Page 34 of Taking The Virgin

I meet him on the first floor, because Nat has already told me that, since the weather is beautiful, he requested we take our meal on the patio. In the darkening evening the lights and heat lamps are dim and seductive, and when Owen sees me walk outside through the French doors, he slowly rises from his chair.

It’s not like last night when he had a tight rein on his reaction as I stepped off the elevator to meet him. He’s not bothering to hide his desire for me now. It fills his yearning gaze, and my temperature rises in a flood of heat andneed.

“Red,” he murmurs.

And that’s all hesays.

Shyness overcomes me again as he pulls out my chair for me. I don’t know why there’s such a difference between having sex with him and having him look at me in this way with our clothes stillon.

Somewhere along the way, one scenario has become more intimate than the other.

What will our next time together be like?I think, while a shiver spins throughme.

I go to him, and his clean scent overwhelms me. I sit in my chair as candlelight flickers from the glass holders on the table. He pours wine for me—the bottle says it’s a Vermentino, and after I drink it, the light, crisp taste tickles my senses.

He’s still watching me, and my shivers have turned into trembles. Nerves dance all overme.

“How was your day?” I blurt out, unable to deal with the tension anymore.

“More of the same. Yours?”

No personal talk, I remind myself. I’m going to respect his wishes just as much as he respected mine yesterday.

“My day was wonderful,” I say. “I enjoy being in the middle of New York. You have a sort of oasis here in the Village. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like we’re in the center of one of the world’s biggest cities.”

Indeed, the muffled sounds of traffic, car horns, and bustling activity seem so close yet so far away, but who can think about that when Owen is sitting there, intensely watching my mouth as I say everyword?

I wait for him to respond to my comment, but we’re interrupted by Chef Thomas, who brings out what he calls an amuse bouche of seared branzino and heirloom tomatoes.

After he leaves us, we both eat our little servings of the fish, previews of the meal tocome.

After that, our conversation stays polite and safe throughout the salad course, then the main course of branzino with tomatoes, capers, and lemon served with potato fondant, crusty bread, and baby vegetables. I remark that this meal seems luxurious and could pass for something very unhealthy.

That leads to a discussion about favorite restaurants while we finish an exquisite dessert of baked chocolate mousse.

Even though we’re still on secure ground, my nerves return. I’m three glasses of wine farther down the road to Blottoville than I was at the beginning of the meal. I’m dizzy in Owen’s presence. With every glance, with every breath, he stokes the fire that’s licking at the inside of my belly. Every long look makes lust trickle down between my legs, getting me wetter and wetter.

When we finish eating, I fidget by adjusting the strap of my gown, then tuck a strand of hair behind myear.

Finally, Owen leans toward me, and the oxygen catches in my lungs.

“Now it’s time for you to go to bed, Juliet,” he murmurs.

---