you."
Her heart gave a hard thump. She'd been pretty certain they'd have sex tonight, but hadn't counted on it. That had only led to disappointment the rest of the week. “Where?"
Again he glanced toward the elevators, then gripped her chair and turned her toward him. “All week long I've thought about making love to you on this table."
"The table.” Not in bed. Disappointment paired with excitement and arousal for a moment but she pushed the disappointment away and sat back in her chair. “Why the table?"
"You want to know why the table? I will show you."
The elevator dinged and he glanced toward it, but not before she saw the promise in his eyes.
Arthur walked in with the picnic basket and Veronica's heart gave a bump of alarm. Vicente had been more, well, protective of her when making love to her after the first night in front of Arthur. And making love in front of Arthur in the car, when his back was to them, was one thing. Did Vicente mean for him to watch them now? She didn't want that. She wanted tonight to be about her and Vicente Relief pulsed through her when Arthur merely handed the basket to Vicente, who tucked a bill in the other man's hand before sending him on his way.
And they were alone with the picnic basket.
Vicente gathered up his papers. “Will you unpack it? I want to put these away."
She rose to open the basket as he left the room. The blanket they'd had sex on in the park lay on top, clean now, and she spread it on the table, then pulled out a bottle of red wine, two glasses and a corkscrew. Also tucked in the basket were linen napkins, crackers, and a jar of artichoke dip, rotisserie chicken, and strawberries.
There, in the deep corner of the basket, was a rectangular package slightly longer than her palm wrapped in shiny red paper and a white ribbon. She lifted it just as Vicente returned to the room, closing the door behind him. She turned with the package in her hands.
"What's this?"
He crossed the room, picked up the wine and the corkscrew, one eyebrow lifted in amusement. “For you. To remember me if all doesn't go well in the morning."
"Don't think like that,” she murmured, holding the package to her heart with one hand, stroking the other down his arm. “You worked hard, you did a good job. Don't worry."
He shifted his arm out of her reach to open the bottle. “Open your present, Veronica."
She looked at the size, measured the weight.
"Open it,” he urged, removing the cork from the bottle.
She did, slipping the ribbon from around it, gently peeling the tape from one end and sliding the box free.
A box from a jeweler. “Oh, Vicente.” She glanced at him, then back at the box to snap it open. Inside nestled a cloisonné cross on a gold chain. She stroked her finger over the fine detail, since the tears in her eyes prevented her from seeing it all that well.
"Do you like it?” he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
She quickly blinked back the tears before she looked up at him. “I love it."
He stroked a finger across the line of her collarbone. “I notice you don't wear necklaces. I hope it is something you will enjoy."
"I'll treasure it.” Unable to hold his gaze, to block the emotion there, she turned her attention back at the velvet lined box.
"I'll put it on for you?"
She handed him the box wordlessly, then turned her back and lifted her hair. “It's Spanish?” she asked.
"Yes.” He draped the necklace around her throat and his fingers brushed the back of her neck as he hooked it, then let the weight of the cross fall against her chest. “Let me see.” He turned her toward him and admired the pendant. “Beautiful."
"Thank you."
She meant for the kiss to be soft, gentle, but it had been days since they kissed and she moved into him, angling her head, deepening the caress, toying with the seam of his lips, teasing the tip of his tongue before drawing back. He stroked his fingers through her hair, smiling, then climbed up to sit
Her heart gave a hard thump. She'd been pretty certain they'd have sex tonight, but hadn't counted on it. That had only led to disappointment the rest of the week. “Where?"
Again he glanced toward the elevators, then gripped her chair and turned her toward him. “All week long I've thought about making love to you on this table."
"The table.” Not in bed. Disappointment paired with excitement and arousal for a moment but she pushed the disappointment away and sat back in her chair. “Why the table?"
"You want to know why the table? I will show you."
The elevator dinged and he glanced toward it, but not before she saw the promise in his eyes.
Arthur walked in with the picnic basket and Veronica's heart gave a bump of alarm. Vicente had been more, well, protective of her when making love to her after the first night in front of Arthur. And making love in front of Arthur in the car, when his back was to them, was one thing. Did Vicente mean for him to watch them now? She didn't want that. She wanted tonight to be about her and Vicente Relief pulsed through her when Arthur merely handed the basket to Vicente, who tucked a bill in the other man's hand before sending him on his way.
And they were alone with the picnic basket.
Vicente gathered up his papers. “Will you unpack it? I want to put these away."
She rose to open the basket as he left the room. The blanket they'd had sex on in the park lay on top, clean now, and she spread it on the table, then pulled out a bottle of red wine, two glasses and a corkscrew. Also tucked in the basket were linen napkins, crackers, and a jar of artichoke dip, rotisserie chicken, and strawberries.
There, in the deep corner of the basket, was a rectangular package slightly longer than her palm wrapped in shiny red paper and a white ribbon. She lifted it just as Vicente returned to the room, closing the door behind him. She turned with the package in her hands.
"What's this?"
He crossed the room, picked up the wine and the corkscrew, one eyebrow lifted in amusement. “For you. To remember me if all doesn't go well in the morning."
"Don't think like that,” she murmured, holding the package to her heart with one hand, stroking the other down his arm. “You worked hard, you did a good job. Don't worry."
He shifted his arm out of her reach to open the bottle. “Open your present, Veronica."
She looked at the size, measured the weight.
"Open it,” he urged, removing the cork from the bottle.
She did, slipping the ribbon from around it, gently peeling the tape from one end and sliding the box free.
A box from a jeweler. “Oh, Vicente.” She glanced at him, then back at the box to snap it open. Inside nestled a cloisonné cross on a gold chain. She stroked her finger over the fine detail, since the tears in her eyes prevented her from seeing it all that well.
"Do you like it?” he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
She quickly blinked back the tears before she looked up at him. “I love it."
He stroked a finger across the line of her collarbone. “I notice you don't wear necklaces. I hope it is something you will enjoy."
"I'll treasure it.” Unable to hold his gaze, to block the emotion there, she turned her attention back at the velvet lined box.
"I'll put it on for you?"
She handed him the box wordlessly, then turned her back and lifted her hair. “It's Spanish?” she asked.
"Yes.” He draped the necklace around her throat and his fingers brushed the back of her neck as he hooked it, then let the weight of the cross fall against her chest. “Let me see.” He turned her toward him and admired the pendant. “Beautiful."
"Thank you."
She meant for the kiss to be soft, gentle, but it had been days since they kissed and she moved into him, angling her head, deepening the caress, toying with the seam of his lips, teasing the tip of his tongue before drawing back. He stroked his fingers through her hair, smiling, then climbed up to sit
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