Fourteen
He was fumbling with
the key card and dropped it and she snatched it up and then she
dropped it (most likely because his hands were pretty busy under
her dress) and somehow they managed to get the damned hotel room
unlocked and fell inside.
His hands were
everywhere, his mouth was on hers; he was groaning and so was she.
She yanked and heard his pants rip.
Careful. Careful.
So far, quite the
successful first date. Hmm. I guess I’m that
kind of girl now. The kind who ruthlessly seduces on a first date.
Edward never had a chance . . . not that he seems to
mind.
No, he didn’t seem to
mind.
They had spent the
evening gorging on the most overpriced seafood she’d ever had, and
it was worth every penny.
The halibut: buttery
and tender and flaky. His chowder (which he kindly let her taste
and, when she liked it, he insisted she finish his bowl while he
ordered another for himself): thick and creamy and studded with
plump clams. Her seafood tower (yes! A seafood tower, what a wonderful thing!): shrimp so
perfectly chilled they were bursting with plump meaty flavor, clams
and mussels so fresh she could smell the ocean on them. Her second
order of raw oysters: sweet and briny and luscious at the same
time, and well over a dozen went down her throat.
And all the while,
they played the seduction game.
“You’re still using
the Sage program?” Edward asked, incredulous. “Do you drive around
in a covered wagon, too?”
“It’s perfect for my
needs,” she insisted. “You won’t get me to back down this time,
Edward. Though I grudgingly admit you were right about the
updates—keeping track of the fundraising can be difficult without
it. But I need something that’ll serve organizations of different
sizes. Besides, Sage is compatible with Windows and Linux and
Unix.”
“But
it—”
“Plus I need to
manage finances for all sorts of locations; I did that back on the
Cape and I want to continue doing it out here.” Snatch clam. Hold
to mouth. Tilt head back. Slurp.
“Yeah,
but—”
“Sorry to cut you off
again, but I don’t want to get locked into only taking small business owners or only taking government work or only taking nonprofits.” She shook her empty clam
at him. “That’s why it’s perfect for me.”
“What about
overseas?”
“What about overseas?” She picked up another clam and
sucked it down.
“That’s why you need
the Epicor.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You do not have
Epicor.”
“I absolutely have Epicor, and the thing is a demigod
as far as I’m concerned, okay?” Edward was on his second bowl of
chowder, she was glad to see. His appetite was getting stronger the
more they talked.
So was hers. But not
for food.
She liked how he had
obviously taken some care with his wardrobe. She liked how clean he
smelled. She liked his insistence on defending his workplace tools
of choice. She liked his excitement and his passion and his
manners. She even liked that he would not budge on the topic of who
would pay for lunch.
But she had a way to
make that up to him, maybe. She could insist on a second date. Or
she could . . .
“I don’t believe
it.”
He smirked. “Jealousy
. . . tsk, tsk, Rachael.”
“No, I’ll admit it,
that’s impressive. It really does everything they
say?”
“It practically cooks
me breakfast.”
“Maybe you’ll show me
sometime?”
“Maybe I’ll show you
whatever you want anytime.”
“Ah, now that’s a
pledge I will hold you to.”
“Good! And my God.”
He was staring at the litter of empty shells, the stack growing
ever higher. But he was smiling, and even if he hadn’t been, she
would know he was pleased. “You can really put it
away.”
“No worries; I’m
still saving room for dessert. Baked Alaska! As long as we’re
obliged to spend so much money this evening, I see no use in half
measures.”
“My kind of woman.
Listen, you will lose your mind when you see how it handles Cloud
solutions.”
“Oh my
God.”
“Not to mention
customers in, what, one hundred fifty countries?”
Now it was her turn
to stare. “That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to stretch, but I run
a one-woman op.”
“And cheap, for what
you get.”
She seized his hand,
quicker and faster than she meant to, and let go when he yelped.
“Sorry. Tell me more. Talk to me about supply chain
management.”
So he did. And then
she started to shake. She managed to force “When?” through her
teeth.
“Uh . . .” He was
staring again, which she didn’t mind a bit. Lust. Interest. Lust. “I can show you on my
laptop—”
“When can we get out
of here?”
Lust. Lust. Confusion. Excitement. “You’re not
talking about my laptop, are you?”
The oyster shell she
was holding suddenly broke in several pieces; in her excitement
she’d squeezed too hard. “No. I’m talking about going to your place
or mine and getting naked and spending the rest of the evening
trying to hurt each other in various ways, with possible breaks for
long showers, and maybe toast, after.” Something about discussing
the latest software advancements in her field did it to her every
time . . .
“You. Are. My. Hero.”
He looked around and screamed, “Waitress!”