Forbidden Ch. 01

"What's the matter?" His voice was concerned.

"Matter? Nothing," I said stupidly.

I felt a wave of guilt rise up inside me and settle in my chest. I gulped some water, but it didn't stop me from noticing the way his hands broke the bread, and spread the butter, or the way he bit into it and chewed slowly, his eyes all the time watching me. He was watching me watch him! Oh God, this was getting out of hand. I swallowed and reached for the water again.

"Why not have some bread instead?" he suggested. "What's your pleasure?"

My pleasure? To jump your bones, I thought, and felt myself changing color. I lowered my head, but I knew he had seen me blush.

"End? Middle?" he continued, as though nothing had happened.

"End, please!" I squeaked out.

This was not where I wanted things to go, and I was going to do everything in my power to steer my thoughts in any direction but that. He remained uncharacteristically quiet, and the silence between us became strained. The waitress brought my salad, and I was grateful for something to do that required me to pay attention to something other than my thoughts.

When the main course came, I dug in mutely, hoping he didn't care that the silence between us was now unbearably loud. I looked everywhere except at him, for once so occupied distracting myself that I failed to register his eyes on my face, on my mouth. I didn't notice that he'd stopped eating, and I wasn't prepared for his hand to appear directly in front of my face, as he tried to get my attention.

"Hey," he said in a low voice that was strangely husky. "Relax. Why fight it?"

This time I couldn't hide the rush of color to my face, nor could I pretend I didn't know what he meant. I felt warm all the way down to my toes. He reached for my hand, but I moved it into my lap.

"I can't relax," I hissed. "I am a married woman, for heaven's sake!"

"You turn me on, too," he said, as though I hadn't spoken. "I won't apologize for liking the way you look, the way you move, the way you sound. And you've got the most expressive face," he continued, reaching over and touching my face before I knew what he was up to.

His hand on my cheek felt so warm, and his touch was so tender that I felt the tears gather in my eyes. I lowered my lashes, and tried to stop my eyes from overflowing.

"I'm attracted to you," he continued, "and I don't want to lose out on what might be a beautiful friendship because you're married and I'm afraid of how much I want you." He cupped my cheek. "Maybe this isn't the right time, but I know you're the right one. I'm damned if I'm going to miss the chance to get to know you better."

I looked up at him, about to protest, when he said,

"I promise not to do anything you don't want me to do." He brushed away a tear that was still hovering on my lashes, and smiled at me again. "And I promise to let you go, until the right time."

He took his hand away from my face and finished his meal, talking about nothing, helping me to relax. I was still trying to process the comment about me turning him on. To me, that was the most unbelievable thing he'd said all afternoon. How could I, the fat one, turn anyone on, let alone this hunk of masculine desirability? I began to be aware of my hands, with the long broad fingers, their roundness made more noticeable by the imprint that the rings made on each hand. What could possibly be sexy about them? Or about the beginnings of a second chin, and the chubby cheeks? Thank God my arms were hidden by sleeves and my belly by the long shirt!

"What would you like for dessert?" his voice broke into my unhappy thoughts.

"Dessert? I probably shouldn't have..."

He cut me off. "You're doing it again. Stop agonizing over it. Do you want something or don't you?"

I wouldn't have minded some chocolate ice cream, but I swallowed and said, "No, thanks. I'm fine." At the very least, I could stop spending his money, especially since I still didn't know anything about him.

"I don't know anything about you," I said aloud, voicing my thoughts.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, dipping his spoon in the sundae he had ordered. I watched the spoon on its way to his mouth, and had to tear my eyes away. I missed his small smile, and the desire that flashed briefly in his eyes. By the time I looked at him again, his face was placid, his eyes merely dark blue.

"Are you married?" I asked him, looking at his hands as I did. No rings, but that didn't mean anything.

"Widowed," he answered, and kept spooning dessert into his mouth.

"How long were you married before she died?" I should know at least as much about him as he knew about me.

"Twenty years," he replied, "and we have three children. All in college, one about to graduate, one in graduate school, one a sophomore."

"Do you think your kids would approve of what we're doing?" I asked. I knew mine would be horrified.

"So far, we haven't done anything except have a couple of drinks and lunch together." His voice was amused. "I don't think they'd be scandalized. Yours?

"Horrified," I said shortly.

"Why? Don't they think their mom should have male friends?" His question was asked casually, as he sucked in more sundae.

"They don't know their mother to have any male friends like you," I admitted in a soft voice.

"Like me?" he asked, equally softly, watching me without appearing to.

"Potential competition for their dad," I said, after a very long pause.

I looked him directly in the eyes as I said that, and noted the flicker of some quickly hidden emotion in their dark blue depths.

He finished his dessert, and called for the bill. Then he said, "Have dinner with me tonight?"

"What about your sister?" I asked.

"What about her?" he countered.

"She doesn't know me," I said, "and I would feel very uncomfortable with her..." I stopped, unable to say how I was feeling.

He did not answer immediately, but waited until we were alone in the elevator.

"Anne does not control who I eat with. And if that's what is going to keep us from spending a pleasant evening together, I'll tell her she's dining alone. I want to see you again."

We were now at my door. He bent his head, and I moved away. "No, please, no kisses."

"Not even on the cheek?" he asked, his eyes begging me to say yes. I felt his breath on my face.

"Not even on the cheek," I echoed. I swallowed, because at that moment I wanted to feel his mouth on mine more than I wanted anything else in the world, and I knew he knew it. I turned away and opened my door.

"Dinner?' he asked again.

"Maybe we shouldn't...I shouldn't..."

He reached out for me, turned me around, and held me close before I knew what he was about, and I felt a rising panic.

"Bronwyn," he said. "An unusual name for an unusual lady. I like that name. Someday you'll tell me how someone clearly not Welsh ended up with that name." He held me away from him so he could look me in the eyes. "I want you, make no mistake about that. And I'd do anything to taste you right now, right here," he said, looking with raw desire at my mouth, "but I made you a promise I intend to keep. So, have dinner with me. Please."

I smiled for the first time that day. "Okay," I said. "What time?"

"Eight o'clock?" he asked. I nodded and went in.