by the events in the play I let it go. I start to worry when the interval approaches at the end of Act 3 Scene 1. Both Mercutio and Tybalt are dead and my heart starts its relentless, palpating reminder that I’m here with the most charming and seductive man on the planet.
"What do you think of the production?" he asks, moving closer to top up my glass of champagne.
I realise something … he knows this is my thing, he wants me to feel comfortable around him, not squirming and simmering like before; he wants to see the real me. I like that. "Well, I’ve seen this company before and what they lack in experience they make up for in enthusiasm. A lot of attention’s been paid to the fight scenes, with some improvisation, but there just hasn’t been the right degree of sensitivity. The young protagonists are teenagers, it’s their naivety and disregard for mature decision making that brings about their tragic death, but I wish they were more credible as star crossed lovers ... “
"… And breath." He has a glint in his eye and my suspicions were right. He holds onto my fingers to steady my glass and tops up my champagne. His hand feels hot to the touch, but not as hot as mine.
"I’m sorry, but you did ask," I respond, innocently, forgetting myself and allowing my thumb nail to edge into my mouth.
"No, please continue." He removes my hand from my mouth, places it on my knee and gestures for me to go ahead But I’ve lost my nerve now.
"I like watching you when you’re not self-conscious." He strokes my arm with the knuckles of his left hand and I turn away, giving my body time to recover from the double dose of his touch.
Finding some semblance of self-control, I ask, "Why do you like watching me?" I’m not sure I’m ready for his answer, but I have to ask. He pins me in my seat with a look I cannot recollect ever having to decipher before. I can’t look away.
"Why? Because I’m drawn to beautiful things Beth and you are beautiful." He takes a dramatic pause. "What makes you all the more desirable, is the realisation that you have no idea just how lovely you are." Words leave his mouth smoothly like icing from a piping bag, creating swirls in the air. He moves to stroke my arm again but he rethinks his gesture when he sees my reaction.
"I think you’re toying with me Mr. Stone. I’ve done my homework, and I’m not deluded enough to think you’re being entirely genuine when you say things like that to someone like me. They’re fine words, but please don’t ruin a wonderful evening. No games." He wants me to find my voice and here it is.
There’s a serious look! "You think this is a game? What would be my motivation?"
"Motivation?" Here goes nothing. "To seduce me, I suppose." The words leave my lips like droplets of water on blistering metal and he seems to visibly sizzle before me.
"I see." He contemplates his next question, leans into me and studies my face for clues. "Do you want to be seduced?"
Of course I do, yes please.
His stare burns through me like hot lava, and I’m beginning to ignite: he’s started a fire in me. "I don’t know." I return my attention to the stage.
"Don’t look away, look at me!" He’s stern and his tone is austere. He tips up my chin with his forefinger so I have nowhere to hide. "I’ll only ask this once. What do you feel when you’re with me, I need to know?"
How can I begin to explain? I inhale deeply and breath him in. "I ... I’m nervous around you because you’re so handsome and I’m not used to being around men like you." I pause nervously, unsure of myself. “You’re very charismatic and the things you say to me and the way you look at me is intense." I’m losing my nerve. "Y ... you make me sweat, and I imagine doing things with you, but I know I can’t have you, and that makes me think you’re being cruel by playing a game I have no hope of winning. That’s how I feel." There I said it.
His mouth falls open and his eyes soften in response to my confession. My honesty seems to have floored him. I feel his left hand taking hold of mine, causing my breath to hitch slightly.
"I could see that in you Beth, that’s why I felt compelled to send you the note and to invite you here tonight."
I shake my head from side to side. "That’s all very well Ayden but it’s a pointless exercise." I wriggle my hand free, put down my champagne flute and prepare to take my leave. "I’ve carved out a life for myself here and it suits me. There was a time when I thought I wanted more but ..."
He’s nodding, no. "But you and me Beth. We’re the same."
I stand to leave. "I think you’re confusing me with someone else."
"I don’t want anyone else, Beth." He takes me by the wrist and eases me back. "Sit down … please. Let me explain." There’s a gentleness to his voice, and it beckons me.
Obediently, I sit.
"You’re a strong willed person Beth, but like me you’re cursed."
I attempt to speak but he places his fingertips over my lips and I resist the temptation to open my mouth and taste them.
"We’re both attractive individuals, people are drawn to us. I use my sexuality in so many ways, I always have and that’s my weakness, you know that. I know no other way. But you, you’re much smarter. You conceal your beauty behind unflattering clothes, untamed hair and glasses you don’t need, just so people will look beyond the exterior and see the beauty within."
My mouth must be making that O shape again. I feel his thumb touching my cheek to wake me from my daydream.
"But I can see beyond all that Miss Parker and I see you as you really are: smart and sexy as hell. I WANT YOU."
The words are tumbling from his mouth but I’m not processing them, I’m descending with each syllable. I only hear the word ‘curse’; but he doesn’t know me, he can’t know the nature of my curse. He thinks I’m concealing beauty? I’m hiding much more than that.
He reaches over and slides his left hand behind me, taking hold of my neck while positioning his other around my waist, until it is outstretched across the small of my back. What’s he doing?
"You see me for what I am, so I have a proposition for you." Gently, he pulls me towards him and I can’t help but arch my back and lean in his direction.
I try to speak.
"Don’t speak," he urges. "Let me show you how I feel."
Tenderly, he tips my head over to the left; he’s kissing my throat, his kisses are soft and land like snowflakes on my skin. He’s moving to my ear and wrapping his tongue around my ear lobe, making the muscles in my groin tighten. I open my mouth to take in air and his lips find my neck, my chin and hover over my face, only brushing my parted lips on their voyage of discovery. I’m swept away.
My God!
Both of his hands are gripping my chair and dragging me forcefully towards him, finding the shadows at the back of the private box. He’s slipping his knee between my knees and taking my face in his strong, hot palms.
"Open your eyes," he orders. "Tell me what you see ..."
He’s licking my lips with his tongue and I’m starting to tingle everywhere: heart racing, breath quickening.
"Tell me what you see."
I’m trying to say something, but I’m panting and speaking is difficult. "I see you ..." He continues to ravish me with no more than fingertips in my hair and his devilish tongue. "I see you ..."
> For the first time I steel myself and stare into his eyes. The green flecks are dancing, and his pupils are as dark as the night sky, depthless; he looks almost wild and unbroken. I pull back, but he has my head in his hands and I can feel his tongue entering my mouth, pushing its way through lips and teeth, penetrating me. I want to run.
I grab his upper arms and try to push him away but he’s like marble; hard, muscular biceps too big for my nimble hands to hold onto. I push against the arms of his chair and his right hand moves down my back holding me firmly, I’m anchored to him. There’s no escape.
My fear dissipates, I release my hands from his chair and I touch him, afraid that if I reach out he will disappear and be no more than a figment of my imagination, a fantasy come to life, a wish come true. I feel sinews flexing beneath his shoulders and timidly stretch out my fingers to touch his perfect face, caressing chin and cheekbones. Feeling my embrace, his urgency melts, his movements are less fraught and it’s as if a moment of complete calm folds in on us; there’s an understanding, beyond words, beyond space and time: this is where we belong.
With trembling hands, I let my fingers ease their way into his hair; the soft curls fold over my thumbs and I take hold of them, fulfilling a need in me to claim and possess this exquisite man. I pull his head closer to mine, forcing him to thrust his tongue into me, giving myself to him as I have never done with any man before. My jaw relaxes, our tongues touch, there’s an explosion of sensations: he enters me body and soul.
Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Page 4