“Well…” I say. “Maddie was already in the oven.”
He laughs. “True,” he says. “Do you think… if it weren’t for Maddie, do you think they’d have ended up like us?”
I shake my head. “I hope not.” I smile. “Thank god for Maddie.”
Yes, Marilyn had gotten knocked up at nineteen. Our father never did know, and neither did Blake’s dad. Momma found out a few weeks after Daddy’s passing, and sometimes, I think that Maddie may have been the only thing holding her together. She had a new life to look forward to, and all the love she held for our father, love she could no longer express, was given to Maddie when she was born. No child has ever been so loved.
And when Jake came along, it was just the same with him.
“It all turned out for the best,” I tell him. “Life has a way of doing that.”
He smiles. “Look at you, Deepak Chopra.”
I smirk at him as we head toward the end of the trail, the sunlight welcoming us. “Stop teasing.”
“Impossible,” he says. “Teasing you is one of my favorite things in the world.”
We’re in our room,getting ready for dinner. He’s in his dark dress pants, and I’m in my black lace panties and matching bra. I’m still making him wait, still teasing. He’s going to rue the day he ever said I was using him and treating him like a sex toy. As much as I want him, I’m determined to stick with the plan.
“Do a little dance for me,” he says playfully.
I turn around and swing my hips. I sway them from one side to the other. I bend over and stick out my ass, my hands on my knees. I turn to look at him, and smile mischievously.
“Wow,” he mouths. “Damn, girl.”
This is something I’d never feel comfortable doing in front of Peter, but with Blake, it’s different. I’ve practically known him forever, and we used to always be silly together. I can be silly and wild with him, and maybe that’s one of the things I love about him.
“Okay, put on the shoes, and do that again,” he begs. “Please.”
I smile as I settle my rear on the tufted Victorian bench and slip on the sexy four inch heeled hooker booties I bought a few days ago. I stand slowly and walk seductively past him, I wrap my hand around a bed post and repeat my performance, with a little extra oomph.
He sits on one of the fancy slipper chairs in nothing but his dress pants. The dark line below his navel teases me again. He watches me intently, his full lips parted slightly, his eyes almost black. “You know…” he says, “I really don’t need dinner. I’m fine if you just use me and don’t feed me. I’m not even hungry,” and with a smirk, he adds, “for food anyway.”
I giggle like a school girl. “We can’t,” I remind him. “They’re waiting for us at six. I need to put on my dress.”
I reach for the Donna Karan in the closet, a classic little black dress. I wear it with a pearl necklace and earrings, and the hooker booties. The shoes actually look really classy worn with this dress. I wear my long hair up in a loose bun, and leave a few loose tendrils to frame my face.
Blake inches close behind me. His large frame presses against my rear, and it arouses me more than I care to admit. He’s wearing a white button shirt, opened at the collar. He’s still working on the cuffs. He stares at our reflection in the mirror without a word. My eyes are glued to every inch of him – he’s such an attractive man. He reaches for the rogue curl grazing my cheek, pulls at it, and shoots me a wink.
That’s all it takes for my insides to melt into a puddle of mush. How am I ever going to let this go? Now that I’ve tasted him, I’ll crave him forever, for the rest of my days.
Why did I have a taste? What have I done?
* * *
I closemy eyes as I dig in and savor the flavors. “The bruschetta is delicious, don’t you think?”
He reaches for another slice. “It’s pretty good, but I prefer your mom’s.”
“True. Momma makes a kick-ass bruschetta.”
I cross one leg over the other, feeling stylish in my little black dress. The restaurant is quaint, dark, and cozy; dark mocha walls and black chairs, crisp white table linens. Beautiful vivid paintings of flowers dot the walls, and each table is decorated with a single red rose in a small crystal vase. It was recommended by the Inn owners, probably because it might be the only restaurant in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere.
Blake looks super handsome in his white button dress shirt. I’m so used to seeing him in worn t-shirts and plaid shirts, it’s like I’m sitting across from a stranger, a beautiful stranger.
“Here are your entrées,” Sacha, our server, says cheerfully as she expertly manages the large platter and hands Blake his steak and potatoes. She shoots him a flirty smile, for the umpteenth time. He always grins back politely. I wonder if he gets this kind of reaction from females everywhere he goes.
She hands me my scallops and angel hair pasta with a tight professional smile. “Would you like some cheese on your pasta?” she offers cheerfully.
