Page 37 of Mistletoe Mistake
The slit of her skirt went so high that it wouldn't take much of a move in the wrong direction to reveal that she had nothing on beneath it. She held her winter coat over her arm to make sure none of the effect of the dress was lost on the waiting cameras.
"I think this might be a little too much," she whispered as she came up to kiss my cheek in greeting, her eyes shining with good humour, and my chest filled with warmth at the idea that my actions had caused that spark of happiness.
“Nothing is too much on you,” I assured her, the words coming out almost as a growl. If we didn't have the paparazzi waiting for us, I would have been tempted to forget the rest of the evening and take her straight upstairs right there and then.
However, not only were the press and dinner waiting for us, we also had the house we were meant to visit, which would count as my payment for the evening. If we skipped that, we would just be spending the night together for no reason, and that went against my rules. Therefore, we still had to go out, whether I wanted to or not.
“Shall we?” I offered my arm to Gemma and she took it before we walked together out the automatic doors of the hotel lobby.
The group of photographers exceeded the number who had been there the night before, ranging somewhere between five and ten. Though I didn’t smile, I also didn't look away, and I kept Gemma's arm linked tightly through mine as we walked slowly enough to the waiting car that everyone could get at least a few shots.
Gemma laughed once I had closed the car door behind us. “Remind me never to become really famous. This is crazy.”
“You haven't done many red carpet events, then?”
She gave me a curious look. “No, not at all. Have you?”
“A few.” Though I didn’t particularly enjoy it, networking for the business sometimes meant attending those kinds of gala events.
She asked me about the famous people I'd met, and we chatted easily until the car pulled up outside the Michelin-starred restaurant in east London that I'd booked for us. As expected, more photographers greeted us there and we repeated the whole charade of pretending that we didn't see them while allowing them to take their photos.
Wanting to ensure that people would see us enjoying ourselves, I’d booked a semi-private booth at the back of the restaurant, positioned so that our heads could still be seen over the back of the booth as we talked and laughed together.
I thought I had thought of everything, but as I looked across the table at Gemma, I realized I had missed one important consideration. How in the world was I going to sit there, just out of arm's reach of her for the entire meal with her looking like that, and not do something about it?
~Gemma~
I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t feel more nervous. Sitting alone at the table with Cole in a high end restaurant, wearing the beautiful dress and jewellery he'd chosen for me, it felt almost like a date, and I hadn't been on one of those, aproperdate, in a very, very long time.
Not only that, but people were watching us: the cameras outside and the other people in the restaurant. If I turned my head, I would catch them looking at us. It would have made sense to be nervous, but when I tried to analyze the feelings buzzing around inside me, that one didn’t seem to figure into it.
Excited? Yes. Turned on? More than a little. But nervous? No. Not at all.
Maybe it came down to the fact that, despite appearances, we weren’t on a real date. There was no uncertainty. We both knew that the night would end in his room and that, unless we mutually agreed to extend the agreement, nothing further would happen past this evening.
The stakes were relatively low, and yet, Cole seemed to be uncomfortable. His fidgeting was the reason I wondered if I should be feeling more nervous in the first place, and I didn’t understand the reason for it until after we ordered our drinks and decided on the tasting menu. At that point, Cole placed his wine glass down and looked over at me, his eyes full of that heat that did crazy things to my body.
“I'm having a bit of a dilemma over here, Gemma.”
‘Over here’? The phrasing made me laugh, since he made it sound like there were miles between us instead of just the width of the table.
“What's the problem?”
“The thought of what's under that dress is driving me a little crazy." He raised an eyebrow as his lips twitched. "Or rather, the thought of what's not under it.”
Immediately, my thighs clenched together at the reminder. He had told me not to wear any underwear tonight and I hadn't. I assumed he did it to build the anticipation for later, but with the way he looked at me now, I began to suspect he had something else in mind.
“I know this dinner isn't technically part of our deal, but ... would you let me sit a little closer?”
The fact that he asked for permission told me everything I needed to know. Without him explaining, I understood that if I granted it, if I said yes to him moving closer, I would be giving him control over the situation. I would be giving him carte blanche to do whatever he wanted. On the other hand, if I said no, he would stay where he was. The power to make that decision rested entirely in my hands.
As I contemplated my options, I couldn't help imagining what he might do. What did he usually do with the escorts he took out, women like Vanessa who had been with him just a few nights ago? Had they been doing anything beneath the table when we were all sitting together? I hadn't noticed, but that didn't necessarily mean they hadn't. After all, if he did something to me now, would anybody else know? The long tablecloth would shield us from view.
Anything of that nature would be new territory for me. Edwin and I had certainly never done anything intimate in public. That would have implied that we couldn't keep our hands off each other long enough to wait to be in private, which definitely had not been the case.
Cole’s question, however, implied exactly that: he couldn’t wait. He wanted to touch me right then and there, and fuck it, I wanted that too.
“You can sit wherever you like, Mr Stamer.”
