"Why don't you leave your coat in the limo? We will not have to wait
in line, I can assure you of that. When we're ready to go, I can call
Robert. He will swing back to pick us up. The door is so close you won't
have a chance to get cold." Ian coaxed as the limousine slowed, waiting to
pull up to the entrance of the club.
"No waiting in line, and door to door service? You'd better be careful, I could get used to all this." Sara teased as she shrugged out of her coat and laid it across the seat.
"I can think of worse fates than catering to your every whim," Ian was taken again by the beauty of the playful woman beside him.
"Oh, surely not all of them?" One brow came up to emphasize the innuendo. Sara knew she was flirting shamelessly. He was normally so reserved that she wanted to prick that calm, just so she could see the real man underneath. Judging from the faint flush on Ian's face, she was succeeding in her mission.
"You have but to ask," Nottingham replied softly, shocked at his own daring, for he meant every word.
"I just might." Sara purred, leaning across the white leather interior to trace one finger across his lips.
Nottingham thought his heart would beat him to death. His lips tingled under her touch, and he parted them slightly in subconscious invitation. Sara leaned toward him. She was going to kiss him; Ian just knew it.
"Sir, madam, we have arrived." The voice was slightly tinny, coming as it did from the intercom, but it was enough to ruin the moment. The two jumped apart, each eyeing the smoked glass partition with varying degrees of chagrin.
"Thank you Robert." Ian replied, wondering how long the limousine had been stopped. He hoped it had not been long.
"Were you planning to wear your coat in, after talking me out of mine?" Sara looked at him in surprise as Nottingham reached for the door handle.
"Would you believe I forgot I had it on? I wear it so much that I don't really feel it any more." Ian said ruefully. It was true, as far as it went. The coat was like several pieces of his arsenal, he wore them so much that he only noticed them when he was without the item.
He did not need the wool trench coat for protection from the weather, which didn't bother him until well below freezing, but for concealment of said arsenal. One could hide a multitude of things under its folds, including clothing that was a deviation from his norm. He had needed it tonight, when leaving the mansion, to avoid note. Ian was reluctant to part with it now because he was still not comfortable in this attire, even though Sara had seen him in a great deal less yesterday.
Nottingham had copied his outfit from the clothing he had seen worn on the dance floors of Argentina. White was conspicuous, in his line of work wearing it made you a very easy target. Yet here he was, dressed in an open- throated white shirt with full sleeves.
At least his pants were still black, even if they were more form fitting than he cared for. God help him if he had to kick higher than his chest, the inseam could not possibly withstand the strain. Not that his shoes would fare well either, black dress shoes did not come in a steel- toed, shock-absorbent version. He should know, he'd had reason enough over the years to look for them.
The door of the limo opened and the white-gloved hand of a valet could be seen hovering discreetly, waiting to assist if needed. Ian slid out without help, his clothes were not so constricting as he liked to complain to himself that they were, and reached back to offer Sara his hand.
Sara stared up at him from the interior of the limousine, green eyes gone dark with feminine admiration. Pez knew Nottingham was attractive. She had seen quite a bit of him just yesterday, but this was different. He really should wear white more often. It was very, very flattering. The sharp contrast of light and dark was arresting. Of course, it didn't help her hormones any that the shirt would not have looked out of place on the cover of any of the romance novels she kept stashed under her bed.
Her guilty little pleasure, one she would probably have to be tortured to admit to, was that she liked the happy ever after romances. The larger than life heroes, the change in locale and time were miles away from the world she lived in, and it was fun to visit when she needed to unwind.
To be honest, there were some great sex scenes in there too. Sara had a feeling she knew whose face she was going to be picturing the next time she read one. All she needed to do was imagine his hair, which was pulled back in a tail at the base of his neck, let loose to fall around his face to complete the vision. Of course, with it tied back there was nothing to distract from the strong jaw, high cheekbones, intense brown eyes, and lips made for kissing.
"You look incredible." Sara managed, after licking her own suddenly dry lips. Incredible was one word for it. Hot was another, more appropriate word, but she didn't want to sound juvenile.
"Thank you." Ian said softly, a blush creeping across his cheeks. Nottingham missed the concealment of his beard at that moment, but he had shaved the stubbly new growth in honor of their date. He didn't want to look scruffy, even though his face was cold without the facial hair.
Sara thought the blush was cute, and made a mental note to compliment him more often. She took his hand, glad for the assistance again. Between the shoes and the unfamiliar dress, the chance for a graceful exit from the vehicle unsupported was slim.
A/N: Thelma, good picks. I also love Dexter's Lab. I'll be mature the same day we have an honest politician. (I think I'm pretty safe LOL) Erin and eteria, hope you've enjoyed the new bit. Sirli, no wipeouts planned, unlike my Anita Blake fic. Heh. I am glad you like this version of Ian, and thanks for implying that my stuff is always great. (((Hugs))) *, neat sig. Now I'm wondering who you are though, since I don't recognize the * from the WC board.
"No waiting in line, and door to door service? You'd better be careful, I could get used to all this." Sara teased as she shrugged out of her coat and laid it across the seat.
"I can think of worse fates than catering to your every whim," Ian was taken again by the beauty of the playful woman beside him.
"Oh, surely not all of them?" One brow came up to emphasize the innuendo. Sara knew she was flirting shamelessly. He was normally so reserved that she wanted to prick that calm, just so she could see the real man underneath. Judging from the faint flush on Ian's face, she was succeeding in her mission.
"You have but to ask," Nottingham replied softly, shocked at his own daring, for he meant every word.
"I just might." Sara purred, leaning across the white leather interior to trace one finger across his lips.
Nottingham thought his heart would beat him to death. His lips tingled under her touch, and he parted them slightly in subconscious invitation. Sara leaned toward him. She was going to kiss him; Ian just knew it.
"Sir, madam, we have arrived." The voice was slightly tinny, coming as it did from the intercom, but it was enough to ruin the moment. The two jumped apart, each eyeing the smoked glass partition with varying degrees of chagrin.
"Thank you Robert." Ian replied, wondering how long the limousine had been stopped. He hoped it had not been long.
"Were you planning to wear your coat in, after talking me out of mine?" Sara looked at him in surprise as Nottingham reached for the door handle.
"Would you believe I forgot I had it on? I wear it so much that I don't really feel it any more." Ian said ruefully. It was true, as far as it went. The coat was like several pieces of his arsenal, he wore them so much that he only noticed them when he was without the item.
He did not need the wool trench coat for protection from the weather, which didn't bother him until well below freezing, but for concealment of said arsenal. One could hide a multitude of things under its folds, including clothing that was a deviation from his norm. He had needed it tonight, when leaving the mansion, to avoid note. Ian was reluctant to part with it now because he was still not comfortable in this attire, even though Sara had seen him in a great deal less yesterday.
Nottingham had copied his outfit from the clothing he had seen worn on the dance floors of Argentina. White was conspicuous, in his line of work wearing it made you a very easy target. Yet here he was, dressed in an open- throated white shirt with full sleeves.
At least his pants were still black, even if they were more form fitting than he cared for. God help him if he had to kick higher than his chest, the inseam could not possibly withstand the strain. Not that his shoes would fare well either, black dress shoes did not come in a steel- toed, shock-absorbent version. He should know, he'd had reason enough over the years to look for them.
The door of the limo opened and the white-gloved hand of a valet could be seen hovering discreetly, waiting to assist if needed. Ian slid out without help, his clothes were not so constricting as he liked to complain to himself that they were, and reached back to offer Sara his hand.
Sara stared up at him from the interior of the limousine, green eyes gone dark with feminine admiration. Pez knew Nottingham was attractive. She had seen quite a bit of him just yesterday, but this was different. He really should wear white more often. It was very, very flattering. The sharp contrast of light and dark was arresting. Of course, it didn't help her hormones any that the shirt would not have looked out of place on the cover of any of the romance novels she kept stashed under her bed.
Her guilty little pleasure, one she would probably have to be tortured to admit to, was that she liked the happy ever after romances. The larger than life heroes, the change in locale and time were miles away from the world she lived in, and it was fun to visit when she needed to unwind.
To be honest, there were some great sex scenes in there too. Sara had a feeling she knew whose face she was going to be picturing the next time she read one. All she needed to do was imagine his hair, which was pulled back in a tail at the base of his neck, let loose to fall around his face to complete the vision. Of course, with it tied back there was nothing to distract from the strong jaw, high cheekbones, intense brown eyes, and lips made for kissing.
"You look incredible." Sara managed, after licking her own suddenly dry lips. Incredible was one word for it. Hot was another, more appropriate word, but she didn't want to sound juvenile.
"Thank you." Ian said softly, a blush creeping across his cheeks. Nottingham missed the concealment of his beard at that moment, but he had shaved the stubbly new growth in honor of their date. He didn't want to look scruffy, even though his face was cold without the facial hair.
Sara thought the blush was cute, and made a mental note to compliment him more often. She took his hand, glad for the assistance again. Between the shoes and the unfamiliar dress, the chance for a graceful exit from the vehicle unsupported was slim.
A/N: Thelma, good picks. I also love Dexter's Lab. I'll be mature the same day we have an honest politician. (I think I'm pretty safe LOL) Erin and eteria, hope you've enjoyed the new bit. Sirli, no wipeouts planned, unlike my Anita Blake fic. Heh. I am glad you like this version of Ian, and thanks for implying that my stuff is always great. (((Hugs))) *, neat sig. Now I'm wondering who you are though, since I don't recognize the * from the WC board.