Promiscuous. R. Moreen Clarke

      Marshall punched the number on the back of the card into his cell phone as soon as he got back into his car. Deandra answered on the third ring. “Would you care to join me for a late dinner?” he asked.

      “I’d love to,” she replied, and pumped her fist in the air, mouthing a silent and enthusiastic yes! “I’m still at the gallery,” she offered.

      “Give me fifteen and meet me outside,” he replied easily.

      Deandra pouted, but immediately thought better of complaining. She wanted to “be seen” with Marshall by the other movers and shakers in the crowd. She didn’t want to jump into some mysterious car curbside like a common hooker. “Oh, okay. I’ll see you soon,” she answered sweetly. She had plenty of time to make a lasting impression on Mr. James. It was best to go along with his game plan for tonight.

      True to his word, he pulled up in front of the gallery fifteen minutes later. Deandra took note of the pristine silver CL500 Mercedes-Benz coupe he drove, and smiled inwardly. Excitement rushed through her veins. Marshall James was a big fish, probably the biggest one she’d baited so far. She would have to be very careful to stay on top of her game.

      Marshall alighted from the car and came around to open the passenger door for her. He watched as she demurely sat facing outward and then pulled her long legs into the car. He took note that her smoothly shaven legs were devoid of any hosiery. One less barrier to cross, he mused. Her toes showed evidence of a recent pedicure and were delicately painted with white French-style tips. He closed the door and returned to the driver’s side.

      Deandra easily slipped into the luxurious comfort of the expensive car. Sexy jazz tunes floated from the speakers and enveloped her. This is where I belong, she convinced herself. She smiled brightly at Marshall and leaned back, crossed her legs and slipped off her shoes. The ball was in his court now; she was curious to see what he would do with it.

      He returned her smile, put the car in gear, and eased out into traffic. He was glad he’d called her. It had been a while since he’d spent an evening with a beautiful woman. It was not that opportunities did not present themselves, but he’d been working steadily on a new development and this was the first time he’d gone out socially in a few months. If his mother had not insisted she wanted to be there, he may not have attended the showing this evening.

      Deandra turned in her seat so that she faced him while he drove. She studied his profile—confident and determined. She liked his hands—strong with long, lean fingers that held the steering wheel lightly, but still effortlessly maintained control of the road. She surmised he was a man of action, one who would take what he wanted regardless of the consequences. He hadn’t spoken a word since she got in the car and long silences made her nervous. Sometimes it meant someone was reevaluating a decision they’d made. She wasn’t about to give him time to rethink his decision to call her tonight.

      “So, Mr. James, tell me. What is it that you do?” she asked boldly.

      He smiled. He was certain she already knew what he did. He’d met her type before. They usually had a full dossier on their mark before they made the initial contact. He may have approached her in the hallway, but like a bitch in heat, she’d been sending out pheromones all evening long.

      “A little bit of this and a little bit of that,” he replied evasively. He watched as an expression of mild annoyance crossed her face ever so quickly. Before she could respond, he added, “And what is it that you do, Miss Morgan?”

      “As little of this and that as I possibly can,” she replied candidly. There was no shame in her game. She knew he was on to her, so there was little use pretending to be something she was not.

      He laughed aloud. “Somehow I knew that about you.”

      “So where are we going this evening?” she asked as she leaned back into the soft leather of the seat.

      “If you don’t mind, I thought perhaps the Lounge at the Ritz would be nice. They usually have a small jazz quartet playing and we can get a light bite to eat,” he suggested.

      “That’s fine with me. I love their spring rolls,” she replied. She wanted to let him know this wouldn’t be her first visit to the Ritz-Carlton. But she wasn’t about to admit that she’d only been there as an event waitress once. She had never actually dined there.

      “Then I certainly hope they’re on the menu tonight,” he said, and smiled warmly at her.

      Jeez, she thought, he had the prettiest teeth she’d ever seen on a man, so even and white. It would be a pleasure slipping her tongue between those pearly whites. A thrill of anticipation caused her to give a little shudder of delight.

      “Are you cold?” he asked, concerned. The little shudder had not escaped his attention.

      “No, I’m fine. Really,” she replied happily.

      A few moments later they were pulling up in front of the Palm Beach Ritz-Carlton. A valet hastened out to the car and another opened her door to assist her from the vehicle.

      Marshall collected his receipt and joined her. He placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her into the lobby of the hotel. He directed her toward the Lobby Lounge, where they were greeted by a hostess and promptly seated. Marshall ordered a martini and the same for her.

      “Looks like your spring rolls are on the menu tonight,” he remarked after perusing the menu for a few moments.

      “That’s perfect. I’ll have that.” She smiled and placed her menu on the table. She folded her hands in front of her on the table and gazed around the lounge.

      I belong here, she thought.

      Their drinks arrived and he ordered the spring rolls for her and calamari. While they waited for their food to arrive, he had an opportunity to really study Deandra. Yes, he had seen her most of the evening, but now he had the luxury of viewing her with a discerning eye. What he saw was an undeniably beautiful woman with a voluptuous, well-toned body. Her long hair was freshly washed and well kept, as were her nails and toes. She smelled delicious, from an expensive fragrance he couldn’t quite recall the name of, although he was sure he smelled it before. Her demeanor intrigued him most. She had an edge about her—an edge that simmered beneath the surface of a highly polished veneer. The edge of someone who’s fighting hard to reach a goal that’s just beyond their grasp. She hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she did a good job of faking it.

      Deandra wondered how the evening was going to end. She’d wanted to be here with the infamous Marshall James, and he was everything she’d imagined and more. He was handsome, refined, and a gentleman. She knew instinctively that he planned to bed her before the night was through, but she wasn’t looking for a one-night stand. She wanted to ensure there would be other nights like this, and considered it might pay for her to hold out a little now for a greater reward later on. Despite her own physical desires, she might have