A Compromising Affair. Gwynne Forster

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Damn!

      They stood in the air-conditioned, glass-enclosed porch not saying a word, quietly watching the sunset as they continued to hold hands. He didn’t want to say anything. Talk was not what he needed. He needed her.

      She broke the silence. “Are you still mad at me, Scott? I really don’t want you to be angry with me. I hardly know that woman who was rude to you back then. If you’re still upset with me, I’m going inside.”

      “I’m not upset with you, and I’m not mad at you.”

      “Then what is it?”

      He let his gaze travel from her feet to the top of her head. “You are so beautiful, so…so—”

      “So what?” she asked with a twinge of apprehension in her voice.

      “Listen, I told you never to ask me a question unless you want the answer.”

      “I want the answer.”

      “Desirable. When I look at you, think about you, I… Oh, hell, let’s go back inside.”

      “Does this mean you don’t want to be friends? All you have to do is make it clear, Scott, and I won’t waste your time or mine.”

      “I like confident women…confident people, for that matter. But I’m not impressed by a woman who wants me to think she doesn’t need anyone. Besides, for you, it isn’t true.”

      “How do you know that?”

      “I know when a woman wants me, and you ought to know, without being told, when a man wants you. Let’s go inside. I suspect Pamela is serving the food about now.” He took her hand and walked back inside holding it. He liked holding her hand, but he was also holding it to show Alfred Rimes that if he went after Denise, he’d have some serious competition.

      Scott led Denise to the buffet table, took two plates, as he’d done that Sunday at the barbecue, and asked her what she would like. “Maybe I can help you avoid getting something on this lovely dress.”

      “Thanks. I’d love the shrimp and crab cakes, some of those little biscuits and some asparagus.”

      He served her plate, added several cherry tomatoes and handed it to her. I am not being protective or possessive, he said to himself. Can I help it if I want to do something for her? He put the same food on his plate and added a slice of ham. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alfred Rimes watching him.

      Too bad, buddy. You’ve got a ring on the third finger of your left hand. You are too old for her and, besides, she’s with me. It was a mean-spirited thought, but that’s the way it was.

      Telford walked to the center of the room, clapped his hands together and got everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for coming to meet one of our favorite clients. The Rimes Mansions are now open, and they’re dream homes. Russ outdid himself with the design of those buildings, and Drake elegantly finished them. And don’t forget to patronize the businesses in the adjoining Rimes complex. Now, enjoy the food, the drinks and the music. And please dance, if the spirit so moves you.”

      Having been instructed by Pamela and Heather, Telford switched on the CD player, walked over to his wife, Alexis, and opened his arms. She swayed into them, and they danced like a couple of newly acquainted lovers to the sound of the Luther Vandross song “Here and Now.”

      Scott rested his plate on the nearby table, his appetite gone. The way Alexis looked at her husband—telling Scott and everyone who cared to see that she loved Telford and only him—shook Scott to his core. She communicated it to her husband with the look in her eyes and the yielding of her body. It reminded him of how lonely he was and how empty his life was of things that mattered so much to him. He closed his eyes and steadied himself.

      “Are you all right?” Denise’s soft voice penetrated his thoughts.

      “I’m fine.” But he wasn’t, and he did not care to share his feelings with her, or with anyone. But he looked into the tender, caring eyes with which she observed him, and faced his need for her. “Dance with me, Denise?”

      When she opened her arms, he brought her closer to him and stood there holding her and looking into her eyes. Uncontrollable shudders raced through his body, but he stiffened his back and began to dance, moving slowly and rhythmically, knowing at last the delight of holding her close. They moved as if the sweetness of her body in his arms had always been his to savor. The song changed, and the sound of Lester Young playing his saxophone to the tune of “(Back Home Again In) Indiana” was music to his ears. He didn’t want to hear any more slow love songs, at least not then, not with a bundle of warmth in his arms. Denise seemed content, no matter what kind of music played. And when one of Laurindo Almeida’s blazing Brazilian bossa nova tunes filled the room, he let himself go. To his amazement, she danced with him as if they had danced together for years. When the piece ended, he heard the applause; he hadn’t noticed that they were the only ones dancing.

      “You’re a wonderful dancer,” Denise said.

      “No more so than you,” he replied. “I had to learn those steps when I was in high school, or Judson would have gotten all the girls.”

      She winked. “Judson has his good qualities. But he can’t outshine you. No way, no how.”

      “Something tells me you mean that.”

      “It’s not just flattery, Scott. And while we’re on the subject, you’re a knockout in this tux.”

      “Thanks, I think. Let’s go get a drink, since neither of us has to drive.”

      “My goodness, you’re shy,” she said jokingly.

      “It’s almost nine, and my invitation said five-thirty to nine, so I’ll leave a few minutes to nine. I’d like to call you tomorrow morning, if I may.”

      “I’ll be happy to hear from you.”

      “I enjoyed this time with you, Denise.”

      “Me, too,” she said as they walked toward the bar.

      “I’m having vodka and tonic. What about you?”

      Her smile seemed to envelop him. “That’s my favorite drink.”

      He ordered their cocktails from the bartender and walked with her to a corner of the living room. “Drake has a couple of riding horses. Do you ride?”

      “Since I was three years old. Remember I told you my dad is a rancher.”

      “I’ll see if we can go riding tomorrow morning. It’s best to ride early before it gets hot.”

      “Yes, I know. I can be ready at six,” she said.

      “Great. You’re a woman after my own heart.”

      “We’ll see about that,” she said.

      “Yes. We will. It’s been a lovely evening, Denise. See you at six. Good night.”

      He found Drake in the dining room. “Do you mind if Denise and I borrow a couple of horses tomorrow morning at six?”

      “Of

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