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“Sure. What do you want to do?”
“I want to fuck you, Red,” he says immediately and my jaw actually drops.
“But, I think the question you’re asking is ‘what are we going to do?’” he murmurs as he leans across the table so that his mouth is close to mine.
“Yes, what are we going to do?” I whisper. I bring my head closer to his, too.
“I want to show you something, I think you’ll like it. Dress casually.” I feel a shiver of anticipation at the promise in his voice.
He leans forward a fraction and his lips brush mine. My eyes close from the absolute pleasure the touch brings. I lean in and flick my tongue out to lick his lips. His hand comes up to wrap around the nape of my neck and he takes control of our kiss. His tongue enters my mouth, probing, seeking, and then taking.
My hands come up on either side of his face and then dive into his hair and he groans into mouth as my hands rub his scalp.
Our kiss goes from passionate to wild. Dean’s other hand reaches out and he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
Our teeth are clashing, our lips dueling, and I’ve never ever even known a kiss could be like this. I feel like I'm being allowed to reach for something spectacular for the first time in my life. I forget everything as we kiss, as we taste, explore and make promises for later.
And then the crash of plates as they hit the floor brings me crashing back down to earth. We are in a restaurant, in public, and if Dean had taken me right here and now I wouldn’t have stopped him.
“I can’t get enough of you. I can’t . . .” Dean says as he pulls back, the sounds of the restaurant pulling him back as well. He looks as dazed as I feel as he glances around.
“How did you get here tonight? Did you drive?” he asks me, still looking around. He seems nervous and it’s making me nervous, so I pull myself back from him and start to gather my things.
“No, I took an Uber. I was going to order another to get home,” I say as I pull my purse up from the seat.
He looks back at me, and grabs my hand that is reaching into my purse. “No, Red. I’ll take you home.” He smiles, focused on me again, whatever distracted him clearly forgotten. At least by him, but I’m not exactly comfortable.
“What’s wrong, you seem nervous,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m annoyed, but wanting him to know I’ve noticed.
He sighs and leans back in his chair with his eyes closed. He's very tan. I'm fascinated by him, and as I wait for him to speak, I just look at him. He's pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, and I'm struck by how gorgeous his hands are. So long, his fingernails, cut short, but not blunt, almost tapered, and he looks like he should play the piano.
He opens his eyes and those beautiful green pools stare at me for a minute before he starts to speak.
“I'm pretty well-known in entertainment circles. DC isn't exactly New York or H
ollywood, but a lot of TV shows film here now. Celebrities use their platforms for causes they care about which means testifying before Congress. And where celebrities go, so do photographers. I represent some very, very famous people, and I do my best to make sure that I stay out of the spotlight.”
Understanding dawns as does some unease. The last thing I want is to be in the spotlight.
“So, making out like a horny teenager in public is probably not the best way to do this. I understand, I got carried away. It’s all of the delicious wine you plied me with tonight.” I try to lighten the mood with a joke, but I'm suddenly very concerned about getting involved with someone who lives any part of his life in the public eye.
“It’s not the wine. It’s just the way we make each other feel.” He drops a kiss on the tip of nose and stands up suddenly.
He puts his hand out for me to grab. “Honestly, most of the time no one cares about me. I’d just like to keep it that way. Are you ready?”
“Definitely, yes,” I say, and I'm ready. I need to think, and I can’t do that when I'm anywhere near this man.
“I think I’ll call that Uber. There is really no need for you to make that kind of drive tonight.” I start to dig in my purse for my phone.
He stills my movements with a hand laid across my forearm. I look up at him.
“I’m not driving, Greg is. And I’m not letting you go home in an Uber. That’s crazy.” He pulls me to standing and leads me out of the restaurant.
“Dean, I don’t need you to take me home; I don’t want you to think you can direct my life. I'm fine,” I insist, as I pull my hand out of his grasp.
He stops and blows out a breath.
“I'm not trying to direct your life,” he says slowly, like he's trying to be patient. I feel my ire rise. “I just want to make sure you get home safely. Forgive me if I'm not thrilled at the prospect of sticking you in the back of an Elantra driven by a total stranger. I know you’re capable of getting yourself home. Would you humor me and my paranoia and let me drive you home?”
