Risking Ruin

by Mae Wood

  “Amelia likes routine,” interjected Trip. “She likes her schedules, so she can go from grooming her horses to grooming herself ahead of a party without distraction. I’m willing to bet she’ll meet there again.”

  “Trip,” said Marisa. “Not to bring you down, but I want to remind you that Vanessa doesn’t work for free.”

  “I’m fully aware of it and I’m paying for every minute of it. I can’t imagine the café at the Gardens is open all hours, so what are we talking about, here? Five or so hours a day that it’s open? Just do it. And Vanessa, I think we’re done here. Would you mind stepping out so that I can speak with Marisa?”

  “Certainly. We’ll have someone at the café starting in the morning and we’ll stay on Amelia for the remainder of the two weeks you authorized,” replied Vanessa as she nodded at Marisa and walked out of the room.

  “Okay, Trip, she’s gone. What’s up?”

  “Well, now I am. Marisa, I miss you so much I can’t wait to see you next Thursday night.”

  “Trip! Hush!” The blood drained from Marisa’s face. She sprinted to the open conference room door and flung it closed. Marisa slammed the button on the phone, taking Trip off of speaker. “The conference room door was open and you were on speaker. Anyone walking by could have heard you.”

  “Point taken. Are we alone now? Am I off speaker?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Good. What are you wearing?”

  “Trip,” groaned Marisa, twisting the phone’s cord in her fingers.

  “Come on, just tell me.”

  “Phone sex at work, really?”

  “Just tell me. I miss you so much, and it’s really hard to talk with you without seeing your pretty face.”

  “So, you want to hear about my face, then?”

  “You are being difficult today. I kind of like it. But not as much as I’d like to know what you’re wearing.”

  “Fine,” said Marisa, exhaling. “I’m wearing a charcoal shift dress and matching blazer and black patent pumps. You happy?”

  “Commando at the office. I like.”

  Marisa’s cheeks reddened more. “Trip, of course not.”

  “Well, tell me then. Okay, I’ve got to get the full visual in my mind.”

  “Trip, what are you doing right now?,” said Marisa, her curiosity piqued.

  “I’ll give you one guess. Now tell me what you’re wearing under that business suit.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m back in my hotel room. I knew good and well that taking a phone call with you was not going to be something I needed to do at the Dover facility. I’ve seriously been thinking about you non-stop. We’ve been having some really long days, and I’m sorry I haven’t called or texted more, but I really miss you. Now, will you tell me what else is covering that luscious body?”

  “White cotton granny panties and a sports bra.” The phone line grew quiet. “Gotcha. I thought you’d know me better. Let me look down my blouse to confirm,” said Marisa. She heard Trip’s groan come across the line. “Yes, just as I thought. Today, I’m wearing a black lace demi bra that really creates some quite, what did you say, oh yes, quite luscious curves.”

  “Fuck, Marisa. It is killing me that I can’t see or touch you right now.”

  “I can always stop.”

  “No! Tell me more,” Trip ordered, the lust and need traversing a thousand miles with palpable clarity.

  “Hhhmm, that wasn’t particularly gentle.”

  “I’m not in the mood for gentle, Marisa,” Trip growled into the phone.

  Marisa shifted in her chair and looked again to ensure that the conference room door was securely closed. She swiveled so that her back was towards the closed door. Okay, I’m all in.

  “What are you in the mood for then, Trip?,” said Marisa, her voice thickening with lust as her panties dampened.

  “I’m in the mood to fuck you so hard. Please tell me that you’re somehow not wearing panties.”

  “If you were here, they would be gone. But since you’re not here, let me tell you about the matching black lace boy shorts I’ve got on. They are very low in the front and snug around my hips, but the back, oh, you’d like the back. My cheeks are exposed.”

  “Oh, fuck, Marisa. And you’re wearing this at work?”

  “Trip, I can’t do this anymore. I have to stop. I know you’re not at your office, but I’m in mine. So, I’ll see you Thursday night, okay?” Marisa replaced the handset on the cradle, cutting off Trip’s ecstatic moans. It was going to be a long next few days.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Marisa swung her legs out the door of Trip’s silver car while the valet held the door. It had been nearly two weeks since they had seen each other and the small car had been stifling with the unmet sexual tension between them.

  “You know,” Trip said, rounding the car. “It’s too bad we’re stopping. We could always go on another drive instead.” Trip smiled at her, crinkles forming around the corners of his eyes, and raised one brow emphasizing the twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

  “Well, we can always get it to go,” replied Marisa deadpan.

  “I’m not eating a steak in the car.”

  “I’m not asking you to eat in the car. I’m sure we can find a lovely place to enjoy dinner a little more privately. I’m still not sure about having dinner in public.”

  “What, you don’t want to wine and dine your best client, Marisa? It’s a weeknight and this is a perfectly respectable business dinner where we’re solidifying our working relationship.” Marisa responded by playfully punching Trip in the bicep.

  Folk’s Folly didn’t disappoint. Memphis’s premier steakhouse was divine, dimly lit and intimate with the live piano music floating gently throughout the space. It had the sultry yet conservative confidence that a good steakhouse should. Instead of taking seats across the small table from each other, Trip and Marisa sat on the same side of the table on a banquette with their backs to the wall. Marisa was hyper-aware of his lithe and firm body dressed in a navy blue suit and windowpane dress shirt that was inches from her. He was so close to her and so physically tempting. I wasn’t really kidding about getting dinner to go, said Marisa, half-wishing Trip had taken her up on the offer of a secluded dinner. I’m not sure I can sit here and not touch him.

  After they ordered from the black and white attired server, Marisa allowed her silver D’Orsay pumps to drop on to the softly carpeted floor. Without moving her eyes from the wine list, she traced her toes up Trip’s foot to his calf. She heard his breath hitch, but she didn’t stop and he didn’t interrupt her feigned study of the wine list. She massaged and caressed his suit-enchased leg, hiking the cuff up to reach his black trouser socks underneath. She then gently wiggled her toes and foot, dragging the sock down to expose his taught skin of his muscular cyclist leg.

  “Is everything okay, sir?,” asked a passing waitress, who must have noticed Trip’s frozen and bewildered expression.

  “Everything is perfect. Thank you,” said Trip recovering from his trance and looking at Marisa with a face filled with awe. He placed his hand on her knee.

  Marisa took a sharp intake of air. “Trip, you are trouble.”

  “No, you are.” He brushed aside the skirt of her emerald silk dress and the gripped her bare thigh high above her knee. “I’ve never been so thankful for a tablecloth in all of my life, have you?”

  Marisa looked and noticed that the fully dressed table in long white linens completely obscured their touches from the eyes of the other people in the crowded room. “Every restaurant should have tables like this,” she agreed, fitting Trip’s calf muscle snuggly into the instep of her foot.

  “I’m not sure how I’d be able to eat around you if that happened. I’d starve but be a very happy man.”

  “Well, blessedly no one is going hungry tonight. I was busy today doing some deposition prep for next week and missed lunch, so I’m really looking forward to dinner.”

  “
Well, I had lunch today and a protein bar around four, but I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

  Marisa couldn’t help but smile. He is such a charmer. I wonder if he’s being honest about how much he dates? There is no reason for a man like this to ever go without. Even though she was aching with need at his hand’s proximity to her sensitive parts, Marisa pulled away her foot from his leg, attempting to turn down the temperature between them a degree or two. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to be able to focus on my filet like that.”

  Trip didn’t protest. “The last thing I want is you hungry.” Once their steaks arrived, he removed his hand from Marisa’s leg to focus on his dinner. The conversation was light and charming. The red wine was balanced yet tannic. As they awaited a dessert of bread pudding, Trip’s hand reclaimed her leg and began to turn small circles on her quadricep, which flexed instinctively at his touch.

  “Trip,” whispered Marisa sharply, as her body began to dampen. An hour of sitting next to him, wanting him, and his touch was too much to bear. We cannot do this in a restaurant. There are people around.

  “Don’t,” asked Trip softly, his voice filled with longing. “Please don’t ask me to stop.”

  Marisa’s eyes roamed around the room. No one was looking at them. The staff flurried around busily. The other diners were tucked into their meals or focused on conversation with their companions. Before she could even respond, Trip moved his hand to her panties and pushed them aside. He slid a finger up and down her slit, pausing ever so slightly to hover over her clit. She leaned back on the banquette chair and his hand nudged her legs apart and then resumed his attentions on her most private parts. “You are just dripping,” he murmured into her ear. His finger circled her opening and thrust inside.

  “Your bread pudding,” interrupted their petite blonde waitress, setting the plate on the table between them. “Would you like anything else?” Marisa froze and her eyes grew large. Trip immediately took charge of the situation.

  “Yes, she would like a Four Roses, neat,” replied Trip not missing a beat in his conversation with the waitress or his attentions on Marisa.

  “Anything for you, sir?”

  “No thank you. Someone has to make sure she gets home safely,” responded Trip, flashing the waitress his broadest smile. The waitress turned and walked away. Marisa was speechless.

  Christ! That was close. What if she’d seen? Marisa felt herself grow even wetter at the thought, which surprised her.

  “So, are you going to try the bread pudding or just let it go cold?,” asked Trip in a conversational tone that gave no indication to the pulses of electricity he was shooting up Marisa’s spine. He leaned in to her again. “Really, eat. I’d feed you myself, but my hands are slightly occupied at the moment.”

  Marisa who had been focusing her gaze intently on a painted portrait of some ancient suited gentleman on the opposite wall returned her attention to the table and glanced down at her lap. Sure enough, Trip’s doings were entirely hidden from view. Hands? But did he say hands? Pretty sure there is only one on me, in me. She glanced toward him, attempting to locate his other hand. Then she spotted it. He was caressing the bulge at his pants, his erection straining to break free. The sight of him like this and she wanted to touch him. She moved a hand over toward him.

  Trip gave her a fierce gaze and shook his head. “I’m serious. You eat. And I really think you’ll enjoy that bourbon. It’s one of my favorites. A Kentucky small batch that’s clean and light. It’s not peaty or smoky like scotch.”

  Trip’s ability to multitask amazed her. Obligingly, Marisa took a bite of the creamy and fluffy bread pudding, allowing its sweetness to envelop her mouth.

  “Your Four Roses, ma’am,” said the waitress, depositing a short tumbler in front of Marisa.

  “Thank you. Can we get the check when you have a minute?,” replied Marisa, finding her voice. This is a fun game. I suppose it’s my move now.

  Marisa took a sip of the bourbon, rolling in around on her tongue and holding the glass in her hand. The strong alcohol singed her tongue and the warmth of the booze spread throughout her body as she swallowed. “It is lovely,” she told him, her voice throaty with desire as he continued to slowly tease her body toward orgasm. “Thank you.”

  She took another sip of bourbon and leaned her head toward his. She caught his lips with hers and opened her mouth, pouring some of the bourbon into his mouth and thrusting her tongue in to follow. Their lips danced together slowly and Trip pulled away.

  “Jesus, Marisa. I’m never going to be able to drink that from a glass again. Now how about you finish that dessert and drink and we get out of here?” He shifted up, pulled out his wallet and tossed a credit card on the table top.

  Marisa said no words in response. She inhaled the bread pudding in three mammoth bites and washed it down with a large gulp of the bourbon. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Trip laughed and his whole body shook with delight. The waitress retrieved the card and walked away without comment. He removed his hand from her, delicately slid her panties back in place, and draped the skirt of her dress across her thighs. Marisa fished under the table with her feet until she found her shoes and wiggled her feet back into them.

  “Walk out in front of me, okay?,” asked Trip as he signed the bill. Marisa nodded. She rose from the table and found herself unsteady from combination of alcohol and lust. She started to stumble and Trip’s hand curled around her upper arm. “Let’s see if we can get out of here without falling all over each other.” He moved his hand to the small of her back and clung closely behind her as they walked to the exit.

  Once they were back in the car Marisa laughed loudly, amazed at the unexpected course dinner had taken. “I cannot believe we just did that.”

  “Did what? I don’t think we’ve actually done anything, yet,” said Trip as he merged the car into traffic.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Are we going on another drive?,” asked Marisa in the naughtiest voice she could muster.

  “If driving from East Memphis to my house counts as a drive, then, yes, we are going on a drive.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “And you are seriously impatient. All good things in due time or however the saying goes.”

  “You do know that I’m still not having sex with you, right?”

  “Yes. And Scout’s honor,” continued Trip, holding up three fingers in the Boy Scout’s sign, “we will not have sex. I’m not asking for sex. I’m not expecting sex. And I’m not accepting it either.”

  “Okay,” said Marisa, drawing out every syllable. Is he expecting me to beg for it? Please. I mean he’s hot, but that isn’t exactly my style.

  “Should we swing by your place so you can pick up a few things?”

  “Are you asking me to spend the night with you?”

  “If you want to.”

  “I don’t think me wanting to is the problem.”

  “I get it. You’re worried about the perception. Well, if anyone asked, we could both place a hand on the Bible and honestly swear that we’re not having sex. But truthfully, if you were worried so much about people finding out, then I don’t think you would have kissed me in the middle of Folk’s Folly.”

  He’s right. Either we can skulk around under cover of darkness or we can be a little more comfortable with this.

  “And if you’re worried about my dad, don’t. He even if he is on to us, and I have no reason to think he is, I apologize for outing us like that. It’s my fault. Completely my fault. Apparently I’m not as suave in real life as I am in my own head.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I can’t help but feel badly about putting you in that position.”

  “Trip,” said Marisa, grabbing his hand on the gearshift and lightly tracing her fingers over his, “I’m sure you can come up with better positions to put me in.”

  “You,” replied Trip. “You really are going to ruin me.”

  Tri
p picked up speed and wove his car through the heavy traffic on Poplar. He pulled up outside her condo building. “Please, just grab a few things quickly.”

  “Now who is being impatient?,” teased Marisa, as she hopped out of the car. Up in her condo she threw an outfit for tomorrow, a fresh bra and pair of panties, and her essential makeup items into her teal Longchamp Le Pliage. She tossed the tote over her shoulder, grabbed her black Marc Jacobs bag, and headed back out the door. Who needs pajamas?

  She climbed back in the car and Trip slipped his phone back into his interior jacket pocket. “Anything wrong?,” she asked, dreading that he would be pulled away on business.

  “Absolutely not. Just checking in. That was quick.”

  “I think well on my feet.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  Marisa screwed up her face in a knot and let out a mocking laugh. “Har, har, har, Mr. Brannon.”

  “I’m not kidding with you,” Trip said firmly.

  Marisa’s arousal returned. Oh dear God, what does he have up his sleeve?

  A short few minutes later and they were wading through the jungle of bikes in Trip’s garage, making their way to the back door. The sleek and spotless kitchen shone. “Do you cook? This is such a nice kitchen, but it looks like a gallery space.”

  “Not really,” Trip shrugged. “I eat oatmeal and two scrambled eggs each morning. For lunch, I’m either scarfing down something at my desk or at a business lunch. And I tend just to go out for dinner.”

  “You eat out every night?”

  “Pretty much.” Who does he eat with every night? Alone by himself in restaurants?

  “Do you cook?, ” he inquired.

  “Not much,” Marisa admitted. “It’s not easy to cook dinner for one and I often work late. But that said, I bake mean desserts.”