Chapter 1: An unexpected meeting
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: An unexpected meeting - A romantic thriller that starts slowly, but the passion builds as the plot unfolds. Sandy Craig is a busy young woman. Her life is all about her work as a reconstructive surgeon and medical partnership. She doesn't have time for a personal life, much less love. Keven Braddock is a well-to-do artist on the rise. Life is his oyster, but something is missing. When they meet, something in their lives change. Now if only things would stop going wrong and getting in the way of them finding happiness.
I had just gotten comfortable in front of the television set and was digging my spoon into a bowl of double fudge delight ice cream when my cell phone rang. Hitting pause on the remote, I froze the episode of House with the main character making some rude comment to one of his patients. I don't know why a character that abrasive, sarcastic and flawed appealed to me so much, but his biting sense of humor always made me laugh.
A glance at the phone confirmed my worst fears. It was Danny, and that usually meant something had gone wrong and almost certainly meant that House and my ice cream were going to have to wait. I flipped the phone open and launched right in. "You're at an art gallery. What could possibly go wrong while you're buried in conversation with groups of long-haired men that only bathe when their muse tells them to?"
"Plans have changed," Danny said. It wasn't hard to hear the difference between Danny and his alter ego, Doctor Hammerstein. It could happen in the blink of an eye and the cheerful, fatherly man I loved to death would turn into the physician I hoped to be when I grew up, calm and professional when everything was coming apart around him.
I felt the cold chill as adrenaline dumped into my system. I jumped up, the fattening ice cream and entertainment forgotten, as I jogged into my bedroom, already shedding my tee shirt. "Where do you need me?"
"Holly and I are on the way to Mercy General. They have a woman and child enroute. A damned car crash and it sounds bad, so Holly will work on one while I work on the other. What I need from you is a favor. A really big favor."
I buttoned my pants and paused, suddenly confused by the direction of the conversation. "Wait, you don't need me in the operating room?" I asked, my confusion bleeding through.
He chuckled. "No, you already performed yeoman's work today, and I don't want to totally disrupt your schedule tomorrow. Relax, go to the show and have a glass of wine instead. And while you're there, review the pieces for me. I need to know what you think of the art and, maybe just as importantly, the artist."
That stopped the dressing process completely. "You want me to go drink champagne and look at paintings with a bunch of art snoots? I don't know anything about art."
Danny laughed. "Sell that to someone who doesn't know you. Remember, I know about all the museums and galleries your mother dragged you to when you were growing up. If you really cared, you could snoot with the best of them. Look, we'll be at the hospital in a minute so I don't have time for the full explanation, but going to the show is exactly what I need you to do. Mix, look at the art and meet the guy the show is all about. His name is Keven Braddock. I want to know what you think about him and his work. It's important, or I wouldn't ask you. Will you do it for me? Pretty please with double fudge delight on top?" Danny knew me way too well. Then I remembered the ice cream melting in the living room and took a moment to put it in the freezer for later.
I looked at the clock on my counter. It was a bit after seven PM. I sighed. "Okay. What time does it start?"
"Seven-thirty at the Pendel Gallery. And it's black-tie."
Shit! There was no way I was going to look worth a damn and still make it on time. "Damn you, Danny," I sighed dramatically, "I'll go, but you owe me, Danny boy. Good luck and I'll find out how the surgery went tomorrow. Bye now."
I hung up on him and tossed the phone on the bed. Stripping naked, I stood and stared at my closet. What to wear? I finally settled on a dark green cocktail dress. If I was supposed to make a good impression, this was the dress to do it. Besides, I hadn't had a chance to dress up in over a year. I'd just have to be fashionably late.
Ten minutes and a quick shower later, I slipped on a thong and then squirmed into the dress. I stood in front of the mirror and adjusted myself, pushing my boobs where they belonged and smoothing down the sides of the dress. Turning myself left and right, I frowned as I decided that I'd picked up a couple of pounds since I'd last worn the dress. It hugged my body before, but now fit like a glove, accentuating me in ways that probably shouldn't be seen outside my bedroom.
I almost pulled it back off, but a look at the clock told me I didn't have time to dither. What the hell, I thought. It wasn't like I knew anyone there or would ever go back to the gallery. Taking a deep breath for courage, I pulled my one pair of fuck-me pumps out of the back of the shoe rack and slid them on.
Turning my back to the mirror, I looked at my legs. Jeeze, I was going to have every guy in the place staring at my ass! That brought both a blush and a smile. Maybe it was okay, this one time, to be a tease. Let 'em drool.
A single strand of pearls completed the look, subtly drawing attention to the generous swell of my cleavage. I teased my long, red hair and styled it in place across the soft spray of freckles that graced my shoulders. Not bad for a woman in her mid-thirties, I thought with a saucy grin.
Grabbing my cell, I tossed it and my wallet into a small purse, grabbed my car keys and headed for the door.
It was closer to eight when I pulled up in front of the Pendel Gallery. I stepped out of my sole indulgence, a fire engine red Porsche 911 convertible, and handed the keys to the valet, who was having a hard time deciding whether to stare at the car or at me. I smiled at him and walked into the building, feeling his eyes caress me as I exaggerated the sway of my hips. I felt heat rising from my face, but it didn't stop me from acting the temptress.
The interior of the gallery was already packed with people. With a shrug, I guessed it was no longer en vogue to be fashionably late. The crowd was made up mostly of either balding grandfather types or long-haired ex-hippies in suits, each matched up with universally younger women; in some rare cases, the men were better looking. A few really good-looking women in their twenties were mixed in. They looked like models and they had an air about them - the imperious air of someone that feels they are a couple of rungs higher than you on the social ladder.
The walls and easels sported paintings of people and landscapes. Taking a flute of champagne from a server, I strolled over to the nearest display and gave it a really good look. Despite what Danny might think, Mama's 'rounding out' of my education never really took, as all those trips to the museums ever did was bore me to tears. Still, for a moment, I tried to remember what she'd taught me, and reached inside to see how my soul reacted. I found myself smiling. It was surprisingly good, in my unenlightened opinion. A pair of children, a boy and a girl in their early teens, racing bicycles down a dirt road between some trees. I could almost feel the breeze on my shoulders and shivered just a little. You could feel the raw determination radiating from each of them, their faces fierce, hair streaming behind them. They were neck and neck and neither one of them was going to concede victory to the other. The vitality of the painting took my breath away.
When I forced myself to look away, the room seemed more drab than it had a moment ago, the people less real. I felt shaken by my response. I'd expected some kind of new-wave art, something so abstract I wouldn't know if it was supposed to be good or not, much less care what it was supposed to represent. Even though I didn't know the technical aspects of art, I could see that this somehow wasn't like taking a picture and copying it to canvas. The background led the eyes toward the people, and the natural lines took the eye from object to object subtly. Not all the items in the background were done in meticulous detail, but the focal points were amazingly clear.
The people, though they weren't larger than they should be, seemed larger-than-life. The colors being used were subtly different than what you might see in a photograph, too. Not enough to jar, but more than enough to add an intense vibrancy to the scene. In my mind, I could hear the children shouting playfully at each other behind me.
I sipped the champagne to clear my throat and started circling the room, looking at the paintings closely. People and nature were blended seamlessly together in every painting. All ages and genders were represented, though I noticed that there were more women than men. That was natural, I supposed, since the artist was a man. The paintings were garnering intense attention from the people looking at them. I heard muttered comments like "Totally unique," and plenty of "I've never seen anything quite like these," and from the number of people writing notes frantically, I suspected the reviews would be incredible. I heard one man say that it was "the finest and most unique representation of man and nature that he'd ever seen."
The more paintings I looked at, the deeper the pieces drew me in. As I ventured further, the people slowly changed, becoming younger and better dressed. Or at least more expensively dressed. I looked back and saw what I'd missed earlier. There was a definite series of strata of people in this large room. I wasn't sure who fell into what category, but it was obvious that I had been moving from one group of people to another as I wandered deeper into the gallery.
A blonde in a firecracker red designer dress, flaunting her assets even more brazenly than I, stood on the other side of a painting I was moving toward. She was looking at me, not the canvas. Over her glass, her expression was haughty and dismissive.
"You're wasting you're time, you know," she said off-handedly. "There's no point in trying to display the goods when you showcase it in something so out-of-date. Especially in a knock-off from Taiwan from two years ago. Or is it three?" She cocked her head at me.
While I had no idea who she was or why she felt the need to attack me, I wasn't going to take it lying down. I felt my lips curve in a smile as I met her challenge, the memory of that first painting coming to mind.
"You're lop-sided," I said matter-of-factly.
"What?" she said, surprised at the unexpected comment.
"You're top heavy, your breasts are too big for your frame, and one is noticeably larger than the other," I said critically. "Whoever your surgeon was, he was second rate. You really shouldn't have gone for the lowest bidder. Cost savings are fine in some things, like your hair for example," I said, gesturing to her head with my glass, "since that god-awful cut will eventually grow back out, but those mismatched domes make your temple look like a bordello, and a cheap one at that. If I were you, I'd sue the hack."
Her eyes glittered dangerously and her whole body tensed. "Keven won't be interested in talking to you about modeling. You're too old, those freckles make you look like a leper, and that bottled hair makes you look like Bozo the Clown. Pack it up and hit the road, you has been. Just sashay your elderly ass out of here."
I laughed right in her face. I knew I shouldn't, but I just couldn't help myself. Hell, I had the temper to go with my red hair, and it isn't bottled, thank you. People in a bubble around us stared at the growing confrontation with mixed expressions of interest and amused horror. Either this didn't happen very often or it happened a lot.
"I'm not here to model for anyone," I said contemptuously. "I have better things to do with my life and my time. Not to mention a hell of a lot more self-respect than some people."
The woman glanced at the attention we were getting and paled. The mood of the watchers seemed predatory, but I didn't feel like they were hunting me. She tilted her nose up in the air and whirled around without another word, walking toward the front of the gallery.
I stood there and laughed at her retreat, shaking my head. What the hell had that been all about?
The crowd started moving again, now that the show was over. One young man leaned over with a grin. "That's telling her. And don't let her talk worry you, she and Keven broke up almost six months ago."
Focusing my attention on him, I cocked my head. "Keven Braddock? The guy that painted all these? That was his girlfriend?"
"Karen Galloway, his ex-girlfriend," the young man emphasized. "Though you'd never know it from the way she acts. This is the first show he's had since they split, and boy is he going to be furious when he finds out what she did. Don't worry about her screwing up your shot at the model's gig. I think you'd be much better, much more interesting and certainly more talented, than Karen ever was."
I grinned back at him. "Really, I'm not here for any modeling job but thanks."
With a shrug and a wave, he moved back off into the crowd, and I mustered my willpower and moved further to the rear of the building. I wasn't going to let that hag run me off or ruin what had been a surprisingly good evening.
The very back of the room had a few final pieces, including several of the now identified Karen. I sniffed and examined her body in the painting closely. Either the surgery was new, which I doubted, or the artist had adjusted her to mask the imperfections in her form. It was like she was in a soft-light picture, her innate inflexibility diffused.
When I looked up, I saw a man standing in the very back corner who struck me speechless for a moment. He was half-turned away from me, talking to a small group of older men in suits, but he stood out from them like the sun surrounded by spotlights.
Long, lustrous black hair swept to his mid-shoulders, black silk that fell across his black silk shirt. I'd always considered men wearing leather pants to be the equivalent of women wearing spandex. A privilege earned, not a right. On him, it was more like my privilege.
I flushed when I realized my mouth was open and I snapped it closed. I had no idea how long I had been staring. What was wrong with me? You'd think I'd never seen a good-looking man before! Oh, please! Sandy, get a grip on yourself. I shook my head and smiled wryly at my own foolish behavior.
Shaking my head, I walked back to look at the last few paintings more closely. More of Karen. That earned another headshake. The artist had to be a genius to make her look good. In spite of Mama's best efforts, I didn't know art, but I did know what I liked, and I genuinely liked his work. I had to find out how much that first painting cost. It would be perfect for my living room, and was probably as close as I would ever get to having children in my home.
I shook my head at the morose thought, and glancing at my watch, I clucked at the time. It was almost ten PM, and I had a procedure early the next morning. Time to ask around for our host, give him my compliments and find out how to get that painting. When I looked up, the man in black was gazing in my direction. Staring at me, his own mouth slightly open, with an expression like he'd been whacked over the head.
Without even saying anything to the man who was carrying on self-importantly about something, he strode away from the surprised suits and was at my side in seconds. His face was much more controlled by the time he was in speaking range.
I opened my mouth to say something, but fell silent when he took my hand and raised it to his lips. The combination of his lips on my hand and his eyes looking deeply into mine lit off a simmering heat inside my stomach.
"How do you do? I'm Keven Braddock," he said, holding my hand and smiling. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you."
My neck heated, but I forced myself to ignore it and smiled brightly at him. "Sandy Craig, Mister Braddock."
He shook his head. "Just Keven. May I call you Sandy?" At my nod, he turned and led me back toward the corner where all the suits were. At a wave, they dispersed and left a bubble of space for the two of us.
"You didn't need to run off your friends to talk to me," I objected.
His dark, angular face looked both rugged and handsome, especially when he smiled like that. "They're hardly friends. Those were wealthy men wanting to bankroll a show in New York for me."
I was aghast. "Then you shouldn't have sent them away! Business is much more important than talking to me."
"Oh, I don't think so," he said simply. "Shows come and go, just as backers come and go. Trust me, they'll still be eager to finance me, and make a hell of a lot of money off of me, when I call them tomorrow. Right now, talking with you is much more important.
"Much more important?" I asked incredulously. "Why?" I demanded. I suddenly felt out of control, this whole conversation upsetting my balance. I'd never had anyone else affect me this way, but then again, I'd never had someone look at me this intensely, much less drop everything to focus on me. "This is your show and you're an important man. The important man. I'm just a visitor."
"Because it feels right," he said with a grin. "I don't suppose you'd consider modeling for me?"
"What? I..." This was so confusing, I felt flummoxed. With a dozen or so words, this man made me feel more like a confused child than my mother's hour-long tantrums ever had.
"Wait," he said, his fingers covering my lips. It was like a spark jumped between us. "Let's talk about it over coffee. I know a little place nearby that makes the most fabulous latte."
"But the show," I protested weakly. "You're the artist, the star, the man everyone here wants to meet. You can't just leave!"
"It's my show," he said, his smile blinding, "and that means I can do as I damned well please."
He was so gung-ho, it was a little frightening, but a huge part of me was weakening fast. My head was telling me "one cup of coffee can't hurt anything," but the little girl voice was so innocent it set off alarms, frightening me.
I was saved, if you could call it being saved, by the arrival of his ex-girlfriend. The motion of someone approaching fast made me turn my head and there she was, barreling up behind Keven with a champagne bottle raised high!
"Look out!" I shouted, pushing him out of the path of the oncoming bottle. That shove unfortunately sent him right into Karen, and they fell to the floor with a crash, limbs entangled. She beat ineffectually on the top of Keven's head with her fist, having dropped the bottle.
I tried to figure out the best way to get him out of that mess, but the crowd beat me to it, streaming forward and surrounding the fallen ex-lovers. I quickly lost sight of them as the tide forced me back. Cursing under my breath, I tried to get back to his side, but finally decided it wasn't going to happen.
As I took a deep breath and watched the chaos, the heat that had started inside me cooled, fear and common sense took over. I didn't really know him and going out with him would likely mean all sorts of complications in my life. Yes, I conceded, there was chemistry there - boy, was there chemistry - but I was a doctor, busy and focused. I didn't have time for dating, or romance. I'd replaced men with battery-powered plastic years ago and I knew that going back was almost certainly the wrong choice.
I gulped and fought back the urge to dig into the crowd anyway. With more control than I thought I had, I walked out the front door and waved to the valet for my keys, already feeling oddly depressed.
In the morning, I was in a much better mood and had put the uncomfortable events of last night behind me by the time I walked through the front door to work, the Hammerstein Clinic for Reconstructive Surgery. Seeing my name listed as a junior partner still sent a glow to my cheeks. It reminded me that all of this around me, my work, and the career I had built through hard work and sacrifice, that was what was important in life.
Danny and Holly had made this place a force to be reckoned with in the field. And the fact that these two brilliant surgeons thought highly enough of me to offer me a junior partnership was a potent ego rush. The three of us were the only partners, though there were more than half a dozen associates of one kind or another and support staff.
Trina was manning the front desk, as usual. I stopped to smile at her while she was talking on the phone. A petite little thing, she couldn't have been more than five feet two and was as light as a feather.
Trina finished her phone call, and her smile at me slipped a little. "Good morning."
"Uh, oh. Trina, what's wrong?"
Tears slowly made her eyes shine. "Steve and I had a big fight last night. Sandy, I'm scared. I think I might have ruined everything."
I walked around the desk and pulled her out her seat and into a hug.
"Steve's a great guy, Trina. You both love each other and I can't see you doing anything to ruin that. What happened?"
She pulled back and sat back down, searching for a tissue in her purse while I parked my butt on the spare seat. "He's been spending more and more time out with his friends and I've been feeling ignored. So last night I brought it up. He insisted there was nothing going on. I suppose he was thinking I was worried about there being another woman."
"Are you worried about that?" I asked.
Trina shook her head. "No. Well, not really. He's never given me any reason to suspect he's been unfaithful. He just got so defensive about it and I got a bit paranoid. That infuriated him and I got defensive. And, of course, we argued. Um, it got pretty heated. He stormed out after about ten minutes, and now he won't take my calls. I screwed up bad and I've lost him." Her tears started pouring out again.
Without getting up, I pulled her head to my shoulder. "Shhhhh. It's not that bad. Everybody fights sometimes, even over minor things. If you like, I'll talk with him. I think if you keep trying though, you'll both get this sorted out."
Her eyes shone with hope. "Do you really think so? Would you talk to him?"
I smiled and kissed her cheek. "There's nothing that I wouldn't do for you, Trina. I don't let my friends down. I'll call him today and maybe even meet him for lunch. I can't promise anything, but I don't think all is lost. Let me watch the desk and you go freshen up before one of the guys sees you and wants to go punch Steve's lights out." That earned me a shaky smile as she left for the ladies room.
When she came back out, she looked a hundred percent better. I gave her another hug and made my way back to my office. A glance at the clock told me that I was behind schedule, but not badly. It's not like Mrs. Henderson was going to start without me, and as I had told Trina, I didn't let my friends down. I reviewed her case file and double-checked all the preparatory notes. When I was satisfied, I slipped out of my clothes and into surgical scrubs complete with hair and foot booties - what a fashion statement. Looking suitably professional, I tucked the file under my arm and went to surgical room two.
My patient was already there and so was my team. I smiled at Ben Crenshaw, the hulking black man that looked more like a linebacker than a surgical nurse. Then I gave a two-fingered salute to Anna Gomez, our resident anesthesiologist, while I set the file on the counter and started scrubbing up with the assistance of the scrub nurse, Rita Smith.
"Good morning everyone." After gloving up, I leaned over Mrs. Henderson. "And a good morning to you, too, Helen. Are we all ready?"
With a swallow, Helen nodded. "Yes, just do be careful."
I smiled and shook my head. "I'll treat them like they were my own. I've been exactly where you are right now, and I promise you that I'm confident you'll be fine. Anna is going to help you sleep and when you wake up, you'll be a new woman, a happy new sex kitten." I gave her a little growl and wriggled my eyebrows at her.
Helen smiled and relaxed. Then I stepped over to look at the instruments and the implants. Ben had worked with me for two years. He knew what I wanted and needed as well as I did. All the tools of my trade were laid out in their gleaming splendor and he had the implants I preferred. Some implants made the breast feel stiff and unnatural, but I insisted only the very best ones - those that were as malleable as the real thing. I also insisted on having six implants on hand during surgery. The size I thought I'd need and one notch up and down. When I made the cut and slid them in, I'd be able to move up or down to make them perfect.
"Spot on, Ben. You know me like the back of your hand," I said with a smile.
"But not as closely as I'd like to know you, hot momma." He returned the sexy growl and wriggling eyebrows I'd used earlier to calm Helen.
I laughed. Ben was a sweet guy, but I could never see myself sharing his bed, and he knew it. He was too much a friend and there just wasn't that kind of spark.
"You big ole tease. You'd freak out if I even acted like I was interested in you. Besides, I happen to know your girl would geld you if you if you even thought about touching another woman."
"She would do that," he admitted ruefully. "And they'd never find the missing parts, either.
We both laughed and went back to the painstaking preparation. When Anna signaled that Helen was ready, I stepped up and pulled the sheet down to expose her chest. Her breasts were small, but nicely formed. An A-B, just a little smaller than what I'd had before I let Danny convince me to step up to a C cup. Not that I didn't like the new me. I'd been shapely before, but my chest never matched up with my own self-image. Now the three of us were doing just fine. It also helped to have been under the knife. I knew exactly the sort of fears that Helen had, the same uncertainty. Every doctor should be a patient at least once.
Putting it all out of my mind, I made my first cut and started the process toward making another woman happier with her own appearance. Besides the breast enhancement, I had some other small adjustments to make with her curves. Nothing major. It wouldn't be any time at all before she was back up and at 'em, making men her age drool.
Hours later, after I accounted for every instrument and pad, I had Helen fully closed up and on her way to recovery. Tired, I stepped into the changing room and washed my hands. Then I put the bloodied scrubs into the bin and put on fresh ones. When I was done, I let Ben clean up, and I started getting the room ready for its next patient.
Danny came in through the door that Anna had used to wheel our patient out. He was in the suit that was almost the uniform of doctors everywhere, but even at fifty-something he looked better than most. His white hair reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Albert Einstein, with the locks refusing to cooperate in any way. When he stuck his tongue out at me, it always made me laugh so hard that my sides hurt because of the resemblance.
I shook my head. "Holly let you out of the house like that again? With that wild-man hair?"
With a boyish grin that belied his age, he leaned back against the wall. "Like anything can control it. We have people to clean up after us, Sandy. This isn't the emergency room where we need the room ready right away for the next customer."
"Like you don't do the same thing," I retorted with wry amusement. "Speaking of the emergency room, how did things go last night?"
His smile faded to a serious, slightly sad expression. "A car wreck. A really bad one. Holly took the mother and I took her daughter. Flying glass and debris cut them both to shreds. The girl was ten and her face was laid open with incredible trauma to the underlying tissue. It was painstaking work, getting all the glass out and putting things back in place so that the scarring would be minimal. You know what I mean. I just thank God her eyes weren't damaged."
I nodded, feeling my gut twist in sympathy. I hated car wrecks. You never saw them coming. One minute everything was fine and the next, lives and bodies were shattered.
"They were lucky you two were on call. Will they be okay?"
He nodded and held the door open and gestured back out to the hall. "Holly did her usual miracle work. You know she has a much finer touch than I do. With a bit of luck, they will only have to deal with mental scars without being traumatized by any physical ones. Come on. I want to get the play-by-play from last night."
I rolled my eyes and preceded him out. "Jeeze, I'm still not sure if you did me a favor or not."
"Hmm?" he asked with one eyebrow quirked in surprise. "Tell me more"
"Get me some coffee and I'll tell you the whole sordid tale."
Ten minutes later we were sitting in his office, which was about half again bigger than mine, as he no doubt deserved. He was the boss, after all. I sipped my hot coffee and stretched my back in the comfortable chair.
"Sordid, eh?" he asked with a chuckle. "What set off the renowned flame-thrower?"
"I didn't flame anyone last night," I said defensively. "He fell victim to his ex-girlfriend. Well, she and I did have words first, but I don't think that had anything to do with it."
"He?" Danny prompted. "This sounds interesting. Did you meet a nice young man that struck your fancy?" he asked with a mischievous grin.
"No," I said, exasperated. "He was quite forward and, frankly, it unsettled me a bit." Okay, I'd admit to myself, it unsettled me a lot, but Danny didn't have to know that. "Why is it that anytime you hear about me and some guy it has to be attraction?"
"Hope springs eternal, my dear," he said honestly. "I keep dreaming you'll meet someone like I met Holly. In any case, tell me all about the evening."
"How the hell could Holly marry you, anyway? You're incorrigible and she got stuck with a name like Holly Hammerstein."
"You're stalling," he said with a smile. "How was the show?"
I shrugged and gave up. "The crowd was good, the paintings were fabulous and the artist was dark and scary." My insides got all warm just thinking about how dark and scary.
"Tell me about this young man."
With a sigh, I set my coffee down on the desk. "I met the artist, Keven Braddock. I think I made an impression, though for the life of me I don't see how it could have been a good one." Then I proceeded to tell him what he said, what little I'd said, and everything that followed.
Danny tilted his chair back and listened in a way that made me adore him. He hung onto every word I said. When I was finished, he sipped his coffee and considered the ceiling for a moment. Then, tilting his chair back down, he looked me straight in the eyes.
"As to why he was attracted to you, Sandy, that's easy. You're a knockout. As for what I think about you, I think you've got it bad." he finally opined.
"What?" I asked in outrage. "I am not. I do not! It was just one of those things. There is no way he was giving me the eye with all those hotter, younger women hanging around waiting to be a model for him." I shoved away the fact that he had asked me to model before I started wondering what he wanted me to model for or what kind of outfit would be involved, if any. "It doesn't matter, anyway," I continued. "I'll never see him again, and that's probably best. Bad boys are much more trouble that they're worth."
"I wouldn't be so quick to say you'll never see him again," Danny said, looking at his watch. "I expect him along any minute to go out to lunch with me. Trina's going to send him right back."
I sat upright and squeaked. God, I hated making that noise. "No! You're yanking my chain!" Crap. If I could hear the tremor in my voice, so could he. Why the hell did that artist, okay, that dark, handsome artist, make me so nervous?
"Nope," Danny said with that shit-eating grin. "I actually expected him a few minutes ago, so he's late."
Shooting Danny a look that was part panic and part pure pissed off female, I lunged out of the chair and made a bee-line to the door. There was no way I was going to be caught in here after last night and have to explain why I ran off, especially not when I wasn't even sure why I had.
As I reached for the door, someone knocked and I froze. Looking around like a deer caught in the headlights, I prepared to run for the windows.
"Come in," Danny said loudly. The rat bastard!