by Mae Wood
“Yes, Mr. Brannon you do appear to be fulfilling your commitments admirably. For my part, I have eaten dinner with you.”
“Ahem, Miss Tanner, I believe there is an agreed-upon term that is fully within your control that I’m not quite confident you have adhered to.”
A sly smile crept across my lips and I slowly drew my index finger around the rim of an empty wine glass. I hopped down from the high chair and without a backwards glance walked to the door of the restaurant. Trip was in close pursuit and caught up to me at the valet stand.
Placing his hand at the small of my back and pulling me into his side, he leaned and whispered in my ear. “You’re teasing me. This is hardly fair. I promised you I wouldn’t touch you in public this evening.”
I turned my face towards his and whispered. “I said nothing about keeping my hands off of you.” I nonchalantly moved my hand to the side and brushed the front of his pants.
The valet arrived with the car and Trip jerkily moved to resume control of his silver convertible. He drove us swiftly to my condo. “I have two parking spaces for my unit. You’re welcome to use one.”
“Thanks. Show me where.” I directed Trip to the space beside my Audi and without a word we proceeded up to my condo. Trip’s hand took its place on my back as I walked through the building and turned my key in the door. I didn’t bother to reach to turn on a light.
Trip closed the door behind us and placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled my back into his front. He swept my hair to the side. His tongue traced from my earlobe to my shoulder while dropping his hands to my waist. I met his hands with mine and brought them to the tie binding the wrap dress around me. I loosened the tie and the dress fell open. He pushed it across my shoulders and it dropped to the floor, leaving me stark naked in high heels.
“Miss Tanner,” Trip spoke, breaking the silence in a shaky voice, cupping my breasts in his hands. “I believe the bargain was for no panties.”
“Consider this an incentive to enter future mutually beneficial agreements.” My voice cracked over the words, which I spoke just above a whisper.
“Marisa, you are ruining me for life.”
“Ah,” I mewled. “You’ve discovered my evil plot, then.” I leaned back into him and twisted my face to capture his lips. Once our lips met, I turned my body slowly as Trip’s hands grazed my nakedness. I reached down and worked to release him from his confines.
He kicked off his penny loafers and his olive trousers. I carefully maneuvered him out of his boxers until they joined his pants on the floor. I rubbed my breasts across the line of buttons on his shirt placket and helped him shrug out of his sport coat. With my hands up his shirt, caressing his firm and lean chest, I pressed him backwards. His fingers tightened their grip around my hips and dug in. He pulled me with him. When his back hit my front door, he ripped his mouth away from mine. His lips curved into a devilish grin.
“Miss Tanner, I believe the terms of our agreement explicitly stated that I was going to ravish you this evening. And, here you are, attempting to ravish me.”
“Mr. Brannon, I am more than attempting.” I lowered my hands from his chest and dropped to my knees in front of him. Trip exhaled and his body quivered with anticipation. I took his cock in my hands and licked him like a melting ice cream cone – my tongue wide and flat all the way from his base to his head where I placed him in my mouth and looked up through my eyelashes.
He stared at me gape-jawed. His eyes were lit not with the animalistic lust I had anticipated but with tenderness and awe. I averted my eyes and focused on the job at hand. He swept my bangs off my forehead and gently nudged my mouth away from him.
What? What did I do? Does he not like it? I don’t think I did anything different from before, but maybe I did?
As the panic and hurt began to set in, Trip exhaled my name.
“Did I do something wrong?” My eyes pleaded with him for answers and reassurance.
Trip shook his head and sank to a squat in front of me. “I’m not saying this with your mouth on my dick,” he said, his hands cradling my face as he looked directly into my eyes. “I love you.”
Even though I was already naked, I felt absolutely bare and exposed. Before I could fully process his words, he placed a tender kiss on my lips. He held his face a few inches from mine. “I mean that.”
My eyes grew wide. He loves me? He just told me he loves me? My thoughts shattered in a thousand pieces.
“Okay?” he inquired quietly. I still had no words and could only slowly nod. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me towards the bedroom. I burrowed my face in the crook of his neck.
“I love you, too,” I whispered. I felt my eyes well with tears and my heart expand. A pleasant and comfortable warmth spread throughout me. The tenor of the evening shifted. Gone was the playfulness I was accustomed to from Trip. Our embrace was raw.
“You make me so happy, Marisa,” he said earnestly, placing me on my bed and tucking a tendril of hair behind my ear before kissing me again. When our mouths parted, the sparkle in Trip’s eye let me know that my playful man was back. “Now, about that ravishing I owe you.”
Chapter Eight
I hopped into my car a sweaty mess after the Saturday morning 5K. I was going to be stuck at my office the rest of the day working, but knowing Trip and I were going to see each other that evening made the thought of a day hunched over my desk much more tolerable. I polished off a VitaminWater Zero and retrieved my phone from the console. Voicemail from an unknown number? Who leaves me a voicemail instead of sending a text or email? Has to be a salesperson.
I clicked play and was ready to hit delete upon confirmation of a salesperson’s voice. “Marisa, this is Bitsy Brannon. I’m calling to invite you to lunch. I know you’re busy, but I would like to have lunch with you so we can get to know each other better. I’m sorry I missed you. Give me a ring back and let me know what works for you. Bye-bye.” The phone nearly slid out of my hand. I clicked off the voicemail and sharply instructed Siri to call Trip.
“Hey, beautiful,” Trip sang through the car speakers after the third ring, slightly out of breath. “How did your race go?” I turned the ignition and began to drive home from Overton Park.
“Your mother just called and invited me to lunch.”
“So?”
“Your mother, Trip.”
“Yeah, I know who you meant the first time. Didn’t y’all talk about lunch when you were over at my parents’ house for dinner?”
“Of course we did. In the way that you talk about catching up with someone you really didn’t know from high school. It’s not like I expected that we’d actually have lunch together. What are you doing? You’re panting and you’d better not be doing what I think you might be doing.”
“If you think I’m on my fluid trainer and watching Bloomberg, then yes, I’m doing what you think I’m doing.”
“Your fluid what?”
“Trainer. It turns a road bike into a stationary bike so that I can ride indoors. I’ll show it to you tonight.”
“So your place tonight?”
“If it’s okay with you?”
“Of course it is. Now back to your mother.”
“Go or don’t go. It’s your decision. I will only say that it would mean a lot to me if you could at least tolerate each other.”
“Your mom was lovely at dinner. I liked her.”
“Then, go. It’s just lunch.”
“Okay, if it’s fine with you.”
“Of course it’s fine with me. Geez. So, what time do you think you’re going to get to a point where you can stop work for the day?”
“Probably around five or six.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ve got some catching up to do myself from last week but then I’m just going be hanging out around the house, so stop by whenever.”
“Wow, don’t make me coming over sound like such a hardship, Trip,” I warned in a light tone.
“Marisa, come on,” puffed Tri
p. “You know what I mean. I’m off to Pennsylvania tomorrow afternoon for a couple of weeks with a run to New York sandwiched in between and I’d like to spend some time with you before then.”
“The mushroom farm?” And probably the New York lawyers you’ve hired to deal with the Duquette situation.
“No. We sold that years ago. How do you even know about it? Never mind. Can I get back to my workout and we can talk when you get here?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.” I ended the call. Okay, home, shower, change, office and call Bitsy.
I settled into my big black leather desk chair mid-morning. I kicked my lime green sneaker-shod feet up on the edge of my desk and dialed Bitsy Brannon, happy at least it was Saturday and that the conversation would be private even with my office door open.
“Hello?”
“Yes, Mrs. Brannon, I mean, Bitsy? This is Marisa Tanner?” Why do I feel like I’m sixteen and calling to ask Trip to a Sadie Hawkins dance? Stop turning every sentence into a question. Get a grip.
“Marisa! I’m so happy to hear from you. Have you gotten a chance to look at your schedule for our lunch and shopping date?”
Lunch and shopping? I thought back to dinner at the Brannon’s house. Yes, I suppose I did technically agree to shopping as well. “Yes, ma’am,” I replied, turning to look at my Outlook calendar. Guess I’ll have to juggle a few things to make time for shopping. “The second Thursday in October is wide open for me from noon onwards.” I could hear Bitsy flipping through pages of what I imagined to be some sort of paper diary.
“Yes, that would be good for me, too. That’s Thursday in three weeks for our lunch date. The St. Jude benefit is three weeks after that, so it will be close to get any alterations done by then, but I’ll make it happen. What size dress do you normally wear? I’ll have Josie bring a few options in from their Houston store for you. You know they have so many more gowns there.”
Dresses from Texas? Okay, she’s clearly talking about shopping for an evening gown at Joseph’s. I spend that kind of money on vacations not dresses. This is going to be awkward. “Eight,” I answered, bouncing my toes on the edge of the desktop.
“Eight? I would have never guessed.”
What does that mean? Does that mean she thinks I look larger than that? Or that I wouldn’t fill a size eight out? Eight is thin for my height. Breathe.
“So, next Thursday at noon, then. We’ll have lunch afterwards. And maybe I’ll pop into Dinstuhl’s for a treat, too. That chocolate you brought us was just wonderful. Thank you.”
“Of course. See you then, Bitsy.” The phone call ended, I noted the lunch on my calendar, blocking out three hours and setting a reminder to eat a granola bar before I left to meet her so that I wouldn’t be starving and cranky by a likely two o’clock lunch. There, Trip. I’m having lunch and going shopping with your mom. Now back to work.
I cranked my way through reading three depositions, making extensive notes about what the witnesses had and hadn’t said. The Dave Priddy trial over his sexual harassment claims against Branco was set at the beginning of December. Two months away. There was so much to do to get ready for it. And now it looked like I would have to contend with getting ready for a trial while having a full social calendar along with the holiday season. I settled into my work.
My stomach rumbled and I looked at my watch. It was nearly six. Okay, need to get out of here. I looked down at my skinny jeans and striped Michael Stars long sleeve t-shirt. After the morning 5K, I’d pulled my shower-damp hair back into a loose French braid, hoping against reason that it would dry into some semblance of waves. It was my typical Saturday at the office uniform. Casual and chic? Definitely casual. I hope casual is okay. I didn’t even think to ask. I grabbed my cell and dialed Trip.
“Hey, so what’s the plan?” I asked.
“Just waiting on you. Going to be much longer?”
“Nope. Just about to leave. I forgot to ask where we’re going. I’ve been at the office all day and I’m super casual and want to make sure I don’t need to stop by my condo and change first.”
“No need for that. If you want to go out, we can. I just thought we’d have a quiet night in.”
“Quiet night in or swinging from the rafters night in?”
“Your choice, Miss Tanner. I’ll see you when you get here.”
I pulled into Trip’s driveway and parked my car behind his. Front door? Do I go through the garage? I should probably go to the front door, but I don’t want to stand there, ringing his doorbell like a Girl Scout selling cookies. Hell, you’re having sex with him. Just go through the garage. I hiked my overnight bag over my shoulder and walked through Trip’s noticeably cleaner but still filled garage. Really, how many bikes does one man need? Wait, maybe I can use this for leverage with my shoe collection. We can have a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy about my shoes and his bikes. Okay, getting ahead of yourself.
I pushed through the unlocked back door and stepped into the brilliant white kitchen. “Trip?” I called and heard my voice echo through the large house. I smelled marinara sauce and garlic. He cooked? I set my bag on the white marble island, recalling how the last time I was in this kitchen, I’d been totally nude except for an apron. A smile graced my lips. I walked over and admired the closely shot black and white portraits that hung on the wall, amazed that Trip was the photographer. What other talents does he have hiding up his sleeve? Fluency in French? Perfect pitch? He’s too cool for me.
“Hey, beautiful.” Trip walked into the kitchen wearing a smile and a white Lacoste shirt and jeans, topped off with the navy monogrammed apron I’d worn. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him in the naughty apron. It stopped entirely at his slow and sensual welcoming kiss. “I was just setting the table. I hope you’re hungry.”
“You cooked?”
“I’ve tried. If it’s terrible, we’ll order pizza. Or maybe make some brownies,” he teased. I blushed, even though I was thinking the exact same thing.
“It smells great. I’m starving.”
“You should withhold judgment until you’ve tried it,” he replied, decanting a bottle of red wine.
“What is it?”
“Lasagna. I’ve never tried to make it before, but thanks to the magic of YouTube and Google, it looked okay when it went into the oven. As for this, it’s a Chianti that I picked up at the wine shop next to Whole Foods.”
“Wait, you’re telling me that you went to a grocery store and neither your mom nor her housekeeper made dinner?”
“Absolutely,” Trip replied. His carriage showed he was more than slightly proud of himself as he walked away from me to check the lasagna baking in the oven. He closed the oven door and smiled broadly. “Must be love.”
I froze. The grin on Trip’s face fell slightly. “I mean that, Marisa.”
When I didn’t respond, he moved on. “Okay, about ten minutes left on the lasagna. I’ve still got to make the salad. I picked out a tiramisu for dessert. Hey, do we need to talk? What’s wrong?” I still hadn’t moved.
He walked to me, placed a soft hand on the side of my face, and gently pulled my body into his. “Hey, you,” he whispered.
I turned my face up to his. “Honestly?” Trip nodded earnestly. “Those aren’t throw away words. You don’t know me well enough to say something like that.”
“If you’re looking for a fight, Marisa, I’m not giving you one.” He kissed my forehead and looked toward the oven. “Not tonight. Plus, I heard you, too. Now, how about you take the wine to the table and I’ll be in shortly with the food.”
I’ve just been dismissed. He dismissed me! I snatched the decanter and two wine glasses off the island and nearly stomped to the dining room. The large windows overlooked the neat garden and the wide Mississippi River. The white walls were peach from the setting sun, but the view of the gorgeous evening wasn’t what took my breath away. Instead, it was the large formal table, lovingly set for an intimate meal
.
Upon the glass and steel table sat a large white and purple mottled orchid and several modern crystal candlesticks holding lit white tapers. The place settings were simple white bone china resting on gray shagreen chargers. Well, hello, ‘House Beautiful.’ This took some work. I wonder if his mom had a hand in this? Please say his mom didn’t come over and set a table for us. That would be really weird. Where should I sit? Should I keep standing? Why am I so freaking nervous? I’ll pour wine and go look at the view until he comes in. That will work.
I filled two glasses with generous pours and walked nearer to the window to enjoy the view. B.B. King’s rough voice sang about having lost his thrill in the background. I watched a barge slowly slip down the river as city lights twinkled in the quickly fading evening glow.
“Okay, dinner’s ready,” said Trip, breaking the tranquility. He held a large salad bowl in his hands. “Please, sit. I’ll be right back with the lasagna.”
“Trip, this is gorgeous,” I said, gesturing to the table. “Really. Did your mom do this?”
“Contrary to what you may have heard, I am a grown up. I can set a table. But I guess in a way she did. She set up the house for me when I moved back home, so it’s not like I picked out the plates or anything. The orchid, however, I did that. For you. Whole Foods. Who knew a grocery store would have flowers?” I laughed at Trip’s amazement. “Okay, two shakes and we’ll be ready to eat.”
I settled into a seat, noting Trip had set the places side by side, looking out toward the river. Trip had sloughed off my favorite apron when he returned to the dining room. Bearing the lasagna, which he placed on a silver geometric trivet, he sank into the chair next to me. “Lovely,” he muttered, kissing my cheek and caressing my face with the pad of his index finger.