Chain of Title

by Robyn Roze

  “I’ve been eating here four and sometimes five times a week for the past year and half. Why would I suddenly want to do anything different?” she said, her expression challenging.

  Sean shook his head. A warm, slow smile inched across his face, highlighting his dazzling smile and square jaw. For the first time she noticed the early shading of his five o’clock shadow. Did he always have that? She couldn’t remember. All she knew for certain at the moment was that his hard, heated stare had caused a heavy warmth to pool squarely between her legs. There was no mistaking his signals.

  What an about-face.

  Had he really waited all this time for her divorce to be final? Did he think he would reap the rewards of some slutty post-divorce phase of her life? She had never had a slutty phase and wasn’t about to start this late in the game. She decided to let him know that he wasn’t the only adult at the table.

  “Cat got your tongue, Sean? Sounds to me like you have something planned for tonight. Why don’t you cue me in so we’re both on the same page?” she said, in a seductive tone laced with the hint of an unmistakable warning.

  He shifted a bit and narrowed his gaze. Ambient, sexy, smooth saxophones and jazz guitars wrapped their warm, full-bodied textures around them while she awaited his answer.

  Lowering his gaze, he responded, “There’s a new French bistro not far from here that opened a few nights ago. Thought we’d try it out. Celebrate new beginnings. We have a reservation.” He tilted his chin up in an obvious counter-challenge, still drumming his fingers on the table.

  So, this was him asking her out for a date without actually asking. To say she felt turned on right now would be an understatement. She had always appreciated men of action rather than words. Actions were tangible; she could feel them, see them. Words, well? Blah, blah, blah.

  “I can’t believe this French bistro will be nearly as entertaining as your ethnic eatery. Do they have an Asian chef? A Russian bartender? An owner with a conspicuously non-Italian surname?” She bit back a giggle and could tell he caught the subtle act of restraint. The expression on his face oozed carnal finesse. He looked like a predator that had selected its prey, but was choosing instead to savor, and play with it first.

  Oh, boy, she was going to have to be careful tonight. She hadn’t had sex with another person in three years. That’s when she had discovered that Frank was cheating on her.

  Sean deftly angled toward her, grinned lustily, and teased, “Don’t worry, Shay, I’ll make sure you’re entertained.”

  She felt her insides start to melt and knew she had to gain the upper hand, quickly. Grabbing her handbag and sliding smoothly to within inches of her hunky friend’s rugged face, she drew and held his stare. His breath hitched, his eyes dilated, and his nostrils flared slightly.

  “Move,” she ordered in a soft, husky tone, her expression determined.

  Sean swallowed, clearly cataloguing her features. They had never been this close. They were awash in comingling scents, feeling each others’ hot breath on hypersensitive skin, almost touching, relishing the dance.

  Sean skillfully backed out of the booth to stand and gesture the exit to Shayna without taking his eyes from hers. She glanced at his outstretched hand and rose without accepting it. As they strode away from the booth, she felt his broad, strong hand at her lower back. She warmed immediately and smiled inwardly. Hands were one of her favorite features on a man. It didn’t matter how good looking a man was, if he didn’t have large, strong hands, well, just forget about it, because she couldn’t even bring herself to fantasize about a man like that. No, there was nothing better in this world than a man’s hands on her body. Shayna bit at her lower lip. Well, there might be a few other things in conjunction with his hands. She closed her eyes slowly, inhaling deeply, and unintentionally loosed a barely audible groan.

  Sean leaned in next to her ear, feathering her neck with his sultry breath. “Did you say something?”

  Shayna shook her head languidly, wishing at that moment that prayer really worked, because it was going to take a miracle not to unleash the sexual tension from her three-year dry spell on this unsuspecting man. Not that he would complain. She was fairly certain he could handle it, and then some.

  Exiting the restaurant, Sean clasped Shayna’s hand and began leading her across the street. She pulled away.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked.

  “My car’s over there.” He gestured to the other side of the road. “There’s no sense in us both driving to the bistro.”

  Oh, no, Shayna warned herself. It made abundant sense to take two cars.

  “I’ll just meet you there. Give me the address.” She took a couple of steps away from him and waited for the location.

  Sean had a peculiar expression; after a moment he dropped his chin slightly. Locking his amorous gaze on her, he casually tucked his glorious hands in the pockets of his black dress pants. His royal blue dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled just below his elbows, highlighted his corded forearms and his silver Breitling sports watch.

  He claimed to work out as much as she did. She could only imagine the hard, well-defined playground shrouded under his tailor-fitted clothing. Everything about Sean Parker screamed prime, grade-A, full-grown man. The broad shoulders and narrow hips, his easy stance and the well-deserved confidence on display in the early evening moonlight.

  She released a stuttered exhalation. Holy hell, Shayna, what are you doing? He moved lazily into her space until they were almost touching. In her high-heels, she was still a few inches shorter than he was. She raised her tentative eyes up to his smiling green ones.

  “Are you afraid of something, Shay?” he baited, sexily, wetting his lips.

  Her heavy lids dropped slowly, and fluttered a couple of times. She inhaled deeply as she attempted to get her head on straight and wake from the hazy dream that had enveloped her. “No,” she said breathily. “But you should be.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The Pour Mes Amis bistro was swarming with people outside, laughing and chatting, waiting for tables to become available inside the newly opened bistro. Sean grasped Shayna’s hand and led her through the bodies and up the narrow steps. The aromatic flower boxes under the windows, the red and white striped fabric overhangs and the sheer, lacy window coverings gave it an authentic feel. Upon entering, Sean spoke to the host, who immediately guided them to their table. It wasn’t as intimate as Gaetano’s, but was cozy and warm, nonetheless.

  The drive over had been fun. Shayna had noticed Sean watching her intently in his rearview mirror at every stop light. Did he really think she would ditch him? At one point, she raised her hand and air-drummed her fingers in hello at him just to let him know that she knew he was watching her. His eyes had creased in a smile, and so had hers. He was slow out of the gate on a green light a time or two, provoking her to lay on her horn, loud and proud. She had seen him shake his head and quake in laughter.

  The couple scanned their menus and quickly decided on appetizers and entrees. It never took Shayna long to order. She knew what she liked. Before the server could turn to leave with their selections, she asked innocently, “By any chance do you know the name of the chef?” She heard Sean sigh next to her.

  “Oh, yes. His name is Pierre Boudreaux.”

  “Wow that sounds really French.” The server nodded and smiled. “Is this bistro locally owned?” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sean pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Yes, it is. Guy and Claudette Leroux are the owners.”

  Shayna raised her brows. “Really, that sounds even...Frenchier,” she commented, biting back a giggle. The young man pivoted with a peculiar expression and headed for the kitchen.

  “Christ, are you ever going to let that go?” Sean lamented.

  “Probably not. It’s one of the things I love about your restaurant, the quirks. They make it special, not cookie cutter,” she said as she lifted her glass of water for a drink.

  “Oh, yeah? An
ything else you love about it?” he asked, flashing a crooked grin.

  Shayna assessed the handsome man next to her for a moment. Boy, things had changed so quickly. The banter between them had been fun and spirited from the beginning, but he had clearly been waiting for her divorce to become final. For what? Why hadn’t he just made a move earlier? She wondered what was behind the wait. She glanced away at the warm, fresh demi-baguette just placed on the table with a small saucer of creamy whipped herb butter.

  “I think you know, Sean,” she teased with a sideways glance while spreading butter on her slice of warm sourdough.

  “I want to hear you say it,” he pestered her, with a roguish grin.

  “Oh, do you, now? Well, I definitely don’t want to disappoint you,” she purred.

  His eyes dilated, and he leaned closer. “There’s only one way you could do that, Shay,” he murmured roughly, staring hard and hungrily into her eyes.

  What he meant by that couldn’t have been clearer if he had tattooed it on his forehead. She was really going to do this, wasn’t she? Would it be a one-night stand? Did someone you had taken the time to get to know over a year and a half even qualify as a one-night stand? Or would it be more like a friends-with-benefits arrangement? Her head swirled. She had been out of circulation a long time.

  Shayna had always been a one-man kind of woman. She never gave it up for a man she didn’t care about and who didn’t clearly care about her. She had been fortunate. Both times that that had happened in her life previously, she married the men.

  But things were different now. She was so much older than Sean that marriage wasn’t even a remote possibility, and besides, she had learned to enjoy being on her own over the past three years. She wasn’t really interested in changing that right now...or maybe ever.

  However, at times it felt like the party train was pulling out of the station, taking with it her last chance to hop on and enjoy the ride before the AARP buzzards swooped in to gorge on her twitching carcass.

  Shayna giggled, and chastised herself inwardly. She really needed to get out of the funk she had been in all day...or more like the last three years. She knew she didn’t have much time before a man like Sean Parker would never even think to give her a second glance, let alone a first one.

  Oh, hell, she’d earned this. If it ended in the walk of shame, so be it. She would just hold her head high and smile. No regrets.

  Easing in to meet Sean’s sexy, soft-green eyes, Shayna smiled faintly, deciding talk was cheap. She skimmed her hand along his square, shadowed jaw. Then she pressed her lips to his. She felt everything in her bloom and swell as they tasted each other. Sean pulled her chair closer to his, and then his hands were on her. Oh, God, those perfect, strong, man hands. One large hand smoothed up and down her arm while the other mapped her bare back. Oh, thank the stars that she had chosen a sleeveless, skin-baring dress tonight.

  Just as they broke from their sultry kiss, the calamari and crab cake appetizers they had ordered arrived. As Shayna backed away, Sean brushed the side of her face with the back of his fingers, before smoothing his thumb softly across her plump lower lip then gently tugged it down. He grinned carnally and released her lip, watching it pop back in place. It suddenly felt as if they were in some hot, humid, tropical climate with far too many clothes on.

  “Well, now that we have that out of the way...let’s eat,” she said, doing her best to sound composed.

  A wicked grin drew across his lips; the pointed pressure mounting between her legs screamed for attention—his attention. Sean leaned in closer, just barely skimming his stubble against her cheek before nuzzling at her ear and inhaling deeply.

  In a low, gravelly tone he whispered, “We’re going to have fun tonight, Shayna Montgomery, and a lot of it. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  Holy hell. Sizzling goose bumps rose up everywhere, blanketing her in balmy heat. Did she whimper in her head or out loud?

  Collecting her thoughts as best she could, she playfully challenged, “I’d better not be. I just hope you can keep up.” She felt him smile against her skin; then he pulled back to meet her gaze.

  “Oh, Shay,” he whispered roughly, rubbing his nose against hers. “I accept that dare.”

  Just then, a concerned voice burst the foggy bubble of ratcheting desire that had been wrapping tightly around Shayna and Sean. “Is everything all right with the appetizers?”

  Shayna shook her head and cleared her throat in an attempt to push away the heavy heat that had settled all around her. “Oh, yes, we just got a little sidetracked.” She heard Sean laugh throatily next to her. Scooting her seat back to where it had been, Shayna began popping delicious, lightly breaded calamari into her mouth while Sean cut into the crab cake and skimmed it across the fresh remoulade next to it. She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t dare look up or she would only embarrass herself further. Shayna had never been big on public displays of affection, so she felt a little flustered by her recent show. Very much out of character, she scolded herself. It had just been too long since she’d been with a man, that was the problem...

  “So, do you feel any different?” Sean asked, as he dipped a large piece of calamari in the remoulade.

  Shayna’s brows knitted together. Was he really that arrogant? Yeah, right, his kiss changed her whole world, shifted it on its axis. She shook her head a snorted softly.

  “What?” he asked, in a perplexed tone. He licked his lips and brushed his hands together, removing breading residue.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No.” He looked at her peculiarly. “I know it’s been going on for a while, but I thought maybe when the divorce was actually final, I don’t know, maybe it would be a relief or maybe you’d be sad or something.” He looked at her, brows raised, and shrugged slightly, gesturing with open hands.

  Oh, brother. She felt like such an idiot. “Oh, that. Right, right.” She cut into the crab cake, the hazy cloud of seduction evaporating suddenly from the cold blast of reality. Bringing the napkin to her lips and dabbing, she swallowed the tasty shellfish meat. “Well, it’s certainly never fun to wonder if you’ve wasted twenty-five years of your life.” Crap! Her eyes slammed shut.

  They had both been dancing around their ages—she, definitely older, and he, oh-so-much younger. Then she quickly assuaged her vanity with the realization that he had probably Googled her a long time ago and already knew, although she had fought the temptation to do the same about him. Not knowing how much younger he was made it much easier for her to contemplate, to fantasize.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw the answer written on his chiseled, handsome features: he hadn’t checked.

  “No, Sean. Frank didn’t marry me when I was ten,” she quipped, sarcastically. “I was twenty-three.”

  A sly grin spread slowly across his square-shadowed jaw.

  “What? You think it’s funny?” she challenged, with her chin tilted down and her eyes creased at the corners.

  An attendant cleared away the appetizer dishes. Their eyes remained locked on one another.

  “No. I think it’s great. I’m relieved actually.” He settled back in his seat and assessed her with a dreamy expression. She found it all very maddening, and disconcerting.

  “How old do you think I am, Shay?” he asked, with a lopsided grin. She could see him chewing at the inside of his cheek as he drummed his fingers methodically on the table.

  Shayna gauged him carefully. Guessing a man’s age didn’t present the same minefield that it did for a woman. She couldn’t really embarrass herself that much, or insult Sean, if she was off the mark. Men could be tricky, though, too. Oh, they tended to age better than women, but not without their own problems. Baldness could age a man a good ten to fifteen years, while a thick, full head of hair, even if it was graying, could keep a man looking more youthful than he deserved.

  With a cautious tone, she replied, “Thirty-eight? Thirty-seven?” Please don’t let him be younger than tha
t she pleaded silently in her head.

  Sean’s grin widened to a broad smile, and he leaned forward onto the table with a gleam in his eyes.

  “I’m forty-three.” He pivoted his elbow on the table, bringing his hand up, resting his chin and square jaw in it. His sexy-as-hell smile seemed permanent now. “I think we’ve learned something about each other tonight, Shay.”

  She swallowed hard, as she attempted to regain her bearings. Had life really just, so unexpectedly, looked the other way and granted her mercy? Her forty-eight. Him forty-three. Sean Parker just, unimaginably, became immeasurably more attractive.

  “We’d make terrible carnies. We both suck at guessing someone’s age.” Her lips parted and she exhaled softly before raising her hand to cover her escaping laughter. Sean took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers, and softly kissed the back of her hand.

  “How old did you think I was?” she asked, not able to look away from his intense stare. He gently brushed his stubble against her hand and she could’ve sworn she felt it between her legs.

  He assessed her for a moment. “Best guess, late thirties. I thought you might even be a little younger.” She viewed him skeptically. “Come on, Shay. You have to know Mother Nature handed you the jackpot when it comes to defying the march of time.” The arrival of their entrees interrupted the repartee.

  Yeah, she knew that time had been kind to her, but she had started to notice fissures that were probably unnoticeable to others. She tended to blame that on Frank. Catching her much older husband banging a girl just a year older than his own daughter had definitely shaken her once steely self-confidence.

  “Let’s have some wine tonight, Shay. What do you say?”

  “No. I’ve told you before, I don’t drink.” She hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in twenty-eight years, with good reason.

  “I know, but you’ve never told me why.”

  She watched as he dug into his bouillabaisse. She really didn’t want to drag that out of the back of the closet tonight. Forget the cliché; time just couldn’t heal some wounds...not the permanent ones.