Page 7 of His Turn

And even though calling him ‘sir’ makes me want to roll my eyes and spit in his face, I do it because the payoff is all that matters. The expression on his face when I disappoint him is almost as delicious as the expression when I surprise him.

He’s not surprised tonight. He knew I’d be ready.

I stand as Jordan walks over to me. He takes my hands, leans in, and kisses me on the cheek. “You look nice,” he whispers into my ear.

“You as well,” I say, wanting very badly to check him out thoroughly, but not daring to take my eyes off his as he leans back.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he says. “We’re going to dinner first.”

“I’m famished,” I say, purring the words out. “And thank you for the shoes.”

He shrugs off the gratitude and walks over to the coat closet, chooses a black cape, and throws it over my shoulders with a gentlemanly flair. “Ready?” he asks, holding out his arm for me.

I nod. “Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve for tonight, but all this polite talk is my first clue that it will be challenging.

That’s OK with me.

I just love a challenge.