Out of Her Comfort Zone(3)

“Of course I’ll marry you. In fact, if you hadn’t proposed by Christmas, I was going to do it myself at New Year’s.”

He blew out a breath and that beautiful smile rolled across his lips. He raised his brows expectantly. She held her hand out, fingers stretched, and he slid the ring on. It seated itself perfectly, the wine-dark stone seeming to absorb light rather than reflect it. Before she could pull it closer to admire it he twined his fingers in hers and lifted her hand. He placed a kiss, so soft, so filled with promise, on her palm. The connection burned, a physical signature on an emotional contract, soft, hot, iron. She might be floating.

Emily’s mind was so full of sensation and a spinning web of dreams of the future she didn’t notice when he set her hand back on the table and let go.

“There’s one thing.” His voice dropped, as if carrying a heavy load of something, like reluctance. “It’s kind of private.”

She tried to blink some sense back into her brain. She pushed the happiness back, but it flowed past her measly barriers. She must be smiling like a banshee, but for once she didn’t care.

Elliott sat back in the chair. “I have a proposition.”

“A pre-nup? Sure.”

He shook his head. “Our lawyers will take care of that. I’m talking about the party.”

“The party? Oh.” The event she always left town for. Elliott’s annual stag night, complete with strippers, or whatever they were. It was important for his job, he said, and since his job was matching personalities to start-ups it made sense, sort of, at least for the geek-tech men. But she didn’t have to like it.

As his wife, she didn’t want to put up with it.

“Will you stop with the party now? After all, women need venture capital too.”

“That’s what I want to talk about.” He patted his shirt front, straightening invisible wrinkles. “I have… a proposition.”

Now she knew something was wrong. Elliott never repeated himself, except to sing that blasted song, “say something once, why say it again?” She crossed her arms in front of her. The ruby caught at her sleeve, startling her.

“This is the thing. The parties are great, and they do serve their purpose. But I’ve grown tired of them, especially since you. Because of you. The girls, they don’t feel as good in my hands as you.” He stared out the glass window to the slow-moving scene outside. “But I want to try one last thing. Like the toes. Something new.”

He rubbed his eyes. She sighed as theatrically as she could. “Just say it.”

Dropping his hand, he caught her glance and held it. “I want to see you – I want you to be – one of the girls.” He raised his hands fast, pleading patently false innocence. “Just for one night.”

Emily sat straight, her hand almost knocking the coffee over. “You want me to what?”

“It’s always been a dream of mine.” Elliot’s smile showed perfect teeth and no hint of irony.

“It’s been your dream to pick up a – sex worker – and marry her?”

He shrugged, and his face stilled. “Please, Em. I don’t want to upset you. Maybe just think about it?”

Emily tried to quiet her roiling emotions and think clearly. What did they say to do to be more rational? Translate. She flipped her English thoughts to Spanish and back. Since she had only third-grade Spanish, the words were simple.

“You want me to go to your annual sex party and make out with you?”

“Exactly.” He nodded, face taking on his businessman’s officiousness. “The girls are masked, so no problem there.”

No problem? “You don’t think anyone would recognize my body? My hair?”

“A wig, then.” He wasn’t even fazed. One of the best negotiators in the Bay Area, he almost always won.

“Like a game.” She tried to taste the possibilities on her tongue, but the bitter dregs of shame bound her down.

“And it would be only with me.”

“You swear it?”

“And only the once. Haven’t you ever wanted to try it, to be the bad girl for once?” He smiled again, but not too wide. He wasn’t sure he’d won yet, she was surprised to see.

“Sex workers aren’t bad girls.” Petulance laced her words.

“But they’re not you, either.”

He was right, she had to admit. And who hasn’t wondered about it? Those ladies were so cocky, so beautifully, so confident. Could she ever be that way, even hidden in costume? It might be delicious. She shivered.

“You’re too scared to do it.” Elliot downed the last of his four-shot espresso coffee mix.