“I’m Marshall, and you are?” he asked. Her obvious beauty was not lost on him.
“Deandra Morgan, pleased to meet you,” she replied easily, and slipped her hand into his. His palm was soft and his handshake firm. Her hand lingered in his a moment more and then she casually looked away. “Are you familiar with the artist?” she asked.
“Actually, not really. I saw the painting sample included in the invitation and my curiosity was piqued, you might say,” he replied. The understated dress did not fool him. This woman radiated sex appeal no matter how hard she tried to mask it. He’d seen her watching him from afar most of the evening and wondered when she would make her move.
“Mine, too, peaked, I mean,” she replied, and looked directly into his eyes. There was no mistaking the double entendre of her words, or the naked desire in her eyes. A fierce throbbing was starting and she could feel her body growing moist in anticipation.
Marshall took in the appealing package in front of him, from her healthy olive-toned skin to her long and sexy legs, which did not seem to stop. The deep V-neck of the halter top dress displayed just enough cleavage to be enticing and let the viewer know her soft, full breasts were homegrown—not factory made. The excitement of the moment was causing her nipples to strain firm and rigid against the thin chiffon of her dress. Marshall, too, felt the thrill of anticipation in his loins. In his mind’s eye he was already deep between her thighs and hard at work.
Reluctantly he reminded himself Viola was here, and it was unlikely he was getting out of here without taking her home first. The two-minute silent conversation took place without either of them saying a word. It was instantly clear to Deandra when his mind drifted back to the present and his mother in the other room.
“I’ll be leaving soon,” she remarked, although it sounded more like a suggestion, and then slipped him a gallery card with her cell phone number written on the back. She glided away without a backward glance and mingled effortlessly into the crowd. She had accomplished what she needed for the moment. The meeting had been most important. Now she would wait for him to make the next move.
He smiled as he saw the number on the back and then slipped it inside his jacket pocket. It was time to find Viola and make his exit. There was a change of plans in the evening’s agenda.
As Marshall walked his mother to her door, his mind was on Deandra and he planned to give her a call as soon as Viola was safely inside for the night. He opened the front door and made a cursory check of the house from front to back before returning to the foyer, where Viola was hanging her wrap in the hall closet.
Viola had kept a close watch on her son all evening. Her internal antennae were alert for any unsuitable women. She loved her son, but felt he was somewhat naïve when it came to women. When Marshall happened to catch Deandra in the hallway, she had watched the flirtatious behavior that ensued. She knew Marshall was anxious to leave this evening and follow up with that woman.
“Would you like to stay for a cup of tea, dear?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.
“Not tonight, Mom. I have some work to do,” he replied as he leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“I don’t like her,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. She knew he was on his way back to the gallery. Her innate radar told her that girl was trouble with a capital T. A designer dress and shoes were not enough to disguise a gold-digging trollop. She wanted better for her son. She just wished he wanted better for himself.
Marshall straightened up and looked down at his mom and smiled. Viola never missed a trick. He knew she only wanted to protect him, but he wasn’t eighteen anymore, and her opinion of his companions mattered less and less as he got older. He wasn’t the babe in the woods she feared, and a long-term commitment was not what he had in mind for Deandra tonight.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve been a big boy for a long time now. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He kissed her again and walked out the front door, closing it gently behind him.
Marshall punched the number on the back of the card into his cell phone as soon as he got back into his car. Deandra answered on the third ring. “Would you care to join me for a late dinner?” he asked.
“I’d love to,” she replied, and pumped her fist in the air, mouthing a silent and enthusiastic yes! “I’m still at the gallery,” she offered.
“Give me fifteen and meet me outside,” he replied easily.
Deandra pouted, but immediately thought better of complaining. She wanted to “be seen” with Marshall by the other movers and shakers in the crowd. She didn’t want to jump into some mysterious car curbside like a common hooker. “Oh, okay. I’ll see you soon,” she answered sweetly. She had plenty of time to make a lasting impression on Mr. James. It was best to go along with his game plan for tonight.
True to his word, he pulled up in front of the gallery fifteen minutes later. Deandra took note of the pristine silver CL500 Mercedes-Benz coupe he drove, and smiled inwardly. Excitement rushed through her veins. Marshall James was a big fish, probably the biggest one she’d baited so far. She would have to be very careful to stay on top of her game.
Marshall alighted from the car and came around to open the passenger door for her. He watched as she demurely sat facing outward and then pulled her long legs into the car. He took note that her smoothly shaven legs were devoid of any hosiery. One less barrier to cross, he mused. Her toes showed evidence of a recent pedicure and were delicately painted with white French-style tips. He closed the door and returned to the driver’s side.
Deandra easily slipped into the luxurious comfort of the expensive car. Sexy jazz tunes floated from the speakers and enveloped her. This is where I belong, she convinced herself. She smiled brightly at Marshall and leaned back, crossed her legs and slipped off her shoes. The ball was in his court now; she was curious to see what he would do with it.
He returned her smile, put the car in gear, and eased out into traffic. He was glad he’d called her. It had been a while since he’d spent an evening with a beautiful woman. It was not that opportunities did not present themselves, but he’d been working steadily on a new development and this was the first time he’d gone out socially in a few months. If his mother had not insisted she wanted to be there, he may not have attended the showing this evening.
Deandra turned in her seat so that she faced him while he drove. She studied his profile—confident and determined. She liked his hands—strong with long, lean fingers that held the steering wheel lightly, but still effortlessly maintained control of the road. She surmised he was a man of action, one who would take what he wanted regardless of the consequences. He hadn’t spoken a word since she got in the car and long silences made her nervous. Sometimes it meant someone was reevaluating a decision they’d made. She wasn’t about to give him time to rethink his decision to call her tonight.
“So, Mr. James, tell me. What is it that you do?” she asked boldly.
He smiled. He was certain she already knew what he did. He’d met her type before. They usually had a full dossier on their mark before they made the initial contact. He may have approached her in the hallway, but like a bitch in heat, she’d been sending out pheromones all evening long.
“A little bit of this and a little bit of that,” he replied evasively. He watched as an expression of mild annoyance crossed her face ever so quickly. Before she could respond, he added, “And what is it that you do, Miss Morgan?”
“As little of this and that as I possibly
