Vanilla On Top(3)

“You know what I want more than anything?” he says with a touch of longing. “I want someone else to take control for a while. I’m really sick of being the guy in charge all the time.”

I smile, not particularly sure I can relate, but willing to appear understanding. His phone rings again and sharp anger stabs my gut.

“Turn it off,” I say, with a challenge in my tone. I sit up straighter and stare into the depths of his caramel eyes. “You want someone to tell you what to do?” He nods, his calculating gaze on me as the phone continues to ring. “Turn off that damn phone,” I bite out, pretending I’m issuing a command. “Now.”

Shock registers across his expression, but he hides it quickly. I raise an eyebrow and feel the sparks fly across the table between us. He returns my stare and smiles, the first real one I’ve seen on him since he came into the restaurant. It’s kind of lopsided and lazy, curling my toes at the devilment it promises. The phone rings a third time and I break our standoff and glance away, tilting my chin an inch higher, showing my displeasure in his lack of action. He fumbles for the phone on the table between us and shuts it off.

My pulse races and a part of me waits for him to shout that I’m the rudest bitch he’s met tonight. Well, I tried my hand at ballsy and domineering—worth a shot. I look toward him and smile, catching him off guard, if his raised eyebrows are anything to go by. The interest I thought I saw earlier still lurks in his eyes.

Hmmm… Maybe tonight won’t be a total wash after all.

I pick up my drink and tilt it toward him in greeting. “I’m Heather.”

He raises his to meet mine and clinks it across the space. “Tony.”

“What do you do, Tony, that has people calling you after office hours?”

He stiffens and his tone comes out flat. “I head acquisitions in a large shipping conglomerate. We’re organizing to buy out a small firm this week.”

I nod, not sure if knowing what he does matters. He seems wired pretty tight, poor guy. “Who did you arrive with, that guy with the sandy-colored hair?”

Tony lifts a brow and interest lights his expression. “Why?” His grin broadens. “You want me to introduce you?”

I stare back at him with a feigned confidence I don’t possess. “I’ll meet him soon enough, won’t I?”

“Touché.” He touches the timer on the table. “We are speed dating.”

“That’s why I asked. You don’t seem like the type to be here.”

“Probably not, but Marcus talks me into lots of stuff I might not normally try on my own. He’s an old college buddy. Dragged me here ‘cause he said I needed a break from work.”

I glance down my nose at his phone, angling my head a bit. “He might be right.”

“And hey—what makes you think I’m not the type to try speed dating on my own?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

This man doesn’t know me from Adam. I could be anyone in this moment, anyone who is brash enough to tell a stranger to turn off his phone. Carla said to slip on a new skin…maybe she was onto something…

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I reach across the table and trace a finger down the back of his hand. “You’re wound too tight,” I say, dropping my voice, trying for a seductive tone. “Like you’re going to snap.” I gaze at him through my lashes, hoping I can pull off a sexy look like I’ve seen in movies. “What you need is to let off a little steam.”

Desire sparks in his caramel eyes and he turns his hand over to grasp my own. “Really? What did you have in mind?” Tiny shocks of pleasure shoot up my arm at our increased contact.

The two-minute timer dings and the prospective dates around the room say their goodbyes and shift out of their chairs, eager to move on to the next person down the line.

I shrug and pull my hand away. “Why don’t you follow me to the patio and find out?”

There’s no doubt I’ve peaked his curiosity. I pick up my drink, still staring into his stunning eyes, and circle my tongue around the tiny swizzle stick before slipping the red plastic into my mouth for a taste of my drink.

Tony’s lips part in an exhalation of breath, his stare locked on my mouth.

I smile at his expression, pleased I’ve made an impression. He seemed to like when I told him what to do. I wonder how far I can take this with him willing to follow. I slide from my chair, now glad I wore a pencil skirt that emphasizes my butt, and walk out of the room without a backward glance, hoping he takes the bait.

My black stiletto heels rap against the marble tile of the bistro as I swish my hips toward the narrow door leading to the closed outside seating in the rear of the restaurant. I push the door open and step through. The metal door whisks shut behind me. It’s early spring and unseasonably warm outside tonight, but still too early for the bistro to have the area set up for receiving diners.