My Body-His Page 3

  * * * *

  I spent Sunday reading the rest of Servant of the Bones and filing away in my mind every detail that had happened Friday night. Did I really go downstairs practically naked? I ran over everything several times, trying to make sense of it all. Some things he had said confused me but I couldn’t be sure if I recalled the conversation completely or correctly. He must have been watching me because I am almost certain he said “he knew” the first time he saw me walking into the house.

  Something else he’d said bothered me—that I was “more stubborn than the others.” Others? Is that what he said?

  The novel helped to distract me but by six o’clock my nervous energy overflowed so I went down to the community pool and swam laps. I swam until I couldn’t lift my arms over my head for another stroke.

  I struggled up the stairs and headed straight for the shower. The workout helped a lot and after stretching, I cozied up for a while and fell fast asleep.

  In the morning, startled by a dream, I awoke before my alarm went off. In the dream I ran down an alley near a canal. I could smell the brackish water mixing with the gasoline from the cars on the street. I kept looking over my shoulder, knowing someone was chasing me, but unable to snag a glimpse of him. In true horror film fashion, when I turned back around, my chaser stood straight in front of me. It was the artist from Friday night.

  I gasped and sat up in bed. My heart pounded in my chest and I knew the dream carried an ominous message. I made up my mind. As intrigued and aroused as my experience at the party had made me, I still had no intention of seeing him again. Why was I worried?

  I picked a blue fitted business suit—skirt and jacket—with a white blouse out of my mundane business attire. All my work outfits looked pretty much the same except for the color. I considered them my work uniforms. I added earrings and slipped on my favorite pair of black shoes. A fashion diva I wasn’t, but the clothes served their purpose. I gathered my hair up into a twist, secured it with a clip and applied a pale shade of lipstick.

  The company I worked for occupied the top three floors of the Bank of America building in downtown Fort Lauderdale. I arrived at my desk and checked my “in” basket, losing myself in the routine of the day. Mondays were especially hectic at the office and that day proved no different.

  * * * *

  “Hey,” Allison said, poking her head into my office around noon. She had bangs that skimmed her brows, giving her an almost school-girl look that translated into sexy. “Have you eaten anything?” she said, flashing a bright smile that lifted the corners of her clear blue eyes.

  “How do you manage to look so good even on a Monday?” I asked.

  She smiled, and I got the impression she heard compliments all the time and didn’t mind hearing one more. I glanced at the clock and said, “No I haven’t and I’m famished. Let’s go down to the pub for a quick bite.”

  “Great,” she said, sashaying through my office door.

  * * * *

  I stayed relaxed through most of lunch until Allison asked me about my weekend. By the time I walked back into my office a knot had begun to form in the pit of my stomach. What if he’s out there? What if he waits for me until I leave?

  I buzzed Brian—my boss—on the intercom and told him I would be leaving a few minutes before five. I planned to tell … what’s-his–name … that I was not interested and that Friday night was a fluke—if he showed up, which I hoped he wouldn’t.

  * * * *

  “Didn’t you say you needed to leave before five?” Brian said as he passed my office at 5:05 p.m.

  “Oh crap,” I said. Gathering my purse and jacket, I jogged to the elevator. Slow down, I told myself. You’re being ridiculous. He won’t even be there.

  I pushed through the double glass doors and scanned the parade of business-clad people hurrying to their cars to go home, shop, or head for happy hour. He wasn’t among them. I lowered my shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief. Turning toward the parking lot, I stopped. I felt him. I know that sounds crazy, but I felt him watching me.

  I turned back and scoured the faces around me. I made a wide sweeping search of the area, finally looking across the roadway. Shit! There he stood, leaning against the brick wall on the other side of the street.

  The breath stuck in my throat. He was eying me like his prey. His expression was stern and arrogant as he leaned on his left shoulder with his arms behind his back. He wore jeans, worker boots and a long-sleeved blue shirt with buttons and no collar. He looked striking, strong and menacing.

  He waited.

  What the hell is he waiting for? Let’s get this over with, I thought. I took a deep breath, noticing that I was shaking again—terrified yet aroused. I’m not interested, I told him silently, hoping that I would have the courage to say the words out loud, please don’t come around again.

  I waited for a car to pass and then hurried across the street. He pushed away from the wall, dropping a large bouquet of flowers, and moved quickly up the sidewalk, away from me.

  “Flowers ... you brought me flowers?” I called out to him as I swooped to pick them up. I rushed, shuffling after him, trying to catch up. “Listen,” I said to his back, “Friday night was a fluke. That wasn’t me. This was a mistake. I mean ...” I was panting. “Hey,” I yelled, “stop for a minute, will you?”

  He continued to stroll briskly down the street. Why I followed him, I don’t know, but I had to jog on my toes to catch up. “Are you going to slow down?”

  “You’re late,” he said over his shoulder and continued to stride away from me.

  “Well I just wanted to tell you that I think this is a bad idea,” I hollered to him. “Are you going to slow down or what?” I stopped.

  He slowed down, and then walked back to me. “Give me your shoes,” he said.

  “Give you my shoes? Why would I give you my shoes?”

  “Take them off, put them in my hand,” he said, holding out his palm.

  I removed my shoes and handed them to him. He turned and strode down the street, dropping my shoes in the nearest garbage bin hanging on the light post.

  “What the hell!” I said. “What’d you do that for?”

  “So you can keep up,” he said, pausing long enough to answer me.

  “Those are my favorite shoes,” I said, shaking my head—more at myself than him.

  “Well, if you want them, then get them.”

  “Really?” I said and carefully reached for my shoes, attempting to avoid touching the food byproducts that filled the can. “Why are you treating me this way?” I said, not caring if he could hear me anymore. I pulled the shoes out and held them away from my skirt.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He stopped, tilted his head slightly and said, “I made us reservations at a Japanese restaurant and I don’t want to be late. I am never late. That’s another thing you need to know if I decide to spend time with you.”

  “You decide?” My brain felt like it had imploded. “You decide? What the hell am I doing here?” I said, heading in the opposite direction.

  “Here,” he said. He grabbed my upper arm and turned me back around. He took the shoes from my hand and stepped into the restaurant to the right of us. “Wait here.”

  Returning a few moments later, he bent down and placed my shoes—fresh and sparkling—on my feet.

  “Listen—” I said.

  “I know what you’re going to say, but wait until after tonight to decide.”

  “You promise to leave me alone if I say—”

  “Of course, after tonight all you have to say is ‘Get lost, creep!’ and I will be a thing of the past.”

  That elicited a laugh from me. “Get lost, creep,” I repeated. “I’ll have to remember that.”

  His stride was longer than mine and even though he slowed down a bit, I had to jog to keep up. When he swerved onto a back street, I immediately thought of my dream. Despite my anxiety, I continued to followed him.

  After several more turns we walked
up to a door that looked like the emergency exit. My mystery man opened the door and I stepped right through into a kitchen. It wasn’t large by restaurant standards but it was busy, and the staff had to hustle. The delicious smells made my stomach grumble and the stir-fry sizzling in the wok commanded my attention.

  My artist greeted an Asian man with a bow. He began speaking in Japanese as if he had spoken the language his entire life. I was stunned. Where had he learned Japanese? College? Living abroad?

  He led me out of the kitchen, into the restaurant. Several employees greeted him in their native language as we followed our host to our table. Japanese flute music filled the air and ornate Japanese screens separated tables from one another. We were seated at a booth by a lush atrium. He sat facing the waterfall and indicated with a nod that I should join him on the same side. I placed the flowers he brought for me in the chair across from us.

  “I don’t know what to make of you,” I said, pondering the man beside me.

  “There’s not much to get. I’m a simple guy,” he said, smiling. “I like things the way I like them. For instance, you owe me for being late.”

  “Ah ...” I began but the waiter interrupted me.

  He only addressed the artist and then moved away.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Oh, I ordered for us,” he said.

  “How would you know what I like?”

  “Let’s wait and see.”

  Again I veered between frustration and titillation. I wanted to hit him and yet my body wanted him to fuck me right there on our table in the middle of the restaurant. His hand clutched my thigh and roughly spread my legs.

  “I can see you’ll need a little reminding tonight,” he whispered in my ear.

  The waiter brought saké to our table. As he poured it into tiny ceramic cups, my artist worked his finger under the elastic between my legs. I squirmed at his touch.

  “Relax,” he whispered.

  The waiter moved away and he removed his finger.

  “Go to the bathroom and take off your underwear,” he ordered, gripping the top of my thigh.

  “Oh ... um—”

  “Now,” he said. “I’ll tell you something about me when you get back.” He ushered me out of the booth and I stumbled to my feet, smoothing my skirt over my thighs. I snatched my purse from the seat and stomped off to the bathroom. He laughed at my ungraceful departure, making the hairs prickle on the back of my neck.

  My need to flee the restaurant battled with my overwhelming desire for excitement. I went into the first stall, closed the toilet seat and sat down, trying to collect my thoughts. A mess of confusion swirled around in my head. I had never experienced such arousal combined with such utter annoyance.

  I stood and removed my underwear, shoving them into my overstuffed purse. Leaving the stall, I approached the mirror, heaved a heavy sigh and looked at myself. I looked severe with my hair pulled back. I removed the clip that held my hair in place and ran my fingers through it to fluff it out. I can’t explain why I cared what he thought, but I did. The strength he exuded made me want to please him, even though I hated him for it. The contradiction of emotions kept me off balance.

  I opened my purse again and shoved my panties out of the way, rummaging for my lipstick. I chose a dark red, painting it on my lips and pinching my cheeks to summon the blood to the surface. My eyes had a wild look.

  “Who are you?” I said to the reflection in the mirror.

  I strolled back to the table with more confidence than when I left, feeling as though someone else inhabited my body.

  “What took you so long?” he demanded, clearly irritated.

  I sat down in front of the hot soup waiting for me.

  “Following orders, sir,” I said like a private to his commander. I spread my thighs to illustrate the point.

  “I can see an attitude adjustment is in order, but we’ll deal with that later.”

  I burst into laughter at that. I hadn’t expected his reaction. I thought he would be angered by my insolence, but instead he laughed with me.

  “Information,” I said, furrowing my brow.

  “Taste the soup first,” he ordered.

  I blew across the spoon to cool the miso soup. “Wow ... this is delicious,” I said. “Really good. Now tell me—”

  “Luke, forty-five, artist-slash-photographer. I sell most of my work abroad. I travel a lot. If this progresses I need to get a place with more privacy.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What else is there to know?”

  “Family, friends, where you grew up ... hopes, dreams ... like that.”

  “I thought you had no plans to see me after tonight.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, stalling for a reasonable response, “just call it curiosity.”

  “Well, as the saying goes, ‘curiosity killed the cat.’ ”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said. The fear from the dream resurfaced.

  “Always wear your hair down, but no makeup.”

  My anger flared at another order but the waiter circumvented my indignation by retrieving our soup bowls.

  Luke distracted me with his hand between my knees, working his way to my wetness. Leaning closer, he whispered in my ear, “I will bring you to heights of ecstasy like you’ve never known, but you’ll have to trust me.” He slowly circled his finger around my clit.

  “Ooohhh ….” I groaned, forgetting for the moment where I was.

  “I know you want me and that I frighten you. You needn’t be scared of me,” he said, continuing his exploration of my labia. “My only concern is pushing you to greater heights and depths of pleasure.” He increased the pressure. “We’ll go to your place after this. I’ll show you.”

  “Oh ... no!” I yelped, pushing his hand away as the waiter returned.

  The waiter placed before us a small square plate with a variety of sashimi.

  “I don’t eat raw fish,” I stated, crossing my arms in front of my chest and closing my legs.

  “Try it,” he said. “If you eat cooked fish, you’ll love this. Open your mouth.”

  “I don’t eat wasa—” I tried to say but he shoved an orange piece of fish with wasabi and ginger into my mouth.

  “Hey,” I sputtered, lifting the water glass in both hands and drinking the lot of it, “that burned my mouth. I don’t eat wasabi and I don’t eat sashimi and if you won’t listen to me, I’m out of here.” Putting my purse strap over my arm I scooted to get out of the booth.

  He grasped my arm and said, “You’re right. Don’t go. I just wanted you to try it because I know you’ll love it.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I said, sitting on the edge of the cushion, poised to stand.

  “When did your father leave you?”

  “What?”

  “When did he leave you?”

  “He didn’t leave me ... he left my mother.”

  “Oh, so he’s kept in touch with you?”

  “Well ... he did at first but then ... it got too hard for him to ....” I looked away as my words trailed off. “Why am I talking to you about this stuff? How did you know my parents are divorced?”

  “I know you. Don’t you see? You were lost and now I’ve found you. You have trust issues because of your father leaving you. Just try it,” he said, holding out another piece of fish. “No wasabi this time.”

  I opened my mouth, accepted a piece of white fish lightly dipped in soy sauce, and said, “Hmm ... that’s really good. What kind of fish is it?”

  He gave me an I-told-you-so look and answered, “White Tuna.” He shifted in his seat to face me. “I know your father’s abandonment has left you with trust issues, which is to be expected, but just remember that my patience comes with a price.”

  “Well ... you will be rid of me tonight,” I said, wondering if I completely meant it.

  “No,” he said, looking at me intently. “No, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

 
; “What makes you so sure?” I said. “How do you know I won’t blow you off just to show you I can? Say the magic words that will make you gone?”

  “Maybe down the road, but not tonight. You’re not certain why, but you want to see what will happen next. You need me, Jane. You’ll see.”

  I removed my purse from my shoulder and scooted closer to him. He fed me a few more pieces of sashimi and refilled my saké cup.

  The waiter approached the table cautiously, giving me the impression that he’d seen Luke’s earlier activities between my legs. Lifting away the appetizer plate, he placed two steaming dishes in front of us.

  “I don’t usually eat this much,” I said, fixing the napkin over my lap.

  “That’s apparent. Your overall build is fantastic but you’ll look better once you’ve put on some weight. It’ll fill out your breast and hips.”

  “You can be so flattering and so insulting at the same time,” I said.

  “I was being neither. I was stating what I see. Why do you give value to anything I say?”

  I’ve always considered myself a strong woman, but with Luke I felt like an insecure mess. Yet, there I sat, actually enjoying the craziness of spending time with him. I knew my choices, even if I deluded myself enough to believe I could stop at any time.

  I watched the other women in the restaurant stare at him. They would walk the long way to the bathroom so they could pass by our table. He acknowledged them with a smile, raising a blush on their cheeks. Each time Luke brought his attention immediately back to me.

  I felt confused over my attraction to him. He wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous or even particularly handsome but some quality definitely attracted us all. I started to think, Why me? He sat there watching me eat and listening to me talk. I felt pinned ... no, more like encompassed by his attention. Clearly he could have had the pick of the lot, married or single. “So, why me?” I let slip out before I could stop myself.

  “Why not you?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Everything.”

  “Everything? What does that mean, everything?”

  “I want you completely and totally. I want to merge our lives and bodies. Your body—mine, and my body—yours.”