A/N: Thank you Amehhh, Guest, JaquesRiddle, Christineoftheopera, Mad Hatter Massacre, SlytherinHolmes, gUest, azure, EmilyEverlasting, ilypopxtart333, Nina the Keyblader Mistress, GyreHost, Turtle Kid the Woolgatherer, fanfic authoress and ForTheWriting for your reviews. :D
I really struggled with this chapter, and have no idea why. I hope it comes through okay. Enjoy!
The Curious Misunderstanding
Chapter Eight
/
The car pulled up at exactly 6:55 pm, just as I had been checking my makeup in the foyer mirror for the umpteenth time, and as I heard the opening and closing of the driver's side door outside, my stomach began to do flip-flops of great excitement. Before Sebastian had a chance to come up the steps and announce his presence, I charged out the door, mindful of my heels on the steps; he stopped just as he had come around the car, and gave me a small but polite smile.
"Hello Sebastian," I said as I carefully made my way down the steps and click-clacked towards him.
"Good evening," he said in greeting, tipping his chin just slightly.
"Where are we going tonight?" I asked, stopping in front of him before he had the chance to reach over and open the door for me. His smile disappeared as I held open my coat and presented my dress for him. I looked down my front and then back up at him, chewing on my painted bottom lip. "Am I dressed properly?"
As per Mrs. Penslivy's suggestion, I had spent the better part of the day scouring the shops for the perfect dress. I had tried on so many in a variety of colours, all with the help of the shop girls who had been so sweet about my excitement for the date that they had been more than accommodating. After an eternity, I had decided on a solid dark blue knee-length with one shoulder, and when I got it home and completed the ensemble with Mrs. Penslivy's diamond drop earrings, a glittery bracelet, black heels, and a black clutch, I was rather pleased with the results. But in anticipation of Sebastian's arrival, I had become more and more paranoid that I wasn't dressed fancy enough, or perhaps too fancy, and that I'd somehow end up making a fool of myself and embarrassing Jim all at the same time.
But Sebastian gave me a very quick once over, enough that I could see he was taking in my appearance seriously and not creepily, and when he met my gaze once more, he gave me a much more prominent smile. "You look very nice."
I let out a deep sigh of relief, taking that as a sign that if Sebastian thought I looked nice then surely Jim would think I looked nice too. I knew Sebastian would have told me immediately if I should consider changing anything to do with my outfit, but he seemed pleased and I let myself relax a bit.
"Thank you," I said, smiling in gratitude.
He leaned over and opened the back door for me and stood back as I got inside, waiting until I had the folds of my coat inside and my clutch safely in my lap before he closed the door behind me. I fastened my safety belt as Sebastian rounded the car, got into the driver's seat, and started it up.
We drove, for the most part, in silence. I fidgeted in my seat, happy with Sebastian's approval for the outfit, but I couldn't stop checking my makeup with my compact mirror, or playing with the clasp on my clutch, or wiggling my feet. I was excited to see Jim, so excited that I had barely gotten any sleep the night before and had been straight out the door as soon as the shops opened. I had barely eaten anything during the day because I was sure we were going to be enjoying an exquisite meal. I had been so completely unable to concentrate on anything else during the day that I hadn't bothered opening my books, or even looking at my computer. Today had been all about tonight, and here it was at last, and I was so excited I couldn't sit still.
We drove for a long time until we were long past Earls Court, and we pulled down a quiet little street far off the main roads. I looked out the window at the blocks of flats and shops that had closed for the evening, and wondered just exactly where we were going. But it wasn't long until Sebastian pulled the car up to the curb on one of these little vacant streets in front of what looked like a tiny little hole-in-the-wall restaurant with no sign in front, yet the windows were all lit up. I frowned as Sebastian got out of the driver's seat, wondering if maybe he had made a mistake, and when he opened the door for me and I climbed out, I looked at the little place and then looked to him. "This is the place?"
Sebastian smiled a little as though he fully understood my confusion, and he looked at the restaurant. "One of his favourites."
I followed Sebastian towards the door and walked through when he held it open for me. My hands gripped my clutch painfully as I went in and expected to see Jim right away, waiting for us to arrive. Instead, I was met with the smallest dining room I had ever been in, barely large enough to fit a dozen tables; but I couldn't help looking around in awe. It was so supremely elegant, with stuccoed walls that created a golden haze from the candles on the tables, which were adorned with perfectly pressed cream tablecloths, gleaming silverware, and the most beautiful crystal glasses I had ever seen. Against the far wall was the open kitchen, where I could barely see two or three chefs working away.
The dining room was empty; though the tables had been set for full dinner service, the only one that truly seemed ready to receive guests sat directly in front of me, and I guessed that was our table. I took in a deep breath of the delicious smells from the kitchen and looked around the vacant dining room with awe; I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten anywhere that wasn't packed with people. It was so quiet and peaceful that I automatically felt a great sense of calm wash over me.
"May I take your coat?" Sebastian asked behind me.
I snapped out of my daze. "Oh, yes please," I said, and allowed him to take my coat and hang it up on the coatrack by the door, and that was when I heard the very familiar lull of a Dublin accent behind me.
I turned eagerly and beheld Jim, having just wandered into the dining room from the kitchen, speaking with the waiter. But I stood in awe as I listened, for they were both speaking Italian.
I stared at Jim as he spoke fluently and beautifully to the waiter, completely at ease with his words as though he and the waiter were having a friendly chat. I felt all the breath leave my body as I stared at him and listened to his Dublin accent awash in perfect Italian. I could have easily fallen down and died happy in that moment.
The conversation came to a halt when the waiter caught sight of me and quieted, smiling just a little before looking over at Jim, and that's when Jim looked over at me.
As soon as I was met with his dark chocolate gaze, I couldn't help grinning like a fool, but what really brought the colour into my cheeks was how he reacted upon seeing me. His eyes widened a little, his pink lips fell open, and he looked me up and down as though he stood in the presence of a goddess. I averted my eyes from him sheepishly, though completely unable to stop smiling, and Jim said one last thing to the waiter, who disappeared into the kitchen, before he came towards me.
"Hullo," he said quietly, and he took my free hand in both of his and brushed his lips against my knuckles, which of course only made me blush harder. He smiled wide and his eyes positively sparkled in the candlelight. "You look incredible."
"So do you," I said, looking him up and down for a moment. He was clean-shaven with his hair combed back, and he wore a black suit, perfectly tailored to his form as per usual, with a dark slate shirt underneath with the top button undone to show off his creamy throat. He didn't wear a tie, but he looked so beautiful it hardly mattered.
I looked around the restaurant, trying to find some way to draw attention from the fact I was blushing so hard. "This place is amazing, it's so little."
"Yes well, don't let the size fool you," he said as he offered his arm and escorted me the few feet to our table. "This is the best spot in London for Italian food. The Strangozzi al Tartufo Nero is to die for."
He held out my chair for me and as I sat down I was sure I would melt. I could have listened to him speak in Italian forever. "I've never had it before."
"Well," he said, and I felt his hand ghost along my bare arm as he leaned down to whisper in my ear. "That's all about to change."
As soon as Jim sat down next to me, the waiter he had been speaking to came to the table with a bottle and two champagne flutes. He smiled down at me very courteously and put down the flutes, and began to work at the cork.
"So," Jim said as soon as he was settled, and I turned my attention to him, delighting in how close he was. "Tell me about your day so far."
"Oh," I said, setting down my clutch down on the vacant chair next to me and leaning towards him. "Let's see."
I didn't want to give him the impression that I had spent the entire day preparing for that exact moment, so I deliberated for a moment, not looking at him but rather past him into the kitchen.
"It was work for school, for the most part," I fibbed, meeting his gaze and shrugging a little. "Not terribly exciting, I'm afraid."
Jim frowned a little and tutted, almost disapprovingly, and he shook his head. "Miss. Nola, you are going to wear yourself out. You need to take some time for yourself, have a little fun."
I grinned, loving the playful lilt in his voice, and jumped a little as the waiter corked the champagne bottle and set it down. I watched how Jim took the bottle from him and began to pour, instead of allowing the waiter to pour for us, and I don't know why but I was very impressed by the gesture. "What might you suggest for a little fun?"
"I think a glass of bubbly is a good place to start," Jim said as handed me a flute of champagne, which I accepted with a smile. The waiter hurried away into the kitchen but I hardly noticed as I watched Jim pour his own glass, carefully and pristinely, and when he set the bottle down he picked up his flute and held it out towards me. "Well, here's to your university's unfortunate malware problem."
"Unfortunate indeed," I said with a laugh, and we raised our glasses.
The champagne was like a delicious river of gold running down my throat, so smooth that I closed my eyes as I relished the taste. I didn't even want to think about how expensive it was.
"So," I said as I cast a glance around, feeling it was probably inappropriate to just gawk at him all night. "How long have you been coming here?"
"Since forever," Jim said, setting down his champagne flute. "I'm quite impartial to pasta, you see."
"Is it always this quiet?" I asked, looking at the vacant tables sitting around us.
"Only when their very best customer asks that he and his guest be left completely alone," Jim said, and when I looked over at him in shock, he only smiled as though he was perfectly aware of what a grand gesture it was.
But I didn't even know what to say in response to that. It would have cost him a small fortune to keep the restaurant vacant on a weeknight. I was sure that if I was beyond losing myself in his eyes, I would have felt rather uncomfortable.
"I've taken the liberty of arranging the menu with the chef," Jim said, and then he considered me carefully. "I hope that wasn't too presumptuous."
Something so forward would have really irritated me if I had been with anyone else, but when Jim did it, it felt more like a thoughtful, romantic gesture. But I shrugged a little and spun my champagne flute idly by the stem.
"I suppose that's fine," I said, looking up at him with a smile to show him I wasn't irked in the least. "You're lucky you're so charming."
He smiled, but then it seemed as though another thought had occurred to him, once that was much more serious. "I don't suppose you have any food allergies I should be aware of?"
I couldn't help but laugh; the look on his face was akin to that of a little child afraid he was about to get in trouble. "None that I know of."
The waiter appeared carrying a tray of olives, bruschetta, and sliced pieces of baguette with oil for dipping. He set it down on the table and then hurried away, as though not wanting to disturb us. My mouth watered as I topped a piece of baguette with bruschetta and couldn't believe the burst of flavour on my tongue as I took a bite. It was heavenly.
"Did you know," Jim said, preparing his second piece of baguette. "That bruschetta can actually be traced back to Ancient Rome?"
I raised my eyebrows in expectation, though to be honest I wasn't at all surprised. "Really?"
He nodded. "Long has it been custom for olive growers to dip bread into their freshly-pressed oil to test for taste and consistency."
I couldn't help but grin; the man was smouldering, but he could be positively adorable when he wanted to be.
"Well, that certainly is fascinating," I said, sarcastically.
He gave me a shifty-eyed side look with his chocolate brown eyes and smiled as though he knew I was making fun of him.
"What, pray tell, has brought on this cheek recently?" He asked, his voice light and inquisitive. "Not that I'm complaining."
I shrugged. "Maybe this is who I really am and you're just now seeing it."
"Hmm, no," he said, shaking his head and swallowing a bite of his bruschetta. "I happen to be an excellent judge of character. I think you're being cheeky because we're alone and you know you can get away with it."
"But we're not alone," I said, looking into the kitchen where we could easily see the chefs bustling away. "Not really."
"Point taken," Jim said, sipping his champagne and eying me warily. "So what might you do when we are all alone, Miss. Nola?"
I couldn't help but grin; there were quite a few things that entered my mind right then, but none that I would be comfortable sharing with him in a fairly open place. Instead, I followed his lead and picked up my champagne, smiling into my glass.
He sighed dramatically, but there was still that playful look in his eye. "Really, cheeky and now coy? What on earth am I to do with you?"
I can think of a few things, I damn near said aloud, but luckily the waiter approached with a big bowl of steaming pasta, and my stomach started to grumble just by the smell. But as he set down the bowl between us, I was surprised by what I saw: thick, black pasta tossed with tomatoes, oregano, and pieces of what looked like unfried calamari. It was topped with a thick helping of parmesan cheese. It smelled incredible.
The waiter explained in Italian what we were about to enjoy while another waiter slipped in and set down a couple of clean bowls in front of me and Jim. He then proceeded to serve us one at a time, me first, while the head waiter continued to speak in Italian. I didn't have a clue what he was saying, but as I looked down at my bowl I realized I didn't care what it was, really. It just looked delicious and I couldn't wait to dig in.
The head waiter, finally done with his explanation, bowed his head as if to wish us bon appetit and then he went back into the kitchen. Jim watched him go, and as soon as he was safely out of earshot, Jim leaned towards me.
"I don't know about you, but I didn't understand a word of that," he said.
I laughed and took my napkin from its holder and placed it carefully over my lap. "What dish is this?"
"It's squid ink Tagliatelle," Jim said, following suit with his own napkin. "With squid and a white wine tomato sauce."
My mouth started to seriously water as I picked up my fork. "It looks incredible. I've never had squid ink pasta before."
"It can be a little intense," Jim warned, taking a sip of his water. "But I think you'll find this dish quite agreeable."
Agreeable was an understatement. I twirled my fork into the pasta to get a full first bite, and when it hit my tastebuds I couldn't believe how rich and full-bodied it tasted. Compared with the softness of the squid and the taste of tomatoes, the first bite just seemed to melt on my tongue and left me wanting more.
Jim watched me the entire time with a knowing smile. Then he raised his eyebrows at me. "Good?"
"Oh yes," I said, immediately going for more.
The man's tastes were impeccable. Following the squid ink Tagliatelle was a light but delicious minestrone, which served well as a lightening course to prepare for a second round of pasta, a spinach and ricotta cannelloni topped with tomato sauce and more cheese. And just when I was sure I couldn't eat another bite and that my dress was going to stretch out a whole size, the waiters brought us out a bright, glistening salad made with the deepest, greenest vegetables and topped with mozzarella, fresh-ground pepper, and drizzled with walnut oil.
This along with a full menu of wines brought out specifically with each meal; after the champagne came a light white to compliment the white wine sauce in the squid ink pasta, and then with the cannelloni came an oaky, delicious red. Following our salad came a dessert wine served in smaller glasses that was sweet and honey-coloured, and when I finished my first glass I was sure I hadn't drunk that much alcohol in a very, very long time.
That Jim had arranged the entire menu personally with the chef was an attest to his palate and incredible taste, which really impressed me. But the piece de resistance was a small but beautifully put-together piece of Tiramisu, dusted with chocolate, served with whipped cream and an espresso on the side. After the entirety of the meal, it was a delicate, light sweetness that wasn't too heavy and was complimented perfectly with the espresso. When I finished it, I sat back and sighed deeply; I could have died right then and there very full and delightfully content.
"Did you enjoy that?" Jim asked, taking another sip of his wine and smiling at me.
I shook my head and leaned forward to set my elbows on the table, leaning in close to him. "Jim, this meal is quite possibly the best I've ever had."
He set down his glass, smiling as though he was very pleased with himself. "I figured you'd have a taste for Italian."
"How did you figure that?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Your espressos," he said, running his fingers up and down the stem of his dessert wine glass, looking at me with his eyes positively glowing in the low candlelight. "Bold tastes call for bold cuisine."
I smiled, reaching for my own dessert wine and taking a sip. "I suppose that attests to how I was brought up."
"Oh?" Jim asked, with an intrigued look on his face. "Poshly, then?"
I waved a hand at him. "No, no. Not poshly. More stately."
"Stately?" He asked, as though he wasn't sure what I meant.
But I enjoyed it. More so, I appreciated it. So often I felt my own character defined by my father's role, that people only spoke to me if it meant having a chance to speak to him. Jim was the exact opposite: it seemed like he would be delighted to hear all about my family, but only after he'd had a chance to hear all about me first.
"My Dad's a cabinet minister," I said, and watched the surprise catch in his expression. "Mark Kross, you might have seen him on the telly."
After a moment of looking very surprised, he nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe I have. Well, imagine that."
I sipped my wine. "Things were very stately in the house growing up."
"And yet you didn't follow in his footsteps to politics," he said, sounding somewhat perplexed.
I shook my head. "He used to say that all the time, how great a politician I would have been if I'd gone into the field. But it wasn't for me."
He smiled in understanding. "Yes, it's obvious that your passions and gifts lay elsewhere. Perhaps if I may be so bold, you'll allow me to read some of your work?"
I blinked at him, amazed. Here he was yet again the only man aside from Nigel or my Dad who actually seemed interested in my thesis, it was so surreal to me. Furthermore, he was the first person who seemed so uninterested in what my Dad did and quickly turned the topic of conversation back to focus on me. And yet I couldn't shake the thought that he was using it as a gentlemanly ploy for an ulterior motive, a rather naughty ulterior motive. Not that I was all that opposed, mind you.
And then a thought popped into my head, the thought that I had been looking for a subtle way to invite Jim back to my flat for the evening, and there it was, given to me like a gift at Christmas.
"Well," I said as I bowed my head to hide my coy smile. "Perhaps we could go back to my flat. I could show you some of my work and maybe tempt you with a cup of tea."
Part of me felt like a prat. Here he was making a genuine effort to show me he was interested in what I was doing with my studies, and I was just looking for a way to subtly imply how much I wanted him. But my worries were gone as soon as he picked up on my meaning.
He mused a little in his throat, smiling, and I watched as his gaze dropped down to my lips ever so quickly. "Miss. Nola, you can tempt me with anything you like."
And just like that, or so it seemed, the meal was over. Another couple of sips of our wine, a few more flirtatious banters across the table, and Jim called for the head waiter and said something to him in Italian, very quickly. By the end, the head waiter was grinning, and as I stood from my chair to thank him, to tell him that everything was delicious, the man went red in the face and smiling very widely. He spoke to me in Italian and even bowed his head, not something I was at all accustomed to in a restaurant in London, but I appreciated it evermore.
Jim led me to the front of the restaurant with his hand on the small of my back. He helped me with my coat and as he slipped into his and wrapped his scarf around his neck, we both turned and bade goodnight to the head waiter and the others, who had all seen us off. I couldn't help but find it a little strange, but I was feeling just tipsy enough that at the same time I found it really amusing.
"Wow, you really are their best customer," I said, snickering as we stepped out the door.
"You have no idea," Jim said as he followed me out.
Sebastian was waiting outside with the car, just like clockwork. It made me wonder if he had simply been sitting there throughout the course of the meal, just waiting for us to emerge. He opened the door for me and I greeted him whole-heartedly before slipping into the backseat as gracefully as I could. Jim followed suit and sat close enough to me that his thigh pressed against my own and once more I find myself going dizzy with the smell of him. My body started to go hot all over and as Sebastian pulled the car away from the restaurant, I chanced at slipping my arm into Jim's, which he delightfully accepted.
With barely any words between us and as we drove from Edgware onto Westway, I slipped my foot out of my heel and teased it against Jim's foot and up along his calve. I listened to him take in a breath and I smiled coyly to myself, ever aware of Sebastian in the front seat, able to hear everything. But Jim reciprocated by gently allowing his hand to come down and rest on my thigh, and I pressed my legs closed in excitement. If I had been any more tipsy, and if I hadn't been so aware of Sebastian, I might have chanced to run my fingers through Jim's hair and whisper something naughty in his ear, just to feel him give my leg a squeeze.
The car ride felt like an eternity of burning up under his touch, and finally when Sebastian pulled in front of my flat, I couldn't wait to get out of the car and into the cool, fresh air. Jim let himself out and helped me out by offering his hand. We were grinning and making the most giggliest small talk as we made our way up the few steps to the front door, and I stood with my back against the wall holding my bag in my hands but with little intention of actually getting out my key at that second.
"You know," I said, feeling kind of naughty. "I just remembered my thesis is with my supervisor at school. You won't be able to read any of it tonight."
For a brief moment he gave me a look of such surprise that I was actually taken aback, but then he recovered perfectly by shrugging. "Oh well, next time perhaps. You can tell me all about it over tea."
"Well now here's where it gets very awkward," I said, unable to keep the grin off my face. "I don't think I have any tea, either."
He smiled and raised his eyebrows at me, as though he couldn't believe the cheek. "You are dreadfully unprepared."
"Comes with being a student," I said. "You're not accustomed to entertaining guests."
He looked in through the front door curiously before turning his big brown eyes to me.
"I could do without the tea, I suppose," he said with the slightest lift of his eyebrows and a delightful, inquisitive tone in his voice. "But you still owe me a tour of your flat."
I bit down on my lower lip and looked away. "Ah, well, there's the rub, you see…"
Jim looked at me expectedly, waiting for me to continue with my terms, but I could see the smile playing at his lips. "Yes?"
It was mean, I know, even if I was only teasing - but I knew I had to play a little hard to get and let Jim know that I wasn't it the business of letting just any guy upstairs to my flat after he'd bought me an expensive meal.
"See, I'd invite you up," I said, facing him and crossing my arms over my chest. "But I don't really know you that well."
Jim's eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened in surprise, as though it was a condition he had no knowledge of but was perfectly suited to.
"Oh, well, let's see…" he said in a mocked tone of surprise, and pretended to think for a moment, even looking off into nowhere before he snapped his fingers at me. "I'm from Dublin."
I gasped, though in my tipsy state it would have been more effective if I hadn't giggled immediately after. "Really?"
"I'm a businessman," he said as his second condition, and he gave me a pointed look. "I do fairly well for myself."
I grinned as I reached forward with both hands and ran the flats of my palms along the lapels of his jacket. "The suit speaks to that."
I could practically taste his smile, but I avoided his eyes in an effort to be coy. I ran my fingers along the grooves of his collar and smoothed it down. I could feel the warmth of his breath falling down across my cheeks as he leaned in a little. "And…"
I looked up and was surprised to find him far closer than I thought. I could have planted a kiss right on his lips if I had been so inclined, but in the knick of time I pulled back, returning his lovely smile. "And what?"
"And…" he looked down at my hands on his collar, as though shy of my gaze, before lifting his chocolate eyes up and gazing at me through the curtain of his long black lashes. "I've been thinking about you."
My heart fluttered right up into my throat and I could feel the blush hot in my cheeks. "You have?"
He wet his lips with his tongue and then nodded, bowing his eyes to keep me from seeing his sweet little smile. "Yeah. Quite a lot, actually."
I tried to think of something to say to him in return, something like all I think about is you or I lie awake at night thinking about the next time I'll see you but I was so lost in the glowing darkness of his eyes and the beauty of his features that I couldn't even fathom words, or a coherent thought. In fact, the only thing I found I could do was curl my fingers around the back of his neck and pull him forward, ready to press a kiss into his waiting plush, pink lips-
"Nola!" Came the sing-song voice of Mrs. Penslivy from the other side of the door.
I paused and we both let out little breaths we didn't know we'd been holding in, and when I looked through the glass in the door I could see Mrs. Penslivy standing there smiling, but her expression turn to mortification when she looked to my side and saw Jim.
"Oh…" she muttered, and then she shifted on her feet, obviously not sure whether to leave and give us our privacy or come to the door and let us in. I might have laughed if I wasn't suddenly pulled completely from my happy tipsy state into being far more alert, and a little more than irritated at the interruption. I heard the slightest chuckle in Jim's throat as he leaned in close, as if he meant to press his forehead to my temple.
"Your neighbour?" He asked in a breathy tone whispered sweetly into my ear.
"Landlady," I said a little gruffly, though I smiled as Mrs. Penslivy finally came forward and opened the door; she had a sour look on her face and I didn't want her to feel any worse.
"I'm so sorry, I saw you at the door and thought perhaps you'd forgotten your key," she said as she held the door open for us to come in. I took my hands from Jim and led him inside, knowing there was no way to escape introductions at this point. Jim stood at my side as Mrs. Penslivy closed the door and stood there, smiling awkwardly at the two of us. "I feel awful, I've interrupted-"
"No, not at all, we were just saying goodnight," I said, though as the words left my mouth I wanted to cry. As much as I desperately wanted to take Jim upstairs to my flat and get him out of that suit, I couldn't without Mrs. Penslivy knowing, and even though I knew she'd be very respectful about it, I was mortified at the thought of her being downstairs knowing full well what we'd be doing upstairs. Thereby, I took the safe route, and taking Jim's arm beside me, I smiled grandly.
"Mrs. Penslivy, I'd like you to meet Jim Moriarty," I looked over at him. "Jim, this is my landlady, Mrs. Penslivy."
Jim gave her one of his heart-stopping smiles, and the effect was evident on her face as she shook his hand when he offered it. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Penslivy," he said.
"Oh it's Suzanne, please," she said, grinning from ear to ear; she reminded me of my mother at that moment, and how she might have reacted if I was introducing Jim to her. Mrs. Penslivy looked over at me and gave me a pointed look. "My goodness, Nola, you lucky girl."
I felt the heat burst into my cheeks and I bowed my head to keep them from seeing, but Jim slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me flush against him.
"I'm the one who's lucky. She saved my life, this one," he said, in a low, lovely tone that damn near made me swoon on the spot. I looked up at him, in time to greet his chocolate eyes and sweet smile; he looked down at my lips for a split second and then back into my eyes. "My angel."
I stared at him wide-eyed and feeling as though my legs would give out under me at any time. Both my heart and my crotch throbbed as I felt his fingers play with the material of my coat at my waist.
"Oh," Mrs. Penslivy said, completely unaware of the fire that started between the two of us. "Saved your life?"
I smiled and shook my head, as though to tell her that he was exaggerating. "It's a long story. One for a cuppa."
We stood there for a split awkward moment before she grinned and waved a hand dismissively. "Well, please don't let me hold you up. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Moriarty."
He tipped his chin to her, ever so gentlemanly, and smiled sweetly. "And you as well, Suzanne."
"Goodnight," she said to us both, and then she turned and hurried towards her door. We both watched quietly as she opened her door, went inside, and closed it behind her. Suddenly we were alone again but with this dreaded feeling of an interrupted moment and something of a spoiled evening. But I kept my irritation down, trying not to curse Mrs. Penslivy for her busibodiness. After all, I'd gotten her worked up throughout the day about the date, I couldn't blame her for her excitement.
After a moment Jim started to laugh a little bit, and he turned me back towards the door as though he was about to suggest we get back in the car and go to his place for the night, which I hadn't realized I really wanted until it popped into my head.
"Well she seems quite lovely," he said.
"She is," I said, trying to keep my disappointment from showing. "It's like having another mum downstairs."
"Not at all a bad thing," he said, taking his arm from my waist and turning to face me fully. "Someone to watch over you when times are hard."
"Exactly," I said, but as I looked at him I realized he was turned towards the door but had taken his hands from me, an assured sign that things were not going to progress as much as I had hoped. I bowed my head and cleared my throat to hide a deep frown, but when I looked up at him again I couldn't help but smile. "Thank you so much for a lovely evening, I can't remember the last time I've had such an exquisite meal."
I hated listening to what I was saying; it was as if we'd just met.
"You're very welcome," he said, and he looked over his shoulder at the door, as though he couldn't wait to leave, which made my heart plummet into my stomach. He sighed a little but gave me a delicate smile. "I best be getting back to Sebastian, we have an early morning tomorrow."
I nodded, fake-smiling so much that it was beginning to hurt. "Right."
And that was it, there was the opportunity completely lost.
I was about ready to prep myself for a devastatingly disappointing handshake and a hearty, cordial goodnight, but then Jim stepped into me to kiss my cheek. I went to meet him and was surprised to feel his hand slip between the folds of my coat until he was encircling my waist once more with his arm, bringing me flush into him. My breath hitched a little as I was met with his dizzying smell and felt him press the sweetest of chaste kisses to my cheek, and I hurried to return it as normally as possible.
But then he pulled me tightly to him, quite suddenly, and I reached forward to place my hands on his chest. In the next moment his lips were grazing the shell of my ear.
"Think of me tonight, Nola," he whispered, while his hand slid down along my bum.
My eyes fluttered closed and I damn near moaned aloud as his words sent electric shocks right between my thighs as his hand lingered hotly on me, and I felt his breath sweeping down along my chin for a beautiful, blissful moment.
But then he pulled away, taking his hands and his lips away from my person and leaving me cold and standing alone. I looked after him longingly while he gave me a lovely parting smile before he turned to the door, pulled up the collar on his coat, and walked out into the night.
I stood there like an idiot while my brain screamed at me, Go after him! Invite him back in! Don't be a damned fool! But I could do nothing as I listened to the car pull from the curb and drive away.
And after a moment I was glad that I hadn't gone after him, even if it killed me to watch him go. What impression would he have gotten if I had thrown the door open and dragged him back inside? I had never chased anyone in my life, and I wasn't about to start, no matter what he did to me.
But I did think of him that night. I thought of him three times. And then I knew I was in trouble.
/
