The Seduction Vow

by Bonnie Dee

  They sat at an outdoor table on the sidewalk in front of the building. Graci nervously turned the paper sleeve on her coffee cup around and around. Sitting with this hot musician suddenly made her feel dorky and uncool.

  “Did you study music?” she asked.

  “Six years of piano lessons with Mrs. Fishbaum, beginning when I was six. Once I hit middle school and joined my first band, I quit lessons. My mom and I fought about it, but she finally let it go, and trust me, she didn’t let things go easily.” His smile set her at ease. Picturing him dutifully sitting through lessons with Mrs. Fishbaum made her realize that cool was just a surface thing. Underneath, he was simply a friendly, nice guy.

  “Are you close to your family?”

  “Yeah. There’s just my dad and me now. Mom died eight years ago.” A slight frown flickered over his face.

  Graci tried to picture life without her mother, the dynamic heart of her family just as her dad was the quiet anchor. “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded, accepting her condolence. “She caught some weird virus that flared up almost overnight. At first she thought it was a cold, so she took cold medicine and tried to sleep it off. But it got worse really fast. She went into the hospital and died within twenty-four hours.”

  “Oh God. That’s awful. I can’t even imagine.”

  “It was a pretty crappy time,” he admitted. “After she died, I broke up with that girl I told you about and dropped out of college. I was pretty lost for a while.”

  “Anyone would be.” She wished she had something more to offer, but there wasn’t really any good way to respond to such a horrible tragedy. “I am so sorry,” she repeated.

  He sipped his coffee. “I’m not trying to bring you down. It’s just my life. I played with some bands and worked at a building supply store, then finally went back to college and got an associate’s degree. Now I’m working in a music program for at-risk youth. It’s outside the school system, funded by a nonprofit group so they don’t have to follow state hiring regulations. That’s why I don’t need a teaching degree.” He took a breath. “So, that’s pretty much my whole story.”

  “That’s a lot. It’s cool that you work with at-risk kids. Such an important job. What’s it like?”

  He squinted and wrinkled his nose. “They like to act a lot tougher and more jaded than they really are. When it comes to music, none of them have been exposed to much beyond rap and pop. My first job is to get them to understand that all kinds of music can be cool.”

  Neal leaned forward, arms crossed on top of the table. “But let me turn the twenty questions on you. What’s your story?”

  Just those few inches closer invaded her space. His presence both charmed and flustered her. Graci licked her lips and sipped her coffee while she calmed herself.

  “Oh, wow, a lot less interesting, I promise you,” she said. “I’ve lived in Cincinnati all my life. Attended U of C then was hired in at Schulman Corporation. Do you know it? They make office machinery. I’m an accountant. It’s not nearly as exciting as what you do, but it’s what I’m good at. I’m kind of a meticulous person.”

  She paused, wishing she could add anything to make her sound less dull. “Quilting is my hobby. My mom taught me to sew when I was little, and it’s something I do for fun. I live a pretty quiet life.”

  Good God, could she possibly be more boring? She swore she could see his eyes glazing over.

  “I’d like to see your work. I have a friend who creates fabric art. You got any snaps on your phone?”

  She did, but did he really want to see them, or was he just being polite?

  “Well. There is this one stained-glass-look quilt I just finished.” She called up the photo and showed him the screen.

  “That’s beautiful. You’re a real artist.”

  Those clear, honest eyes couldn’t possibly be lying. He appreciated and admired her work. That was more than the vaguely polite interest Joey had occasionally mustered.

  “Thank you.” A warm glow swelled in her as she put her phone away.

  Neal checked his watch, and all her happy feelings deflated.

  Of course he was counting the seconds until he could kindly put an end to this date. She should have known better. What would an edgy musician possibly find sexy about a dull-as-dirt accountant? She should have invented an intriguing persona to go with her new hairstyle. Maybe said she was an aspiring actress like Tara or a costume designer like Bree.

  “Hey, I got to tell you”—Neal said, and she started to nod, anticipating an excuse—“I picked this café for a reason. I have a friend who’s into flash mobs. They’ve got a thing here today…in about one more minute. I was going to let it be a surprise, but I thought maybe you’d like a little advance warning. Take a look.”

  He pointed to a couple of people rising from their seats, others clustering on the sidewalk beyond the tables, and several people keeping an eye on their watches.

  Then suddenly, everybody began moving. Someone started a portable stereo system, and a heavy bass beat filled the air. A number of diners surged to their feet, and joined the random people on the sidewalk leaping into choreographed motion.

  “Oh my God! I’ve always wanted to see one of these in real life, not just on a video. This is so cool.” Excitement and awe filled her at the unison movement of the small crowd. Watchers on the fringe smiled and pointed and occasionally joined in, awkwardly following the steps of the dance.

  “Watching’s fun, but it’s even better to join in.” Neal rose and held out his hand.

  “I couldn’t. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’ll catch on, and I know you like to dance. I saw you on the floor the other night with your friends.” He leaned close and murmured, “Very sexy.”

  Her cheeks blazed at the compliment and from knowing that while she’d been watching him on stage, he’d noticed her too. His attraction was a long, cool drink she sorely needed after the desert of rejection Joey had given her.

  “Anyway, look.” Neal pointed out bystanders who were laughing as they tried to copy the steps. “Everybody’s here to have fun. You don’t have to be perfect. Just do it.”

  Nike’s motto and hers now, she reminded herself. Graci took a deep breath, then took his hand.

  Neal pulled her onto her feet and into the dance.

  It was more like calisthenics than anything else, she realized as she bent down to the ground, slowly rose upright with jazz hands wiggling, clapped her hands together, and swept them from one side of her body to the other. She put her hands on her hips and rotated. Who made up these group dances?

  Now everyone was jumping a step forward and then back and thrusting pelvises. Oh, it was the Time Warp or something close to it. She glanced at Neal, smiling and thrusting alongside her. The push of his hips brought sex steaming to the top of her brain. And not just sex, but sex with him. What would it be like? Slow and sensual, and he’d probably know exactly what to do with his hands and that laughing mouth. The thought of kisses and warm, wet licks made her shiver all over and lose track of her dancing.

  Graci focused on the hand-clapping portion of the song. CLAP clap-clap. CLAP clap-clap. And then very fast, clap-clap clap-clap clap-clap CLAP. Everyone was more or less right on the beat. Cool.

  Those who knew the song started singing the refrain. Graci didn’t, but she laughed aloud as the joyful music and camaraderie lifted her up. No wonder Neal’s friend was addicted to this. It was a fun, natural high. Silly and lighthearted and not particularly meaningful, except that it gave a message of hopefulness about the basic unity of people.

  The last strains of the song resounded. Everybody’s arms lifted slowly to one final unison CLAP! Then somebody turned off the music, the crowd broke up, and everyone began to drift away.

  Breathless and still grinning from ear to ear, Graci said, “That was so much fun. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I’m glad you liked it. I thought you might. You don’t seem like the kind of woman who�
��s afraid to try new things.”

  What? He clearly didn’t know her at all. Or maybe he did—the new Graci he’d seen dance and drink too much and act silly in public. Her talk about quilting and accounting hadn’t turned him off. He still imagined she was interesting.

  Neal led the way back to their table, where the coffee was lukewarm and the pastry starting to dry out. Graci sipped her sweetened brew and took a bite of lemon tart.

  “Mm. Try this.” She cut a bite for Neal and set it on his plate with her fork.

  He returned the favor, breaking off a piece of his cranberry muffin and offering it to her with his fingers.

  Graci hesitated only a moment. Eating from someone’s hand was an intimate, personal-space-invading thing. You’ve been considering having his tongue in your mouth, his cock inside you, and you won’t accept a bite of muffin from his hand?

  She opened her mouth, and Neal’s fingertips grazed her lips. The muffin crumbled sweetly on her tongue, crunchy when she bit a walnut and tart with cranberries. But all she was really aware of was that slight brush of Neal’s fingers and the way his gaze focused intently on her lips. He appeared ready to lean over the table and kiss her.

  Graci found herself inclining forward as if reaching for that kiss. A magnetic force shimmered in the air between them, an unspoken sensual connection stronger than anything she’d ever felt.

  “Half price on biscotti.” Their waitress interrupted the moment. “You could take some to go.”

  After the waitress left, Graci settled back into her seat and normal conversation resumed. They chatted about the flash mob and about music, discussing what kinds they liked. Graci feared he’d roll his eyes at some of the bands she liked, but Neal’s taste seemed very eclectic. He loved all music, across the board.

  He was so easy to talk to that any first-date awkwardness quickly faded. Being with him was as comfortable as being with an old friend—except for the constant current of lust buzzing just underneath the surface.

  She told him about her checklist—all but the virginity item—and he promised to take her to karaoke whenever she wanted. They talked till the sun went behind the buildings and the streetlights glowed, then Neal checked his watch again.

  “I have rehearsal. Can we get together again soon?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.” She smiled, and continued smiling as they walked down the street to where her car was parked. They stood beside it talking, but chat about the weather couldn’t mask what both of them were really thinking about.

  Wired, vibrating with adrenaline, ready to spring into action, Graci tuned up her lips and waited for a kiss. But though he stood very close, his body boxing her against the car, Neal didn’t lean in. Did he plan to kiss her or not?

  But New Graci didn’t wait for a man to make the first move, did she? New Graci was completely capable of taking what she wanted.

  She stepped forward, slipped a hand around the back of his neck, and pulled his face down to hers. Their mouths touched, lightly at first, then deeper. Tongues explored, lips fused together in a powerful, mind-altering kiss…

  At least that was how it happened in her imagination.

  In reality, just as Graci lunged, Neal did the same. Rather than come together in perfect harmony, their foreheads cracked and their noses clashed.

  Sharp pain shot through her face. Graci pulled away and slapped a hand to her forehead. “Ow.”

  Neal rubbed his nose and laughed. “Sorry. Not at all sexy. Let’s try again.”

  He lowered his head slowly, one hand cupping her face in a warm caress. In that hushed moment just before his mouth covered hers, Graci caught her breath, and this time, it was magic. His lips brushed hers before settling more firmly. Warm. Soft. And the hair above his upper lip tickled hers. He kissed her once, twice, politely—no tongue—then pulled back as if awaiting her okay to go further.

  Graci exhaled and leaned in again, lips parted. This time, Neal’s tongue swept over hers, not intrusive, just an invitation to play—nibbles and pecks and then deeper and longer and sensual and demanding and oh…her legs were quivering. No thought but this moment. No worries beyond where to put her hands next. Nothing but sensation and pleasure filling all her empty spaces. She could cling to him and kiss like this for…well, maybe not forever, but for a really long time.

  Lost in the kisses and in Neal’s touch on her neck and kneading lightly at the base of her spine, Graci melted into his sinewy body. So different from the body she’d thought would be the last she’d ever make love to. But any Joey comparisons were a mere flash in her mind and disappeared again so quickly they barely registered. Absolutely in the moment, there was no place she’d rather be.

  Neal released her mouth and gasped for air. “I could call and tell them I can’t make practice. We could go to my place. Or yours.”

  Graci blinked as his words and cool evening air slapped her into reality. My place or yours meant sex in any language. She could do it with Neal. Losing her virginity with him would be easier than the random stranger she’d originally planned.

  But her euphoric lust-haze rapidly dissipated at the possibility of tonight being The Night. She’d waited so long for reasons she could hardly remember and now… God, a fit of nerves shook her.

  “No. You shouldn’t skip your rehearsal,” she said.

  “There are always more rehearsals.” He rested his forehead against hers and murmured, “I’d rather be with you.”

  Yes. No. Two sides of a coin. Yes-no-yes-no-yes-no. Anticipation and fear wrestled inside her.

  Fear won. “Not tonight. But I’d like to get together again soon.” She opened her car door, ending the discussion. “I had a really nice time.”

  He put his hands in his jacket pockets and walked backward a few paces, nodding. “G’night. I’ll call or text you, okay?”

  “Sounds good.” Graci got in the car and started it. Her heart thudded like a jackrabbit’s hind foot. It would have been so easy. She’d had exactly what she’d wanted right in her grasp. People had sex with partners they barely knew all the time, and she liked Neal, so why couldn’t she just do it?

  Her fear of taking a leap tied her up in knots. But one day soon she was going to swallow that fear and make a hang-glider’s plunge.

  Chapter Five

  Corinne and Graci stopped in front of a painting of a pair of nude lovers in a passionate embrace. The arch of the woman’s back, her half-closed eyes, and open mouth suggested she was on the verge of orgasm. Her partner bent her over one arm at an impossible position to achieve in real life, half covering her body with his. His face lay in profile against one breast, his expression ecstatic. The highly sexual pose riveted the attention—as did the knife the man stabbed in her back at the same time he screwed her.

  “An interesting work. Kind of turns you on and turns your stomach at the same time,” Corinne said dryly.

  “I think the artist is making a statement about our cultural fascination with serial killers,” Graci said.

  “Or he’s thinking about an ex.” Corinne led the way to the next painting, full of sharp angles and angry splotches of red. “I want to ask you something as a person in the aftermath of a breakup.”

  “Okay. Fire away.”

  “How long do you think is appropriate to wait before asking someone who’s almost divorced from his wife if he wants to go out?”

  “Almost?” Graci asked. “I’d say after the papers were signed, at least.”

  “But what if they’d been separated for a long time? And what if it was starting to seem as if he was interested in another person? Wouldn’t it make sense to seize the day before the window of opportunity slammed shut on your fingers?”

  Graci stopped to study a statue, a nude white marble man with meticulously sculpted muscles. “Would this window-slammer be a man you know? And would the fingers happen to belong to you?”

  “Maaybe.” Corinne circled the statue, eyes focused on the fig leaf. “This guy couldn’t possibly be hidin
g much junk under there.”

  Junk. Dick. Penis. Cock. Rod. Erection. Man meat. All the descriptions of male genitalia she could think of had crossed Graci’s mind at one point or another over the past few days. She was becoming obsessed with sex and sex parts and, in particular, Neal’s parts and what it might be like to become better acquainted with them. She squirmed a little at the tension tightening between her legs.

  “So, who’s this guy you’re into?” Graci asked. Corinne’s job coordinating conferences and corporate training events took her to various cities, but Graci doubted she’d fallen for someone she’d met while traveling.

  “He’s at the home office. Being out of town all the time makes it really hard to meet someone or start a relationship. Ian understands the nature of the job because it’s his job too—or was before he got promoted.” She stared at the statue’s foliage-covered package. “Plus he’s smoking hot. I can’t get him out of my head.”

  “But he’s still officially married.”

  “Yeah, I know. My friend Seth always reminds me of that too,” Corinne said glumly. “What about you and Neal? Have you gone out yet?”

  “We met for coffee the other day. There was a flash mob outside the café and we joined in. It was fun.”

  “You like him. I can tell.” Corinne parked herself in front of Graci and studied her. Corinne’s eyes widened. “You really like him. I always could read your face like a book. The more casual you try to act, the more I know something matters to you.”

  Graci shrugged. “He’s nice enough.”

  “Does he kiss good? I bet he does. Did you… Oh my God, Graci, did you sleep with him?”

  “No.” She gazed past Corinne at the marble statue’s perfectly sculpted ass.

  “But you’re thinking about it. Graciela Estella Ramirez, what would your mother say?”

  “Cut it out.” Graci stepped around Corinne and headed toward a sculpture that looked as if it were made from Pixy Stix. “Yes, I’m attracted to Neal. I don’t know where it’s going yet, and I don’t want to talk about it.”