The Only Rule: The Casual Rule 3

by AC Netzel

  “Is this a side job?”

  “No Ma’am.” He cups his hand to the side of his mouth and whispers, “I was recently relieved of my duties at my previous employer. Daft cows. Some rubbish about sexual harassment. Bollocks, Ma’am.”

  Sooner or later HR was bound to fire him. He was harmless enough because he was so damn clueless—but he crossed so many lines. This information doesn’t exactly surprise me.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Want to make me feel better?” he asks suggestively, absentmindedly dropping his fake English accent. I know the way his feeble mind works, and I’m not about to entertain it.

  “I’m on a date, Jake. You know, with the guy who’s paying you tonight.” I point my chin toward Ben, who’s walking around the car, oblivious to this conversation.

  “So that’s a no?” he asks.

  See? Clueless.

  “That’s a no,” I confirm.

  “Very well, in you go Ma’am.” Just like that, the fake accent is back. He pinches his hat’s visor and tips it slightly, making sure all my limbs are in the car before closing the door.

  Ben lets himself in the car from the opposite side, staying a safe distance away from me. I mean safe because if he were any closer, I’d assault him and jump his bones.

  And we’ve hardly started this date.

  “So, where are you taking me?” I ask.

  “It’s a surprise,” he says cryptically.

  “How do I know you and your driver aren’t going to take me to some dark, deserted field and murder me?”

  “You don’t,” he states flatly.

  I shake my head, redirecting my attention out the passenger side window. I can’t look at him anymore if he’s going to continue looking like… him. There’s something so damned sexy about this man. And the fact that tonight he’s forbidden makes him utterly irresistible.

  Lord give me strength because all I can think about is lifting up my dress and unzipping his fly. If I could get this lust out of the way by riding him all the way uptown, maybe I can enjoy my dinner.

  The limo heads up Sixth Avenue toward midtown Manhattan, occasionally slowed down by a pocket of traffic or a red light.

  “Over there is the Chrysler Building.” Jake points to his left, still holding on to his phony accent.

  Not only has he taken it upon himself to give us a tour of a city we already live in, but he’s pointing at the Empire State Building, not the Chrysler. Both buildings are iconic. Historic. His ‘tour’ brings him to a whole new level of clueless. He works in the city, for crying out loud. How can’t he know this?

  It’s not worth the breath it’ll take to correct him, so I let it go.

  “The Museum of Natural History is just a few blocks up,” he tells us.

  Okay, this has to be a joke. We’re nowhere near the museum. We’re coming up to The New York Public Library— if you peek through Bryant Park. The library is on Fifth Avenue, not Sixth.

  I sneak a quick peek at Ben. He side-eyes me and smirks. Lifting a sly brow, he presses a button on the door. I hold in a laugh as the privacy glass partition separating us from Jake goes up.

  Ben places his strong hands on his thighs, rubbing them up and down. God, I love his hands. And his long fingers when they glide up and down my naked backside, tracing my curves. And that stubble… Goddamn, I want to run the back of my hand against his jawline and feel it.

  It’s true what they say. You always want what you can’t have. And the fact that this is our ‘first date’… nuzzling up next to him and kissing him in that soft spot right behind his ear… what I really want to do… is off the table.

  Naturally, every erotic book and R-rated movie I’ve seen or read with hot, steamy limo-sex scenes are vividly coming back to me and waking up my smutty hormones in the worst possible way. I glance down at his index finger, innocently curved around his kneecap. I bet he’d like if I sucked on that finger and swirled my tongue around it, take it in deep, and then out again.

  Stop it! I’m dying to get my horny mitts all over this hot man seated next to me. How can he look so damned calm? So collected?

  To distract myself from gawking at Mr. Sex Appeal, I turn my attention out the passenger side window and stare at buildings as we drive by. The limo stops at a red light right at Bryant Park, and a large crowd of pedestrians crosses at the corner.

  Momentarily forgetting that Ben is my sexual kryptonite and seated on the side of the car Bryant Park is located, I turn my head to get a glimpse of the park and end up face to face with Ben, who apparently was checking me out. The side of his mouth quirks up to a half-smile when I catch him.

  “Umm, looks like something is going on at the Park tonight,” I state the obvious.

  “Looks that way,” he says, his tone low, his eyes focused on my mouth.

  My heart flutters wildly, and the butterflies in my stomach are set free.

  Breathe, Julia, breathe.

  Although I have no intention of sleeping with him tonight, if this were a true first date, curiosity would kick into gear, and I’d wonder how he was in bed. The problem is—I know the answer. I know how he fucks. I know how he makes love.

  And I know what I’m missing.

  Thankfully, the light turns green, and we continue our drive uptown. I turn my attention back out my window, reading blurred signs over souvenir shops, and staring into random retail store windows as I try to clear my dirty thoughts. Finally, the car stops in front of a familiar building. I chuckle under my breath.

  Emilio’s. Our place.

  I should have known.

  Ben turns to me. “Wait here.” He presses the button lowering the glass partition, instructs Jake to stay seated then exits the car, and walks around to the passenger side. After opening my door, he holds his hand out to me. I place mine in his as he helps me out of the car. His brief touch brings out the fireworks—silver sparklers, firecrackers, rockets red glare, and all that jazz.

  “Nice place.” I raise a brow. “Is it new?”

  “New to me,” he lies.

  “Oh? Is this your first time here?”

  He nods as he places a hand on the small of my back, opens the door to Emilio’s, and escorts me inside.

  We stop at the hostess desk where Kimberly, Emilio’s gatekeeper and not-so-secret Founder/President of the Ben Martin fan club, is stationed. She flips her long blonde hair over her shoulder and grins ear to ear when she spots him.

  “Hi Mr. Martin,” her voice is breathy as she bats her long fake lashes. I’m so used to her flirting. It doesn’t faze me anymore. She can ogle him all she wants as long as she makes sure my sangria is delivered to the table before my ass hits the chair. She glances at me and nods politely. Yup, that’s about all I expected.

  “Hello, Kimberly,” he says.

  “I thought you’ve never been here before,” I whisper to Ben.

  “Haven’t.”

  “How did you know her name?” I ask suspiciously.

  “She’s wearing a nametag.”

  “How does she know your name?”

  “Lucky guess,” he answers nonchalantly.

  I purse my lips to hold in a laugh.

  “Follow me.” Grabbing two menus, she directs us into the dining room. Correction… Kimberly sashays, her hips swaying side to side like a canoe in a hurricane, while Ben and I walk like normal people behind her.

  She escorts us to an out of the way table in the back of the room. It’s our usual table, more intimate than the tables closer to the front and hidden from most of the foot traffic. There’s a white tealight candle flickering in an amber-tinted glass votive holder in the center of the small square table. I glance around the dining area of the restaurant.

  Although we’ve come here together countless times, somehow tonight it’s… seductive. The warm, welcoming feel of Barcelona with the brick-red terracotta tile floors, dimly lit lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and the soft golden hues on the stucco walls, only adds to the roman
tic ambiance.

  Ben holds a chair out for me while Kimberly places the menus on the table.

  “Thank you,” I say as I take my seat.

  He leans down, placing the white cloth napkin lying on the table on my lap and inhales my hair. “Beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear, the stubble on his cheek lightly brushing against my skin, sending a wicked shiver down my spine.

  I stare down toward my lap and notice my nipples are standing at attention. There’s no use in pretending he doesn’t affect me when he’s this close. My traitorous tits always give me away. As he walks around the table, back to his chair, I steal a moment to soak him in.

  Damn, he has one fine ass.

  Our usual server, Marcy the Drooler, co-founder and VP of the Ben Martin fan club, makes a beeline from the bar in front of the restaurant to our table with a pitcher of white sangria and two wine glasses already in hand.

  “Sangria?” she asks, abruptly stopping in front of our table and staring directly at Ben.

  I’m a ghost in this place. The wait staff’s attention is solely focused on Ben. No one sees me. Come to think of it, I’m so invisible here, I wonder if anyone would notice if I snuck a breadstick off the table across from us. All this pent-up yearning is making me hungry.

  He glances at me and cracks a smile. “Do you like Sangria?”

  I have to hand it to him… how the hell he was able to ask me that question with a straight face is impressive. He knows I’d bathe in the stuff.

  “Sangria is fine. Thank you,” I answer politely.

  With her typical overdramatic fanfare, Marcy spoons a few chunks of apples and oranges in our glasses then pours the sangria. “I’ll come back in a few minutes to take your dinner order,” she tells Ben… because I don’t exist in her world.

  “How did they know you liked Sangria? It looked like they had it ready for you,” I ask.

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Lucky guess.”

  “Emilio’s employs a lot of good guessers.”

  “Or psychics.” He lifts his glass to me. “To first dates.”

  Chuckling, I lift my glass and clink his. I watch as he tips the wine glass to his lips and takes a sip. Lucky glass.

  After we place our glasses down, Ben hands a menu to me. I don’t know why he bothered. When we’re here, I never order. I have no intention of ordering today. I let him take care of it. There are too many mouthwatering items to choose from. I love the food here, but the menu overwhelms me. Especially tonight when I’m trying so hard to fight my attraction to the sexy five o’clock shadow and dimpling dimples across from me.

  The delicate sound of an acoustic guitar strumming Spanish music floats in the air while the delicious aroma of seafood and garlic permeates the dining room. To keep up the charade, I pretend I’m reading the menu. In reality, I’m eavesdropping on a couple arguing at the table next to us while I check for chips in my nail polish.

  That reminds me, I have to make an appointment with the manicurist before the wedding— another thing to add to my list.

  Ben takes his eyeglasses out from the inside pocket of his jacket. Damn him. I know he doesn’t need glasses to read this menu. He knows this menu inside and out. Anyway, he only uses the glasses to study his coin collection closely. And for the times we play Professor and naughty co-ed in his study. He brought the glasses on purpose. He knows they’re like crack that feeds my libido.

  Those are sex glasses, not restaurant glasses! He’s a bastard. A hot, studious bastard. For a first date, he’s sure an expert at pushing all my buttons.

  “Anything tempting you?” I ask, gliding my fingertips deftly against my collarbone to the edge of the fabric on my dress until they’re not-so-innocently trailing across the top of my breasts. I smile to myself, as I watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows hard.

  “Yes,” he says darkly.

  He’s not talking tapas.

  “What would you like to eat?” I ask coyly.

  His gaze fixes on my cleavage for a brief moment then he smiles suggestively like he’s in on a secret only he’s privy to. Fidgeting in my chair, I try to ignore the electricity crackling between us. He resumes reading the menu without answering my question.

  The Drooler returns to our table, disrupting our carnal cravings, with a pad and pen in her hand. “Are you ready with your dinner order?” she asks Ben—because in Drooler-World, he’s eating alone and I’m part of the wallpaper.

  “Do you know what you want, Julia?” he asks, raising a brow.

  Do I know what I want? Yeah, I want to kick you under the table for purposely putting me on the spot. He knows I’m not prepared to order. That’s his thing. He orders it… I eat it. Well, I’m not about to give him the satisfaction.

  “Uh, yes. I’ll have the… hmmm.” Pursing my lips, I glance at the menu. Damn it. I hate him. Our server draws a heavy sigh, her impatience with me obvious. Fuck her. She should thank me. I’m giving her more time to ogle my evil fiancé. “They offer so much. Maybe we could share our dinner order so we can sample a little bit of everything,” I suggest, hoping he’ll toss me a bone and take over the ordering.

  “That’s an excellent idea.” He closes his menu and places it down on the table. “I’ll have whatever she orders,” he tells Marcy, looking back at me with a smug grin.

  I’m marrying a bad, bad man.

  “Fine,” I snap, flustered. “We’ll have the mussels en escabeche, empanadas de pollo.” She’s probably wondering how the wallpaper is speaking to her. I peek over my menu. “Do you like octopus?” I ask.

  He bites down on his bottom lip, holding in a chuckle. We both know it’s one of his favorites.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Pulpo with spicy garbanzos.” I close the menu then immediately remember something I forgot to order. “Oh, and that small cheese platter thing with the cracked olives and Spanish ham you serve.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a few with your dinner,” Marcy says, staring directly at Ben.

  He leans over the table toward me. “Have you been here before?”

  “No. Never.”

  “How did you know they served a ‘cheese platter thing’? I didn’t see it on the menu.”

  “Lucky guess,” I say, raising my glass to him and taking a well deserved swig of my sangria.

  “The lucky guesses are running rampant.”

  “Apparently,” I say sarcastically.

  “So, Julia, tell me about yourself.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know everything about you.”

  “Everything? That could take a long time,” I say, taking another quick sip of my drink.

  “I’ve got all night. Do you have any siblings?”

  I nearly spray my mouthful of sangria across the table with that question. I swallow and wipe the smirk off my face.

  “Nope. I’m an only child.” If you don’t count the other five children living in my parents’ house. “You?” I ask, dipping my finger in my glass, pinching an apple chunk out, and popping it in my mouth.

  He leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his hair, fighting his amusement. “I have an older sister.”

  Seriously? Even in pretend-world Elizabitch has to exist?

  “Okay, Sven… it’s my turn to ask a question,” I say.

  “My name is Ben. Go ahead, ask away.”

  “What made you decide to ask me out?”

  “The truth?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were attractive.”

  “You have good taste,” I tease.

  “You have a beautiful smile. I want to get to know the girl behind it.”

  I tilt my head and grin.

  “Ah, there it is again. Beautiful.”

  My grin widens. I’m smiling so much, it’s starting to hurt.

  “How do I know you’re not a player?” I ask.

  “You don’t.”

  “Are you?”

  He shrugs a shoulde
r.

  “Do you date a lot?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Celibate?”

  He chuckles. “No.”

  “I get it. You’re one of those casual guys.”

  “You say it like it’s a dirty word.”

  “Is it?”

  “Only if I’m doing it right, Julia,” he murmurs, sending goosebumps up my arms.

  He’s said my name a thousand times, but fuck me… When ‘Julia’ just rolled off his tongue… I want to crawl across the table and lick him.

  He leans back in his chair and smirks. He knows how he’s affecting me. Taking his lead, I lean back as well, taking a leisurely sip of my sangria.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  “I’m thinking about how good that sangria must taste on your lips.”

  “You have your own glass. You can taste it.”

  “Bet it tastes better from your lips.”

  The tip of my tongue peeks out of my mouth. I lick my lips slowly and seductively. “Tastes good.”

  “I knew it would,” he murmurs.

  “Are you flirting with me?” I ask, twirling a few strands of hair around my finger.

  “Maybe.”

  “I know guys like you— the thrill of the chase gets you off.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “It’s boring. A dog chases its tail around and around in a circle. It gets him nowhere fast.”

  “Am I the dog in this scenario?”

  “I don’t know. Are you?” I lift a brow.

  “I’d like to think I evolved a little more than that.”

  “Haven’t you ever met anyone you wanted… more than just ‘casual’ with?” I ask.

  He’s quiet for a moment then he looks at me thoughtfully. “Once.”

  His words send my pulse racing because it’s me he’s talking about.

  “Didn’t work out?” I ask.

  “She wanted to date,” he deadpans. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “Are you seeing anyone else?” he asks.

  “Nope,” I tell him.

  “No lucky guy in your life?” His gaze fixed on the diamond on my left ring finger.

  “Nope. Not a one.” I twirl the ring around my finger with my thumb.

  “What’s that?” he asks, looking toward my engagement ring.