“Yes, I can’t wait.”
He looks at me with a curved smile, his eyes almost twinkling as his gaze meets mine. My passport desire is on the backburner and real female desire takes over. The way he looks at me, I have never seen want and desire such as this bestowed upon me.
“Your accent is very alluring,” he says softly.
“I was raised in Florida and spent the last four years of college in Georgia, so I have picked up a slight accent. Yours as well. I bet you have no problem with the ladies,” I say, taking a sip of the champagne in front of us.
“I haven’t had many complaints. I apologize that sounded so cavalier of me,” Cal said, a gentle laugh escaping my lips.
His eyes.
That voice.
That “come fuck me” smile.
He’s trouble.
I want to fuck trouble.
“I ordered the beef wellington as you suggested,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“Have you been here before?” Cal asks.
“No, but I have always wanted to come here. You?”
He nods enthusiastically, taking a sip of his champagne. Our plates of beef wellington are placed on the table setting in front of us. The food looked like a photo in a travel magazine. It was cooked to perfection in a red wine jus, laying on a bed of garlic mashed and parsley. I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear nervously, as I notice his eyes on me again.
“I apologize for my nervousness,” I whisper.
“Don’t be nervous. You are absolutely beautiful,” Cal replies.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile.
We sat together eating dinner, memorizing the taste of the beef wellington in our mouths. We had small talk about family, friends, and careers. Our plates were empty and taken away by the waiter quickly. The service was impeccable as another waiter filled our champagne back up to its full amount in its glass.
“So, why London?” he asks, curiously.
“You want the long version or the short version?” I ask.
“Whichever you decide,” he teases, his one-sided smile turning into a smirk.
“Well, my ex broke up with me after eight years of dating and said I knew shit about sex, so I decided to use my inheritance, that I had no idea I had by the way, to travel the world and have sex with whomever I want in whatever way I want,” I say, out of breath from rapidly speaking.
He chokes on his sip of champagne and quickly wipes his mouth with his ivory linen napkin in his hands.
“Is that the short version?” He smiles in amusement.
“Maybe,” I say, shrugging indifferently.
“It’s a bucket list of sorts.”
“A penis passport,” I tease.
“Rightfully so. So, which is on your list for London?” He asks.
“You probably think I am crazy.”
“On the contrary. I am more than obliged to help you on your quest.”
“So very noble of you, Cal,” I chuckle.
“I do as I can, Laura.”
I prop my chin up on my hand, staring into his moss green eyes. This man’s gaze does things to me that I cannot describe.
“I wanted to go to a gentleman’s club and have a private dance,” I whisper.
“Really,” he states, a sly smile graces his lips as his eyebrow raises curiously.
“What?” I ask.
The waiter walks up with a small menu in his hands. His carefree smile breaking the obvious sexual tension cloud between us.
“May I interest you in our dessert menu?” the waiter asks.
“Dinner was satisfactory; however, I must ask for the check,” he says.
“Thank you. It was lovely,” I concur.
He leaves with the menu in hand to get the check. As soon as he is out of ear shot, Cal reaches over to hold my hand in his. That mischievous look on his face I can only imagine will be the same look he gives me when he goes down on me.
Please say I’m your dessert.
“I know exactly how I can help you,” Cal whispers.
* * *