“I’m looking forward to it as well,” she said.
They exchanged goodbyes and ended the call. Arden hesitated and then punched in Janice. They exchanged a few minutes of meaningless chitchat and then Arden shared her news.
“I have a date tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night? I thought you guys met on Thursdays.”
“We do. But I have a date tomorrow night with a guy I met today during a presentation. We’re meeting for dinner at Maison du Philippe.”
“Shut the door! He must be pretty interested if he’s springing for that kind of swank on a first date. And that’s pretty hysterical.”
“What’s hysterical about it?”
“The location.”
“What about the location?” She knew she’d seen it around and about town, but she couldn’t remember where and she hadn’t looked up the address yet.
“It’s practically right across the street from Eleven, you know where you have your wicked way with your boy toy once a week.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure why that dismayed her, but it did. And she also idly thought that he had his way with her rather than the other way around.
“Hey, maybe if it goes well tomorrow night you and…what’s his name…”
“Greg.”
“Yeah, you and Greg could wind up at Eleven. Oh, my god, that would be hysterical.”
“I’m not sure that it would be hysterical, but it would be something.”
“Just don’t get the same room you always get. Try a new one.”
“We’re not going to end up at Eleven. We’re going on a dinner date, nothing more.”
“You never know. Stranger things have happened.”
It wasn’t until after she hung up that Arden realized she’d forgotten to ask Janice about the package, or lack thereof. Perhaps Greg was just the distraction she needed from the man she found so distracting.
* * *
“Break room in five,” Celeste said as she passed the front desk. “Grand-mère sent pain au chocolat.”
Grand-mère, before she retired and followed Celeste’s parents to the United States, had owned a bakery in Paris. Celeste often spent her day off visiting and baking with her grandmother. Grand-mère, in turn, sent her home with pastries. Pain au chocolat was Georgina’s favorite. She simply couldn’t resist the buttery flaky pastry and dark chocolate. “I was starting a diet today.”
Celeste shrugged and smiled. “Start tomorrow.”
Georgina laughed. She was doing more and more of that these days. “Didn’t you hear the was in there?”
Closer to ten than five minutes later, Georgina perched on the edge of one of the bistro chairs and toed off her shoes then bit into the pastry.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Celeste said. “We missed you the other night.”
Georgina swallowed. “I just wasn’t ready…”
“No worries. I understand. Did you have a good time with Kennedy?”
“We watched a movie—wait, how did—”
“How did I know he came over? He told Detroit, and Detroit told me.”
Aunt Rachel had drilled good manners into her, but she had five minutes and she wanted to eat. It was terrible manners. Screw it. She spoke around the bite in her mouth, which was all the sweeter given her spurt of defiance to the absent Aunt Rachel. “Kennedy’s cousin?”
Celeste quirked a blonde eyebrow at her. “Do you know another man named Detroit?”
Georgina snickered. “I guess not.”
“We wound up in bed together.” Celeste offered a satisfied smirk. “The man knows his way around a woman’s body. It was pillow talk afterwards—he wanted to know if you were stand-up or if you were playing Kennedy.”
Georgina nearly choked on her food at the absurdity of that notion. “Playing him…we’re not, you know, involved.”
“You mean sleeping together? You’re not yet. It’s just a matter of time. I’ve seen the way the two of you look at one another. Or rather don’t look at one another anymore.” The blonde broke a pastry in half, revealing the dark chocolate in the center. “The way people look at one another usually goes one of two ways. Either it’s a devouring with the eyes and the message is fairly clear, I want to tear your clothes off and render you senseless.” She gathered a bit of chocolate on her fingertip and then nibbled at it. “Or it's the studied avoidance that translates to if I look at you I’m afraid you and everyone else will see how much I want to tear your clothes off. I’d say you and Kennedy fall into the latter. You would like to sleep with him?”
“I’m still married.”
A knowing amusement sparkled in Celeste’s eyes. “That wasn’t the question. It’s rhetorical anyway. If you didn’t want to sleep with him you wouldn’t be dancing all around this and you could look at him.”
“I look at him.” Kind of. “What did you tell Detroit when he asked if I was playing Kennedy?”
“I told him you were married but separated. I said you wouldn’t deliberately hurt him, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t get hurt.”
“Did you tell him about George’s disorder?”
“No. That’s not my business to tell, pillow-talk or otherwise.”
Georgina breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want George or his condition to be an object of a stranger’s derision. His madness might at times be the object of her despairing derision, but she was his wife. That was different. She supposed it was a bit of the it’s-my-dog-so-I-can-kick-it syndrome but whatever.
“Thank you.”
“Did I mention the sex was good?” Celeste stretched like a cat.
“Yes, you covered that. Are you seeing him again?”
Celeste shrugged. “We left it open.”
“Do you want to see him again?” Georgina was sincerely interested and if she kept Celeste talking about Detroit then it kept her from asking Georgina awkward questions. Deflect, deflect, deflect. Georgina had learned the skill at an early age.
A sly smile accompanied one of her Gallic shrugs. “And I would not want to see a man again who was a good lover, why?”
Georgina laughed. “There is that.”
“The day is coming, my friend, when Kennedy won’t be content to simply be your friend. But more importantly neither will you. You can look away now, but you can only look away for so long, cherie. ”
“But—”
“Look at them.” She waved her hand toward the front lobby, and Georgina knew she didn’t mean any them in particular but rather all the clients. “They come and they go. They’re all different and individual, but they have one commonality.”
“Of course. Sex.”
“No. Sexuality. There’s a difference. There’s something in each of them that can’t be denied.” She peered at Georgina, the expression in Celeste’s eyes belying her years. “They know. They know you can only deny who and what you are for so long.”
Georgina didn’t want to think about what she’d been denying inside herself her entire life.
Deflect, deflect, deflect.
* * *
Arden gave herself one last critical look in the mirror. The green silk sheath was elegant but not overstated, form-fitting but tastefully sexy. She’d Googled the restaurant. It was very upscale, suit and tie required. This should do nicely.
She picked up her purse and a light wrap, in case it was chilly in the restaurant, and went downstairs.
Parker, her building’s doorman, secured a cab for her. Nerves fluttered low in her belly. She’d been on a seesaw all day. One moment she was elated because she had a date and she hadn’t had a real, honest-to-god date in a long time. And then she’d feel despondent with guilt over her upcoming night out. She’d reminded herself she didn’t owe her anonymous sexual partner anything except a clean bill of health. Certainly not any guilt over a simple dinner out with a man.
From the back of the cab, she watched the urban landscape shift in a mix of busy corner bistros and soaring silent sentinels of steel and glas
s. Atlanta died in pockets when the corporate drones finished with their day, while other spots enjoyed a thriving night life. Strange.
As a precaution, she set the alarm on her phone for forty-five minutes. They’d either hit it, off or she’d know it was a wash by then. If it was a wash, she could ditch him on some excuse of an emergency. Since she knew him in a business capacity, it was best not to flat out say if she was miserable.
The cab turned onto the street where the restaurant…and Eleven…were located. A purely conditioned response swept over her. Her heart raced, and a surge of wet, warm arousal gathered between her thighs and tightened her nipples. Within seconds she was aching for fulfillment. Her pussy throbbed for her man’s touch, his tongue, his cock. Not just a man, but her man, her nameless lover.
The cab pulled beneath the portico reserved for cabs and valet parking, and she paid and got out. She always arrived five minutes late. It kept her date a little unsure as to whether she would show or not. It also meant she didn’t look overeager. And she never, ever apologized for her tardiness.
The restaurant reeked of sophisticated elegance, an interesting blend of contemporary and traditional in both décor and architecture. She stood for a moment and Greg approached from the bar area, a highball glass in his hand.
He looked yummy in a charcoal-gray suit with narrow lapels, a white shirt, and a silk tie, a few shades darker than his suit. She’d thought he landed on the geeky side yesterday. Now she simply found him sexy.
He took one of her hands in his and leaned in slightly, bussing her cheek. “I’m glad you could make it.” His gaze reflected approval…and heat. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Arden didn’t miss his slight nod to the hostess. Within seconds they were escorted to a table tucked into a secluded alcove.
The wine was excellent, the food superb, and his company matched both. He’d been witty and charming. Equally important, he seemed to find her the same. Her forty-five minute alarm had been totally unnecessary. Now, Greg took her hand in his. His touch left her tingling throughout.
They’d been pinging off of each other all evening. It would be so easy to wind up in bed with Greg tonight. She’d been turned on before she ever arrived. The evening—the food, the wine, and his company—had only ramped her up more.
“I don’t want the night to end,” he said.
“Hmm. All good things…”
“Must come to an end.” He smiled. “Eventually, but it doesn’t have to be yet.”
He trailed his index finger along her forearm to the crook of her elbow. “Your skin is so soft.” Sweet mercy but his touch set her on fire. One finger and she felt this? “Are you that soft all over?”
She knew what he was asking. She knew where the conversation was heading. She went willingly. “Some parts are even softer.”
His eyelids lowered to half-mast, and he brushed his thumb over her upper arm, tantalizingly close to her nipple. “Have you ever been spanked, Arden?”
She’d already been turned on, but excitement fluttered through her.
“Ah, I can see you have. I also see that you liked it.” He dipped his dark head next to hers and lowered his voice even further. “I’d like to pull up your dress and turn you over my knee and spank your soft bottom until it’s glowing. Umm … all rosy and plump. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His breath teased against her hair. His words inflamed her.
“Yes.” She not only would like it, she needed it. She craved it.
“Are you familiar with Eleven?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. Have you ever been?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, so you really are a naughty girl.”
She laughed and sipped at her wine. “It’s not the way you make it sound.”
“Oh, but we both know that it is. Come with me.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“But—”
“Don’t disappoint me by playing this game where you make me wait because you think you should say no. If you want to play, there are so many better games we can play. I see it in your eyes, in the way you breathe, in the way your lips parted in anticipation of me spanking your bare bottom.”
“I was going to say it’s probably booked up.”
“Reservations.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Arrogant.”
“Extremely optimistic.” He shrugged. “It’s just money if we don’t show up. However, it does seem a waste of Cristal champagne, a lovely room, and two people with similar interests.”
“Is this how your dates always go?”
“Not by a long shot.”
“Why did you…how did…what was it about me?”
“What was it about you that I knew you would enjoy being turned over my knee for a good spanking? Are you wondering if you project something and the whole world knows? You don’t. But people who share common ‘interests’ sometimes pick up on vibes.” He moved his thumb against the pulse in her wrist in an almost hypnotizing caress. “I think you’d not only enjoy that spanking, but also the bath of chilled champagne I'd soothe over your hot bottom. I think you’d find it very satisfying.”
Oh, God, it all sounded so good…so enticing…the sting of his palm against her bare flesh…the cool sparkling liquid afterwards. She wanted to say yes, but…could she?
“You’re safe with me. Safe in every sense of the word. Text one of your girlfriends. Tell her you’re with me. Tell her where I work. Tell her where we’re going. And as for the other safety, I’m checked regularly.”
Beyond the measure of incredulity to the whole thing, wasn’t this what she wanted? Just the other day she'd seen some saying along the lines that at the end of our lives it was the things we hadn’t done that we regretted rather than the things we had.
Then there was the matter of her mystery man. She’d become too caught up, too enthralled. This would break his spell, was already breaking his spell, in fact.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t hear a word of your presentation yesterday. From the moment you walked in the room all I could think about was spanking you and fucking you.” The juxtaposition between his crude words and their elegant clothes and setting made her hotter still. He smiled and a thrill ran through her. “It’s understood that when that door closes behind us, I’m in charge.” He wasn’t asking permission, he was setting the rules of engagement. “You will do what I say, when I say, and how I instruct. If things get too intense, the word is stem. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I understand.”
While Greg settled the bill, she excused herself from the table and went to the ladies’ room. It was as elegant as the rest of the restaurant. An attendant sat at a station in the lounge area. With a brief smile, Arden made her way to the bathroom itself. The stalls’ shuttered doors afforded privacy by going all the way to the floor.
She leaned against the door. She was shaking with excitement and arousal. She closed her eyes. Putting her hand up her dress, she slipped her fingers beneath the edge of her panties. She was sopping, dripping wet. She bit her lip to keep from moaning. This was going to be good…oh, so good. For a second she thought about fingering herself to an orgasm just to take the edge off but decided against it. She liked the edge—it made her feel alive and sizzling, and it would make what was to come all the better.
She did her business and cleaned herself thoroughly. Then she texted Janice. She kept it brief and told her not to respond.
Back in the lounge, she touched up her lipstick, smoothed her hair into place and spritzed on a bit more perfume.
The attendant, an older woman nodded with a sly smile. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
She would, most definitely.
CHAPTER TEN
Arden managed not to gape when they stopped in front of the door. What were the odds she and Greg would be in their room? They were long odds, and they had played out.
She’d been strangely relieved that the
hotel staff was different than the faces that had become familiar when she was meeting her mystery lover. As if it mattered.
Greg opened the door, and she gasped. It looked totally different. Candles, lots and lots of candles, flickered, casting light and dark and shadows in the room. There were candelabra on stands and on the end tables flanking the fireplace. Smaller candles flickered in the bedroom.
Greg closed the door and pulled her into his arms. He had been very careful not to touch her on the brief ride from the restaurant. Ummm. Greg was a good kisser. Make that an extremely good kisser.
“Go change in the bathroom. We don’t want anything to happen to your dress. Take off everything except what you find in there.”
She almost spoke up and then she remembered his rules. What he said, when he said, how he instructed.
As with the other rooms, candles flickered, their light reflected by the mirror. A white gift box, an upscale boutique’s name embossed in gold on the top, sat on the counter. Inside she found an exquisite gossamer floor-length robe that belted at the waist with a satin tie. The bell sleeves were finished in lace. It was extremely feminine and extremely provocative. Her nipples were dark points beneath the sheer material, and the juncture of her thighs was barely visible as a shadowy darker area.
She emerged from the bathroom and then stopped in the doorway of the bedroom to await his next instruction. Plus, she was no fool. Her body would be outlined and backlit by the bedroom’s candlelight.
His gaze radiated heat as his eyes raked her across the room’s expanse. He nodded. “Very nice. Come here and we’ll enjoy some champagne.”
She walked over to the loveseat and stood before him, awaiting his next instructions. “Very good.” He patted the spot next to him. “Right here.”
Arden sank to the cushioned surface. Greg handed her a glass and then placed his arm along the back of the loveseat behind her. He raised his glass in a toast, “To tonight.”
“To tonight,” she echoed him and sipped at the champagne. It was wonderful. Despite the wine with dinner, she was on edge. She drank deeply from her glass. This uncharted territory was different from what had transpired with her mystery man. With Greg, she knew what was eventually coming, but she didn’t know when or how and she had no idea what would happen in the interim.
BY THE HOUR, ATLANTA, Book 1 Page 8