She hesitated for a second more, then took the glass of champagne and slowly brought it to her mouth. She took a small sip and licked her lips.
Smiling at me with her eyes, she said, “How do I know this wasn’t just a ploy to get me alone in your apartment, Mr. O’Connor?”
“Please, call me Sean.”
“How do I know this wasn’t just a ploy to get me alone in your apartment, Sean?”
I thought about feigning innocence, but what the fuck. I didn’t give a shit about dinner. And fuck the pretense. What I wanted to sink my teeth into was not on Jean Paul’s menu. It was inside that little black dress. I brought the champagne glass to my lips and gave her a “busted” roll of my eyes.
“Would that have been so terrible?” I asked. “Wanting to have dinner with a beautiful woman?”
“It depends on where you expected things to go after dinner,” she said, giving me a stern look. “I’m no whore, Mr. O’Connor. You can hire me to work for you, but my pussy is not for sale.”
I nearly shot champagne through my nose. I snorted and coughed for a moment, then wiped my mouth on the back of my hand.
“I didn’t think you were a whore, Miss Goodman,” I said, giving her the smile that usually got the chicks in the clubs to go dreamy eyed. It didn’t seem to have the same effect on her. “And I certainly didn’t think your pussy was for sale. However, if it is as remarkable as the rest of you, I am sure it would be worth every cent, regardless of cost.”
She narrowed her beautiful eyes at me, then the hint of a smile curled at the corners of her luscious lips. She said, “You could have just asked me out you know.”
“Would you have said yes?”
She shrugged her bare shoulders and took another sip of champagne, then said, “I guess now we’ll never know.”
Claire
The food prepared by Sean’s private chef was nothing short of amazing. I’m usually not one for fancy food (I don’t eat what I can’t pronounce), but the filet mignon with whatever was under and on top of it was amazing. I wasn’t a shy eater. I cleaned my plate and had to resist swirling my finger around the plate and sticking it into my mouth, though Sean probably wouldn’t have minded.
I could feel his eyes on me all through dinner. He was good at flirting, dropping little innuendos and hints as we spent the hour chatting like strangers getting to know one another on a blind date.
I found him smart, charming, witty, and sexy as hell. I had to force myself to pay attention to the conversation because he was so distracting. My ears were trying to listen, but my mind kept wondering elsewhere. My mouth said the words, but m
y lips had other things in mind.
It’s incredibly hard to concentrate when you can feel hot juices pooling in the crotch of your black lace panties.
Yes, I was wearing black lace panties.
What?
They matched the dress.
His blue eyes sparkled when he looked across the table at me. His lips and teeth were perfect. His eyes narrowed and his nose wrinkled when he smiled.
The expensive suit was tailor-made to show off his round shoulders and thick arms. It was like having dinner with a model. I almost expected photographers to jump out and start snapping pictures. The sight of him was just icing on the cake of a wonderful meal.
“So, tell me about yourself,” he said as the dishes were cleared to make way for dessert.
“Well, what would you like to know?” I asked.
He put his elbows on the table and spread out his hands. “Oh, you know, the usual. Where were you born? Did you have a happy childhood? Did you come from a big family? Have you ever been married? Are you seeing anyone now?”
“That’s quite a list,” I said, dabbing a napkin to my lips. The trick to being an effective undercover cop was to use as much truth as possible without giving yourself away because the truth was easier to keep up with than lies. So, I told him my life story without mentioning that I was a cop.
I propped my elbows on the table and rested my chin on one hand. “Well, let’s see. I was born in Ohio. I had a very happy childhood. I come from a large family, three brothers, and three sisters. I was married once when I was young and stupid. Divorced after a couple of years.” I took a comical deep breath. “Anything else?”
He spread his hands again. “You forgot to answer the last question.”
“Which was?”