Thanks to all those who have reviewed! I wasn't sure if anybody even remembered this story, it had been so long. My apologies again for that. I promise that I will finish this part in a more timely manner. ^_^
Here's the next chapter, please let me know what you think.
Thanks!
Part Two: Rules of Engagement
Chapter Six:
You'll Never Breathe Until You Drown
I am a storyteller's daughter / You are a king without a crown / I am the instrument of laughter / You'll never breathe until you drown
~Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton
¤ ¤ ¤
"Good Evening, Sara," Ian spoke softly, moving around the table to pull out her chair. Also noticing that she was staring at him as if struck. He wondered, not for the first time, if the white was a little too much. "You are looking..." Ian got his first unobstructed view and felt his eyes go wide before he could stop them. Oh, he had seen her in much less, but never this close. The thought had wriggled into his head that she hadn't dressed for him, but it was small and easily ignored.
The dress was crimson to the shade of blood, with not much length either way. He found himself staring at her exposed legs before the vision even translated in his mind, and up, higher, where the skin met skirt. Short, he thought, and distantly realized he had spoken aloud.
"What! I'll have you know that, short or not, I can still kick your---"
Ian swiftly snapped to at the indignation in her voice. "No! No. It was..." his eyes were fighting the pull of gravity, falling to her waist, rising to her face, falling to her hips, rising to her breasts—NOT an improvement! Must think...
Sara watched the conflict on his face in confusion, leaned forward and peered impatiently into his dazed brown eyes. "It was...?"
Having not received more than a stunned stare for her answer, Sara tightened her hand on the purse strap and set her mouth. "Fine. This was a cute little joke, Nottingham. I suppose you are Jack?"
Ian shook his head wordlessly, then blinked. "You're date was called away at the last minute."
"Uh-huh." Sara eyed him suspiciously. He stared back at her innocently.
"He is not worthy of you."
"Not your choice, Nottingham."
He bowed his head in admission.
They stood in their own little silence a moment, as the other occupants of the restaurant continued around them. It broke only when Sara sighed. "Great. I'm outta here." She turned to go, but Nottingham's voice stopped her.
"You have not eaten today, Sara."
"How do you..." she let her first question go, knowing full well she wouldn't get any kind of answer she really wanted. "Are you trying to tempt me with food, Nottingham?"
"No, I was asking if you would like to share dinner with me...since you are already here?"
"You set this up!"
"If I am not mistaken, a kiss at the end of the first date signifies that a second date is desirable," Ian replied debatingly, not exactly certain if he was saying something that was better left unsaid. Especially as Sara's face reddened noticeably.
She had no excuse for that kiss, so she shoved it to the back of her mind and crossed her arms. "It wasn't a date. And this isn't either," she said, plopping down into the chair before he could make any more movements to help her. "I'm just hungry." The look she then presented him said he better not try to say otherwise.
Ian nodded obediently and retreated back to his side of the table.
"Nice suit," she glanced at him meaningfully. "Are you trying to tell me something?"
He froze, his hands still on the table. "This is...a good suit," he said lamely.
"As opposed to an evil one?"
...
"Yes?"
"Glad we got that cleared up." Remind me again why I'm doing this. Her stomach growled, so loud she knew that Ian had to have heard it. She didn't look at him, picked up her menu and pretended it was vastly fascinating. Her eyes flashed back up when his hand moved beckoningly. A second later the little man that had escorted her in appeared.
"Are you ready to order an appetizer?"
Sara looked suspiciously to Ian, then back. She wasn't used to the service here being that quick. "Can I get the stuffed mushrooms without crab?"
The little man and Ian said simultaneously, "No." "Yes."
The little man, Jerry, as his nametag read, paused, then nodded. "Yes, Madame."
"Um, okay..." she gave 'Jerry' plenty of time to change his mind again. The longer she stared at him, the more nervous he seemed to become. She said, her eyes flicking to the assassin at her table, "Stuffed mushrooms. No crab."
"I'll have the calamari," Ian added on the heels of her own order.
"Can I get you a drink while you wait, Madame?"
Sara was eager for Jerry to leave. His nervousness was making her nervous. And she was constructing a very disturbing theory as to why he was so interested in their party in particular.
"Daiquiri, strawberry."
"Would that be virgin?"
Sara glanced at him as if he were stupid. "No, that would not be virgin." Nottingham wasn't exactly smiling, but the lift to his mouth made her think he was seriously thinking about it.
"I'll be right back with your drink. Sir, would you like a refill?"
Ian shook his head, causing Sara to notice what she could only guess was some kind of tea. It looked too golden amber to be a soft drink. She wondered in one of those odd moments if he drank any kind of soda.
"So," she said conversationally, her eyes scanning the menu before her though she wasn't really seeing anything at all. "What did you say to our waiter?"
"..."
"He is taking his job very seriously. I was just wondering what it is you said to him."
"I do not understand what you are asking, Sara."
"Sure you don't. You know, threatening someone is considered harassment and is punishable by the law in the state of---What's so funny?"
"Then do you harass me, Sara?"
"...I think it's the other way around, buddy."
"But you threaten me?"
"Well...you deserve it!"
"And that makes it acceptable within the eyes of the law? Or is an exception drawn because you are a detective? Or because you believe that I am...less than honourable?"
Sara did not like the point he was making. She glared at him and wanted to tell him to shut up, but couldn't bring herself to do it. He was questioning her, admitting that he knew she had faults like everyone else. Wasn't that what she wanted? Oh sure, as long as he leaves me on my pedestal. "You've made your point," she spoke grudgingly.
His small smile flattened instantly. "I've offended you. That was not my intent. I—"
She put up a hand to stop further words. "You spoke the truth. There is no need to apologize for that."
Jerry returned with her drink and both their appetizers before more could be said. She and Ian both watched him quietly until he was well out of hearing range. She was certain something had to have been said or done to get things to move so quickly, but truthfully, her impatience was actually thankful.
"I don't know how you can eat that," she remarked off-handedly, stabbing a mushroom with her fork.
Ian looked curiously at his own fork. "Calamari?"
"Squid," Sara scrunched up her nose, forgetting for a moment that she was an adult.
"It's not so bad. It was one of father's favourite foods."
Sara's fork scratched against her plate, she looked across the table at him, but Ian had no words to describe the emotion in her eyes. He didn't think it was just one.
"Have you tried it," he asked, just for the sake of speaking.
"Once, when I was little," and dad was still alive, though she couldn't say that to him. It would have been far too cruel. She did not pretend to understand the relationship he had with Kenneth Irons. She only knew that she had taken something important away from him.
"You should try it again, Sara. I think you would like it now."
"Yeah, right."
He presented her with a piece on the end of his fork, the morsel small and misleading.
She froze at that. It was a stirring and intimate thing to feed someone. A moment better reserved for new and adventurous lovers. Did he realize what he was doing? Glancing past the offered food, she quickly concluded that no, he did not. The eyes he presented her were sincere and uncertain, and innocent of the implications that went along with such a small but monumental act.
The calamari hung there between them, like bait, and she stared at it, wondering if she should allow herself to be reeled in. She knew he wasn't aware. She just wasn't sure if that made it safe. But...
She leaned forward and tentatively parted her lips, closing them over the soft golden bite. Her attention was all on him, ready to bolt if he so much as took it in ways that her mind had already gone. As a result, the movement lasted much longer than it should have. Sitting back, she absently chewed, watching him all the while.
Flavor finally registered with Sara's taste buds, and she gagged, instantly bending forward and covering her mouth with her hands. She snatched up her napkin and tried to discreetly spit the half-chewed 'appetizer' into it. "I told you I didn't like calamari!" she gasped, grabbing her complimentary glass of water and taking several large swallows.
Ian was half up and out of his chair, his dark eyes wide and concerned. But upon hearing her not so delicate bark he settled back down, and even smiled. No, he grinned.
"I will try to remember that," he said, as if his remembering would do any good. It wasn't as if she planned on eating with him again. Ever.
Sara glared at his softly amused face as she very definitely folded the napkin up in her hands and set it aside. Looking around for a fresh one, she leaned over, far--to Ian's guilty delight--and snagged one off a nearby table. Luckily nobody was sitting at it.
"I could have called our waiter to bring you a new one." 'Our', an adjective, referring to two or more people, usually possessive. Our waiter. Sara and I. His mind was quickly thrust into chaos with that little, rather ridiculous thought.
"I just bet you could have," she sniped.
Ian bowed his head for the hundredth time that night, an automatic response to the tone in her voice. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to completely flatten out the small smile he had achieved.
He continued to smile as he started to pick up another slice of calamari, but his fork froze on the down-stroke. He stared at the slender, naked prongs that had just touched her lips, and there was a faint smudge of crimson. Lipstick.
His acute awareness of the significance of the situation, though delayed, still unnerved her. Sara pretended not to notice, pretended not to watch.
Ian finally looked up, but she didn't. He lowered his fork and pressed it slowly through the small piece of seafood, and just as slowly lifted it to his mouth. He stared at her, but her careful green eyes were on the straw of her daiquiri. She grasped it between her index finger and thumb and guided it to her lips.
TBC...
