yay, we finally get to the main course! ^_^
Part Two: Rules of Engagement
Chapter Eight:
Tell Me the Rules of Our Engagement
Tell me the rules of our engagement / Tell me you'll kill me at sunrise / I'll be your captive entertainment / I'll hold the fire in your eyes
~Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton
¤ ¤ ¤
They were saved from more 'conversation' as their main course arrived. Sara watched as Jerry carefully placed their dishes before them, keeping his head down.
"I don't remember ordering," she commented calmly, as if she had no interest in the answer. And she was very interested in the answer.
"I took the liberty of ordering before you arrived, so you would not have to wait long for your food," Ian replied matter-of-factly.
Sara glanced at him sharply, then rolled her eyes. Oh, this should be good. She looked down at the plate that Jerry set before her and blinked.
Very good.
Fettuccine Alfredo with sliced mushrooms and grilled chicken kind of good. Yum. The chicken was that perfect golden brown, and the Alfredo sauce appeared to be at just the right thickness and spice. Sara's eating habits were rather mundane, she liked what she liked and she rarely ordered something she wasn't sure about. Every time she went to an Italian restaurant she ordered the same thing. Her favourite. It appeared that Ian Nottingham knew exactly what that was.
Should bitch at him, but not goin' to. Do it later. Yum.
She lifted her fork with single-minded determination. He hadn't been lying when he said she hadn't eaten all day. She was very hungry, more so now. She had forgotten about it for a little while, but it all came rushing back as the first bite slid against her tongue. She closed her eyes and almost sighed.
When she opened her eyes Nottingham was looking down at his own food appraisingly. Jerry had scampered away again; he seemed to want as little contact with them as possible. That fit her own wants so she wasn't about to complain. She didn't know what Nottingham was eating, but it looked good. Whole breaded chicken breast buried under peppers and mushrooms and some kind of white wine sauce. Fresh garlic, too, she could see the diced cloves hidden among all the red and yellow peppers.
It looked good. Had it been any of her friends she would have leaned over the table and swiped a small piece. They would have probably made threats of stabbing her with their fork, laughing all the while. Sara liked it simple, the same every time she came here. But she always encouraged her companions to order differently, so she could try out different foods without the obligation of actually having to eat them. It was part of the 'restaurant ritual' for her. But she couldn't just sample some of his food.
Could she?
She stared hard at a very succulent slice of chicken completely saturated in white wine and garlic and her mouth watered. She glanced up at Ian, who thankfully didn't just appear to be oblivious, then looked back down at his plate.
"I'll trade you," she said suddenly, licking her lips. A second later she realized she had spoken aloud.
His eyes snapped to her, confused. "Excuse me?"
She brandished her fork and pointed it at his o so delectable dish. "You give me a little of that, and you can have some of mine. Sound fair?" Please please please say yes!
A smile came to his lips, it came so slow that she could actually see it filling his dark eyes with gold warmth. "I don't like Alfredo sauce."
Her eyes widened. He didn't like Alfredo? What was wrong with him?! She pouted. That basically took care of everything she had to trade. Damn it! She wanted some of that chicken! And maybe one of those peppers. Really, was that too much to ask?
"I'll make a deal with you," he speared the chicken, and even the pepper she had been eyeballing, and swirled them both in a heavy dose of the white wine. "This for a drink of that," he nodded his head at the daiquiri that was sitting off to the right of her hand.
She looked at her drink curiously. "It has alcohol in it."
"I know, but only a little. I should be okay, I think. Besides, I like strawberries."
Well well, the big, bad assassin likes strawberries. That's interesting.
He somehow managed to fit a mushroom on the fork as well. It was a very generous portion. He lifted it and wove it back and forth, like a hypnotist with a pocket watch. Her eyes followed it a moment before she blinked and realized he was playing with her. Then she blinked again.
"Does that sound fair?"
It so did. She appeared to consider his compromise, but was really thinking of all the odd events that had to line up correctly, and 'coincidently', to get her to this point. Where she would willingly be eating from Nottingham's plate.
But damn! Did that chicken look good!
She nodded.
He held his fork out to her again, a perfect imitation of what he had done before. Up to the 'innocent' part, that is. His eyes held curiosity and just an edge of heat, and what little innocence that was there wasn't anything that could be mistaken for ignorance. Dare you, if you like, is what he seemed to be saying.
Damn, she had volunteered this time. She thought about reaching out and taking the fork from him, but that would require touching him, and she wasn't sure that would be much better.
He noted her hesitation, but didn't seem hurt or put-off by it. In fact...he seemed to have abandoned his uncertainty and was issuing her a direct challenge.
Okay, no big deal, already did it once. Except, it was a big deal, because once could be called a fluke, but twice...Not to mention, they both were very much aware of the societal intimacy of the act.
What was she supposed to do, say 'no, you might have cooties'? Besides, the atmosphere around them had started to become companionable, and that was oddly pleasant. Why should she ruin it? Why should she let her hang-ups about him ruin it?
She leaned forward, but couldn't maintain eye-contact. Instead she stared at the table and delicately...missed her mouth. Well, almost. He had moved the fork at the last second so she wouldn't embarrass herself, but that didn't prevent a thick line of white wine from tracing over her chin.
She reached up in an automatic gesture to wipe it away, but he was already there, the soft pad of his thumb catching the drop and his fingertips resting in a trail of heat down her cheek and jaw. The movement was so quick that she barely had time to react. She stared at him wide-eyed as he drew his hand back. She hadn't been expecting such a bold move on his part, but she couldn't really bitch about it because it was 'within the rules'.
However, bringing his thumb to his own mouth and licking the sauce away was breaking those 'rules'. Or at least, it should have been.
Don't ever do anything like that again, but the words wouldn't come out of her mouth. He looked up at her and she focused on her hands, and the napkin she was suddenly gripping between them. She lifted it and wiped absently at her chin.
Don't ever do anything like that again, she still couldn't force the words out. She had come to the conclusion that maybe it was safer not to say anything at all, and pretend like he hadn't just pressed the boundaries of where she was willing to go with him.
Whatever, put it behind you, she instructed. She set her napkin down, then picked up her drink. She started to take a sip, then remembered it was time to fulfill her part of the bargain. She frowned at her straw, but pushed the entire glass out at him, in hopes that he would take the hint and take it from her. But that idea was wiped away as he instead leaned forward and she was forced to hold the glass up as he drank from her straw. Her straw.
Her cowardice made her stare him directly in the eyes, and she forced defiance to the surface of her glare. He pulled back gracefully, but she noticed that he had taken a rather large drink. In the back of her mind, behind all the little voices asking her what the hell was going on and why she didn't leave, or at least kick him under the table, there was one lone voice. It was curious about the alcohol and how he would react to such a small dose of it. Hopefully not too badly.
"Mmm," he said, "I love strawberries."
Me too. Never gonna tell you that, though. My god, I should just leave now. But she calmly started on her food again, a perfect picture of serenity and ease.
She paused as a thought struck her. Well, that was useless. She couldn't remember how his food had tasted! She had been too shocked! All that angst with nothing to show for it!
Setting her teeth she observed him from beneath her mascara-thickened eyelashes, measuring something out in her mind. She tossed out the idea of asking for a bite, and decided it was too risky to offer another trade. Pursing her lips, but not so obviously, she finally settled on a path of action.
Shouldn't play with dangerous men, but oh well. "What the hell is that," she hissed, flinging her left hand out to an area somewhere behind him. Her fork was ready in her right hand.
Ian instantly turned, his hand moving nonchalantly, though she knew he was probably going for a weapon of some sort. She wasted no time, stabbed a piece of chicken on his plate and shoved it into her mouth as fast as she could. She only had seconds to spare.
A confused look flitted over his face as he turned back, then looked down at his plate. One of his eyebrows rose.
Sara was pushing her fork around her pasta innocently. She looked up, still chewing, and smiled just as innocently.
A second eyebrow went up.
Eh, shouldn't have smiled at him, now he definitely knows something is up. Oh! Yum! I wonder if he'll fall for that trick again!
Of course, Ian was looking down at his tea, trying very hard not to grin. Sara had stolen food from him, thinking he couldn't hear her fork scratch against his plate as she did so. It was too cute. Father would have sneered and called such games at the dinner table bad manners. But he was not his father, and he...found it endearing. He wondered if she would try it again.
TBC...
