stared at Bryce and for a moment was unable to move. Carla was dumbstruck. He was gorgeous. Tall and slender, Bryce McAndrews had carefully styled iron gray hair and deep hazel eyes that made Carla shiver as they took in her entire body. His charcoal gray suit was carefully tailored to show off his broad shoulders and flat stomach and his light blue shirt perfectly matched the small design in his Italian silk tie.
Bryce’s full lips slowly curved upward indicating that he appreciated what he saw. “I’ve been looking forward to this evening ever since Ronnie told me about you,” he said, “but now that I’ve seen you…. Well let’s just say this is going to be some evening.”
Carla stepped aside and Bryce walked to the sofa, picked up her jacket, and held it out for her. As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, he leaned down so his lips were beside her ear. “You smell sensational. This was worth waiting for,” he whispered. He placed a feather-light kiss in the hollow below her left ear, then stepped back. “Let’s go.”
His shiny black Porsche occupied a no-parking zone in front of the brownstone. He opened the door for Carla and, as she climbed in, he gazed at her long shapely legs and the shadowy cleavage between her breasts. “Ummm,” he murmured. “Nice all over.”
During the drive to the West Side, Carla learned that her date had four sons, all grown. She and Bryce talked easily about their children. It was so comfortable and Bryce was so charming that occasionally Carla forgot the purpose of the evening and where they were going to end up.
“It’s just like a real first date,” Carla said hesitantly as Bryce drove.
He softened his voice. “It certainly is. And I like it like that. Relax and let me make it good for you.”
“I’ll try,” she said, startled that she had voiced her feelings.
“Are you really nervous?”
“Yes,” Carla admitted, clasping her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking.
“Good. A little scary expectation is just the right spice. Let me tell you about our evening. We’re starting at a little restaurant called the West Side Club. They have great food, a fantastic wine list, and a three-piece combo for dancing. You do dance, don’t you?”
“I used to love it,” Carla answered honestly, “but I haven’t danced in a long time.”
“Like good sex, it’s something you never forget.” Giving her no time for a rejoinder, Bryce deftly pulled the black two-seater into the space in front of a long maroon awning. Immediately a uniformed doorman rushed around to open Carla’s door. “Thank you, Marco,” Bryce said, “but I’ll assist the lady.” Marco stepped aside as Bryce rounded the car.
Carla took Bryce’s extended hand and, as she climbed out of the car, felt Bryce scratch her palm with one fingernail. Shivers skittered up and down her spine and the area between her legs grew warm. She looked over at her escort but he was busy giving his keys to Marco. Hand in hand, they walked into the depths of the darkened restaurant. “Ah, Mr. McAndrews,” the maitre’d said unctuously. “I have your table all ready.”
Without a word, they were led to the side of the room. Because of the expert placement of potted plants and lacy screens, each table seemed to be in its own private alcove. Bryce seated her. Almost immediately the waiter brought a cooler with a bottle of white wine already chilling. Proudly he showed Bryce the label.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Bryce said, “but I made a few arrangements in advance. Of course, if you’d prefer a mixed drink, or red wine, the waiter can bring you whatever you want.”
“White wine will be fine,” Carla said.
“Good. This is a Portuguese Vino Verde that I particularly like.” The waiter poured a sip for Bryce, who tasted it and nodded. “Don’t freeze the poor wine,” he said as the waiter poured for Carla. “Take the cooler away and just leave the bottle on the table.”
“As you wish, sir,” the waiter said.
Carla sipped. “This is excellent,” she said. “I’ve never had a Portuguese wine before. You have great taste.”
Bryce gazed into Carla’s eyes over the rim of his glass. “If you put yourself into my hands for the rest of the evening, you’ll see what good taste I really have.”
Bryce ordered dinner for both of them. Through fresh asparagus and thin slices of Smithfield ham, poached salmon with dill sauce and tiny boiled potatoes, they talked about inconsequential things from the music they enjoyed through books and movies to vacations. Since Bryce had traveled extensively both for pleasure and business, he regaled Carla with tales of the sites he’d seen. With Carla’s agreement Bryce ordered lemon sherbet and Irish coffee for dessert.
As she finished her sherbet and sipped the heady brew, Carla realized that she hadn’t had such an enjoyable evening in many years.
Music began. “Dance with me,” Bryce whispered. He took Carla’s hand and guided her to the tiny wooden dance floor. He held her gently, his right hand placed correctly in the small of her back. Carla realized immediately that he was a sensational dancer, gliding effortlessly across the small space. Several other couples joined them and, as the floor became more crowded, Bryce held her closer, his mouth against her ear, his left arm pressing lightly against the side of her breast.
“You’re so graceful,” he said, rubbing his forearm against the side of her bra and the flesh underneath, “like an angel in my arms.”
Carla swallowed hard and remained silent. Although she knew that this was to be her initiation into the world of recreational sex, she felt like a woman on her first date with a dangerously attractive man.
“I love holding your body close,” Bryce whispered. “Your breasts are so full and your hips fit perfectly against mine.” His breath on her ear caused a tingling at the base of her spine. “You’re so responsive,” he continued, “that I’ll bet you’re getting hot already.”
For some reason, Carla needed to deny what he was saying. It was like a seduction, not an assignation, and somehow it was important not to be easy. When she took a breath to deny her feelings, Bryce interrupted, reading her thoughts. “You can deny it all you want but your body radiates sexual heat.” He flicked the tip of his tongue in her ear, then nipped at her earlobe.
She shuddered, telling him about herself as accurately as she could have with words.
“Yes. You want me,” he whispered. “But resist as well. It makes it all the sweeter to know that later I will hold you in my arms, naked and open. I’ll overcome all your resistance and control your body with your own hunger.”
He put his finger under her chin and lifted her face so she had to look into his eyes. “You’ll want me so much that you’ll beg for it.” He tucked her against him and continued dancing, holding her close. No one else on the floor could possibly know about Bryce’s erotic whisperings but Carla felt as if everyone was watching her.
They danced for a few more songs. Carla felt Bryce’s hand sliding over her silk blouse. “I want your body to know exactly what’s to come.” His hot breath tickled her ear. “We’re going to leave in about fifteen minutes. One or two more dances should be just right.”
Carla realized that Bryce’s planning and take-charge attitude would turn some women off, but the control that Bryce was
