Accidental Foursome

by Daisy Dexter Dobbs

  “George,” Helen called in a tiny voice from the backroom.

  His shoulders slumped. “Yes?”

  “Eight.”

  “What?”

  “Eight,” Helen repeated. “You can pick me up at eight.”

  Pick her up? George felt dazed. “Hazi Americana,” he whispered to himself. Half tempted to tell Helen to go to hell, he found himself saying instead, “Eight it is.”

  “The shop closes at six today,” Helen said, peeking her head out of the curtain and smiling. “That will give me time to finish up a couple of custom orders I’m working on and then take a shower and change. I live upstairs, so you can just ring the doorbell outside.” Her smile broadened. “See you then.” And then Helen disappeared behind the curtain.

  “Yeah…see you then,” George echoed softly as he left the shop and wondered just what in the hell he was getting himself into.

  Chapter Two

  Flummoxed. Yes, that was the word. Helen was flat-out flummoxed over what had happened that morning. After all, it wasn’t every day that a too-hot-for-words towering hunk of muscle strolled into her chocolate shop—and asked her out to dinner!

  Good God, the man was handsome, probably the most gorgeous specimen of manhood she’d ever had the pleasure to see up close, much less converse with—and smell. The surge of lust she’d felt at catching his scent that morning had surprised her. But the biggest surprise of all was that Mr. Greek God Gazette thought she—lackluster, nearly forty-year-old Helen Krasilkowski from Milwaukee, Wisconsin—was attractive!

  With midnight black shoulder-length hair, dark jaw stubble accenting his swarthy olive complexion, and eyes the color of semisweet chocolate chips hooded with a thick fringe of raven lashes, George Kokoris looked more like a magazine model than a businessman. That wasn’t even taking into consideration the long legs, and those wide shoulders straining the material of his white linen shirt.

  “What on earth could a man like that possibly see in me?” Helen asked her reflection as she drew close to the full length mirror mounted on the back of her bedroom door. “Especially after I not only insulted him but did a damn fine impression of a babbling moron too.”

  She took a long moment to assess herself, studying each line, wrinkle and imperfection in her face. When she smiled she could see telltale old-lady crinkles at the corners of her eyes, which made her frown. That was worse. When she frowned, she saw even more lines around her eyes and mouth. People who saw them together would probably think she was George’s mother instead of his dinner date, for chrissakes.

  In lieu of getting an emergency facelift or a muscle-numbing injection before dinner, she supposed she’d just have to concentrate on keeping her face still as much as possible throughout the evening. Helen practiced smiling until she found a way to keep the smile from including her eyes. Yes, that was it. The crinkles were almost invisible now. She’d have to practice her new smile to make it look natural before George picked her up for dinner.

  Helen took a step back, appraising her outfit—which she’d already changed at least a dozen times. She’d chosen her favorite figure-slimming black dress, even though the jersey material made it a bit warm for the balmy weather. If she had any sense she’d opt for the airy white cotton wrap dress, but with its straight lines, long sleeves and deep vee neckline, the black jersey knit looked good on her. Damn good. She grinned at her reflection, quickly altering the smile to her new, more youthful unlined version. She felt certain the dress made her appear a good fifteen pounds thinner. And what woman wouldn’t gladly trade in a little discomfort for appearances?

  The three-inch heels she’d purchased that afternoon added the final touch, elongating her petite profile and enhancing the slender, lanky theme she was striving for. It would also help her not to feel like an elf next to the big Greek. Sheesh, the guy huge! At that thought, Helen’s mind immediately wandered, stopping in the vicinity of George’s trousers, and the sizeable bulge she couldn’t help noticing there earlier today. She’d never been intimate with a man that tall. Were their cocks exceptionally large? She didn’t think it necessarily worked that way, but that bulge in George’s pants certainly did seem to be—

  Helen blinked. What in the hell was she thinking?

  Shoes. She was supposed to be thinking about maneuvering around on those damned pinpoint-heeled shoes. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about a complete stranger’s cock, regardless of how tempting the thought may be. And she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about how long it had been since she’d last had sex with a living, breathing human being, either. Shoes… Since all she wore wear were flat-heeled shoes and sandals, she’d have to practice walking around her apartment until George arrived so she didn’t look like a stumbling idiot.

  Helen hadn’t planned to accept George’s invitation. Men with striking good looks and physiques to match usually intimidated the hell out of her. But he really seemed nice, genuine and, dammit, this might be her only chance to spend an evening with a sexy fantasy man before old age set in. She was tired of working all day, often seven days a week just to come home and hide away in her apartment each night. Her biggest thrill was curling up in her cushy chair with a spicy romance novel and living vicariously through the heroines. It was high time Helen broke out of the doldrums she’d created for herself and experienced some romance, instead of just reading about it.

  “If he tries to kiss you, you’re going to let him,” she said, wagging a finger at the mirror. “You’re way past the point of having that ridiculous no-kissing-on-the-first-date mentality. You’re not a geeky teenager anymore, Helen Krasilkowski, you’re a mature, independent divorcée living on her own in a foreign country. You have no one to answer to but yourself.” She smiled as she gave herself a resolute nod. “Maybe I’ll even kiss George first,” she said. “And then maybe I’ll invite him back to my apartment so I can find out what’s hiding behind that bulging fly of his.” She hugged herself at the delicious thought, twirling slowly as she whispered, “And then the handsome hero swept her into his strong arms and fucked her senseless with his enormous tall-guy cock.” Helen couldn’t help but giggle at that. Oh yes, she’d like very much to be fucked senseless at least once in her life.

  Helen glanced at the clock. She had about forty-five minutes to practice her chic new wrinkle-free smile, and to practice walking in the damned uncomfortable shoes, while remembering to keep her belly sucked in so it wouldn’t pooch out. And she had to make sure it all looked nonchalant and perfectly normal, as if she actually went around looking glamorous every night instead of morphing into a shorts-and-T-shirt-wearing couch potato.

  She gathered her purse and walked into the living room, struggling to maintain balance and a modicum of grace as her ankles wobbled. Head up, shoulders back, she pulled in her belly and sauntered around the perimeter of the area rug repeatedly, practicing the new smile and trying out witty, urbane dialogue. Yes, tonight she’d be Helena… nonchalant, elegant and sophisticated. When the doorbell rang and she came face to face with George, she’d—

  The doorbell rang and Helen froze—all except for her wobbly ankles.

  “I can’t do this,” she said. “Who am I kidding? I can’t go on a date with someone who looks like a goddamned movie star. I can’t—”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Yes you can,” she muttered. “You can do this, Helen. You deserve this one little night of romance and happiness. Not get your fat ass down those stairs and open the door!”

  ———

  “Helen, you look so beautiful you take my breath away.”

  The man knew how to deliver a great opening line, she’d give him that. “Thank you, George.” Helen gave him her wrinkle-free smile. “You look very handsome, yourself.” His open-necked black shirt gave her a glimpse of chest hair. He looked dark and mysterious. Rather like a romantic masked marauder, but without the mask.

  “I made dinner reservations at Eleni’s Estiatorio,” George said. “Have you ever be
en there?”

  “No, but I’ve heard it’s fabulous. I’ve been meaning to try it for some time.” She repeated her silky smile.

  Slanting her a perplexed look, George asked, “Are you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine. Why do you ask? Oh,” Helen went on without waiting for his answer, “the bleary eyes, is that it? Sorry. They get that way after hours of putting all those little identifying squiggles on the chocolates, that’s all. I should have remembered to use eye drops.”

  “No, no, it’s not that, Helen, it’s…” His eyebrows knitted as she smiled again. “Eh…nothing. Never mind.”

  Well that wasn’t encouraging. What the hell was wrong? Had she suddenly developed a bright red zit on the tip of her nose or something? Helen nonchalantly brushed her fingers across her nose, relieved when she didn’t feel any bumps. Maybe it was her mascara. She wasn’t used to wearing it. Had she rubbed her eye without realizing and smeared the stuff? Why hadn’t she bought the waterproof, smudge-resistant mascara?

  “Um…excuse me for just a minute, George. I…I forgot something.” Helen zipped back inside, snatching the mirror from her purse and examining her face. Satisfied that a catastrophe hadn’t rendered her face too hideous to gaze upon, she returned, stepped outside and locked the door.

  She hadn’t been in the night air for more than two minutes before humidity enveloped her. The slimming black jersey knit dress may as well have been a diver’s wetsuit for the way it clung to her now, trapping the moisture against her skin. Damn. She thought about the light, crisp cotton wrap dress hanging in her closet. If she had an ounce of sense mixed in with all that vanity and insecurity floating around inside her head she’d have worn that instead.

  “Ah.” Closing his eyes for a moment, George breathed deeply and Helen’s eyes were immediately drawn to his expanding chest. “Feel that warm ocean breeze? It’s a beautiful evening. Perfect for our first dinner date.”

  As they walked down the white stone steps toward George’s car Helen felt the first signs of her carefully styled hair slumping from the damp air. “Mmm, yes. Lovely.”

  “Too nice to drive, don’t you think, Helen? Why don’t we walk to Eleni’s instead? It’s just down the hill.”

  Helen’s thoughts turned to her sexy new shoes with the skinny toothpick heels. After calculating the chances of maneuvering down the hill without tripping like a clumsy buffoon, she took in a fortifying breath. “Sure. Sounds good to me,” she answered, giving a hesitant, crease-free smile.

  George extended his arm. Helen clutched it as if she were drowning and he’d thrown her a lifeline. She answered his questioning expression with another of her oh-so-chic smiles. By some miracle, she made it all the way to Eleni’s without embarrassing herself by stumbling, although her ankles felt as though she’d put them through a wobbling marathon.

  Eleni’s Estiatorio surpassed all of Helen’s expectations, from the well-executed menu offerings to the wine and the superb service. Their cozy table for two in the restaurant’s open air courtyard couldn’t have been more romantic. George was a wonderful conversationalist and she felt at ease, as if she’d known him for weeks instead of just a matter of hours. As delectable as the food was, sitting across the small table from George and gazing upon his Greek god visage was even more delicious.

  “I must tell you again how stunning you look,” George said after finishing the red wine in his glass. “The black dress is a perfect contrast to your pale skin.” His gaze traveled from Helen’s face to her cleavage, resting there a moment before he added, “You must have to work hard to keep from getting a sunburn here, especially with the way the sun reflects off the ocean.”

  Helen was surprised when she felt her pussy juices trickle. The Greek was so sexy it practically made her toes curl inside the pointy toes of her impractical shoes. If she’d been a gutsier type of woman she’d be jumping his bones right here and now. “Making chocolates keeps me so busy that I’m not outside all that much,” she said. “When I do venture out, I wear broad-brimmed hats and plenty of sunblock.”

  It had been a long time since she’d had such a strong response to a man…well, actually, she couldn’t ever remember being so turned on by anyone before. She and her ex-husband, Herbie, were just out of school when they married. He was a great guy, but definitely not stud material. She’d always thought of him more as a best buddy than a hunk.

  Hunk, on the other hand, was a perfect term for George. Everything about him spoke of tantalizing sexuality, the way he looked, spoke, moved… As she sat there relishing the tingle between her thighs, Helen hoped that she’d succeeded in presenting herself as sophisticated and alluring. She’d worked hard to be a brilliant conversationalist throughout dinner, peppering their discussion with lots of questions about George and making certain to give him her rapt attention when he spoke about himself or his family. She was especially proud of herself for refraining from too many nervous giggles or endless babbling.

  Breathing a contented sigh, Helen placed a flaky forkful of pistachio baklava on her tongue, closing her eyes while she savored its sweetness.

  “That has to be the best baklava I’ve ever had,” she said, licking her lips. “First time I’ve had it made with pistachios.” After sipping from the small cup of earthy Turkish coffee, Helen gifted George with another of her sophisticated Helena smiles. She was getting so used to keeping her facial muscles still it almost felt natural.

  “It is delicious,” George agreed. “We often make it this way in our family.” He paused and then nailed Helen with a purposeful gaze. “Speaking of family, tell me about your ex-husband,” he said finally. “You said you’ve been divorced for a little more than five years and then came here to Greece afterward. Did he mistreat you? Is that why you came here—to get away from him?”

  “Herbie?” Helen almost laughed until she remembered that laughter wasn’t conducive to a smooth, creaseless face. “Oh, no, never. Herbie’s one of the kindest, gentlest men I’ve ever known. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  His fork of baklava poised in midair, George asked, “So you’re still on good terms? You two still talk?”

  “All the time,” Helen said. “Well, as much as we can afford to with Herbie still living in Milwaukee. We had a very amicable divorce, nothing messy or awkward. It was just a mutual parting of the ways. Herbie and I realized we wanted very different things out of life and decided it was time to go our separate ways.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  “Yes, and I’m sure I always will.” As George shifted slightly, Helen got the distinct impression that her statement had made him uncomfortable. “Oh, not in that way,” she clarified. “I mean as a friend. I’m not in love with Herbie. You see, Herbie is…well, he’s found someone else and they’re very happy together. I really couldn’t be more delighted.”

  “And you’re not maybe a little bit jealous of the other woman because you still love him, eh?”

  “George.”

  “Yes?”

  “Herbie is gay.”

  George’s fork fell to the dessert plate with a clatter. “You married a gay man?”

  “Well, yes and no. Herbie didn’t realize he was gay when we got married. We were still just kids. We’d been best friends for years and everybody just sort of assumed that we’d end up getting married one day and that’s what we did. It was kind of a natural progression, I guess. I don’t think either of us was ever really all that physically attracted to the other. Our relationship went beyond that. And the sex—” Suddenly aware that she was beginning to jabber, Helen stopped.

  George arched an eyebrow. “Yes? The sex?”

  “Let’s just say there were no fireworks.” Helen shrugged. “Of course, being a virgin when I got married I didn’t have anything to compare it to, so it didn’t bother me.”

  “But you’ve had fireworks sex since the divorce, yes?”

  “George.”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you think that question is
just a wee bit personal? I mean, I wouldn’t dream of asking you how many women you’ve slept with or how you rated your sexual encounters.”

  “Touché. My apologies, Helen.” George gave her a charming smile. “I think I just got carried away with your story. It’s quite fascinating, you know. I hope you’ll believe me when I say that I don’t usually interrogate my dates over dinner.”

  “Oh, you just leave the interrogation for after dessert, hmm?” Helen rolled her eyes. She could have kicked herself for blurting that sassy question.

  “I’ve…I’ve found there are more interesting ways to spend an evening other than giving women the third degree.” The sensuous expression across George’s features left no mistake about his meaning.

  After another sip of coffee, Helen set the small cup back in its saucer. George took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes. If she were an ice cream cone she’d have melted right on the spot—which had nothing to do with the fact that she was already perspiring like crazy because of the dress, the wine and the hot coffee.

  Now, with George tenderly clasping her hands, Helen knew the moment had arrived. She’d been waiting semi-patiently for it all evening. The moment where George, clearly mesmerized by her charm, beauty and wit, would whisper sweet nothings to her, then perhaps kiss her hand and suggest they depart Eleni’s and head back to her place for a sensuous romp. She gazed into his dark eyes, parting her lips ever-so slightly, just the way she’d seen models do as they struck a sexy, come-hither pose. She wanted to look just right when he made his move.

  George brought one of her hands to his lips, feathering a kiss along her knuckles. Now her panties were practically sodden. “Ah, Helen, you’re such a fine little trooper,” he said, which wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to be strong for me, Helen.” George rubbed his thumb where his lips had been a moment before.