against his near to bursting erection.
“I think it’s time to say goodnight to Giammo. I think he’s worked his magic.”
Colin nodded, and then, without really thinking, he said, “I have a bath tub.” Immediately he felt like an idiot.
Laine indulged an amused smile, one eyebrow arched. “Do you?” She seemed on the brink of laughter,
“In my room,” he clarified. “Back at the hotel.”
She nodded, still smiling. “I think I might like to climb into your bath tub.”
Colin put down his spoon and looked around for a waiter.
Chapter 12
Laine
She’d done it. She’d slid her foot up Colin’s leg and across his thigh and had been mightily rewarded for her courage. As soon as her toes had touched his hard length, she’d felt something like an electric shock running through her body. It started and stopped between her legs.
As they’d talked, and eaten, and drunk their wine, Laine had grown more relaxed and more enamored with this green-eyed British bloke across from her. She loved his accent. She loved the way he talked about his parents, his love/hate relationship with all things British, his suspicions and judgements about Americans (“present company excluded”), his travels, his work — he felt he was much more of a salesman than an art aficionado, having fallen into being a broker because of his parents’ contacts and a willingness to travel. He really did like art, had a profound appreciation for its beauty and history, and the fact that some people valued it very highly made his job rather lucrative most of the time. It wasn’t steady or predictable work, but it was challenging and satisfying. When he found out that Laine had studied visual arts and art history, as well as art administration, he asked her whether she’d once aspired to being an artist herself. This made her blush deeply and become tongue-tied. It was a dream she’d put aside a long time ago, but Colin’s genuine care and curiosity made her realize how much she had once longed to be the creator not just the observer. She shared her vulnerability about this, and he was tender and understanding. She had diverted the conversation as soon as she could. She didn’t want things to get too heavy on this ‘first date’.
She tried to be a little more light and airy after that, remembering that he was probably looking to replay their sexy one night stand in Paris. There was nothing wrong with that. He hadn’t come to meet her in Florence to hear about her heartbreak with Richard or her lost dreams about being an artist. Even though he listened attentively and asked questions. Laine guessed he was just being polite. He still hardly knew her, but he was attracted to her, and her to him. They could just enjoy that for now. When Laine let go of her other expectations, let herself simply enjoy his company, his smile, his beautiful eyes, she felt looser and more emboldened. So much so that she had slipped one red heel off her foot and lifted it under table until she had felt something pleasantly shocking.
Colin called for the bill and insisted he pay for this evening’s dinner. Laine did her best to accept graciously.
“Looks like the bubbly was on the house, anyway. We’ll have to thank Giammo on our way out.”
Laine wasn’t sure if she was prepared to do anything except beeline for the hotel. She still felt Colin’s shape against her toes, though she’d removed her foot to slip it back into her heel and so she was ready to go. It was a kind of phantom feeling, a physical memory, but it made her toes warm and that warmth traveled up her leg and warmed the dampening vee between her thighs. She had a feeling this was the kind of outcome Giammo had been hoping for and he wouldn’t be too bothered if they left without saying goodbye, so long as it was in the heat of passion.
Colin signed the bill with a flourish, removed his napkin from his lap, and then stood and reached for Laine’s hand. It trembled slightly when she
“I think it’s time to say goodnight to Giammo. I think he’s worked his magic.”
Colin nodded, and then, without really thinking, he said, “I have a bath tub.” Immediately he felt like an idiot.
Laine indulged an amused smile, one eyebrow arched. “Do you?” She seemed on the brink of laughter,
“In my room,” he clarified. “Back at the hotel.”
She nodded, still smiling. “I think I might like to climb into your bath tub.”
Colin put down his spoon and looked around for a waiter.
Chapter 12
Laine
She’d done it. She’d slid her foot up Colin’s leg and across his thigh and had been mightily rewarded for her courage. As soon as her toes had touched his hard length, she’d felt something like an electric shock running through her body. It started and stopped between her legs.
As they’d talked, and eaten, and drunk their wine, Laine had grown more relaxed and more enamored with this green-eyed British bloke across from her. She loved his accent. She loved the way he talked about his parents, his love/hate relationship with all things British, his suspicions and judgements about Americans (“present company excluded”), his travels, his work — he felt he was much more of a salesman than an art aficionado, having fallen into being a broker because of his parents’ contacts and a willingness to travel. He really did like art, had a profound appreciation for its beauty and history, and the fact that some people valued it very highly made his job rather lucrative most of the time. It wasn’t steady or predictable work, but it was challenging and satisfying. When he found out that Laine had studied visual arts and art history, as well as art administration, he asked her whether she’d once aspired to being an artist herself. This made her blush deeply and become tongue-tied. It was a dream she’d put aside a long time ago, but Colin’s genuine care and curiosity made her realize how much she had once longed to be the creator not just the observer. She shared her vulnerability about this, and he was tender and understanding. She had diverted the conversation as soon as she could. She didn’t want things to get too heavy on this ‘first date’.
She tried to be a little more light and airy after that, remembering that he was probably looking to replay their sexy one night stand in Paris. There was nothing wrong with that. He hadn’t come to meet her in Florence to hear about her heartbreak with Richard or her lost dreams about being an artist. Even though he listened attentively and asked questions. Laine guessed he was just being polite. He still hardly knew her, but he was attracted to her, and her to him. They could just enjoy that for now. When Laine let go of her other expectations, let herself simply enjoy his company, his smile, his beautiful eyes, she felt looser and more emboldened. So much so that she had slipped one red heel off her foot and lifted it under table until she had felt something pleasantly shocking.
Colin called for the bill and insisted he pay for this evening’s dinner. Laine did her best to accept graciously.
“Looks like the bubbly was on the house, anyway. We’ll have to thank Giammo on our way out.”
Laine wasn’t sure if she was prepared to do anything except beeline for the hotel. She still felt Colin’s shape against her toes, though she’d removed her foot to slip it back into her heel and so she was ready to go. It was a kind of phantom feeling, a physical memory, but it made her toes warm and that warmth traveled up her leg and warmed the dampening vee between her thighs. She had a feeling this was the kind of outcome Giammo had been hoping for and he wouldn’t be too bothered if they left without saying goodbye, so long as it was in the heat of passion.
Colin signed the bill with a flourish, removed his napkin from his lap, and then stood and reached for Laine’s hand. It trembled slightly when she
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