Part 8 (1/2)
Jan thought she heard Diane snort as she rubbed down the bar nearby.
”Now tell me all about yourself.”
”What would you like to know?” Jan said. The woman was her boss, no matter what she might say, and she was also obviously flirting. Jan wasn't sure how to play it.
”Whether you're attached, of course. Surely you must be.”
”No, not attached.”
”That's excellent,” Catherine said, waiting for more. Jan sipped her beer. ”Let me ask you something a little more open-ended, and see if I can get more than five words at a time out of you.”
”You don't like the silent type?” Jan said. That was flirting, she cautioned herself.
”Oh, I do. I'm just so terribly sick of my own voice right now. All those meetings today.”
”Ask away, then. I'll try to help you out.”
Catherine drank more. She may have been tipsy. It was hard to tell from her throaty voice and precise diction. But there was the empty bottle of wine.
”Tell me how you spend your time. When you're not investigating missing persons and the like.”
Jan hated being asked to describe what her life was like. She found it strangely depressing when she put it in words. ”You'll be happy to know that you've inherited a workaholic.”
”You Americans seem to revel in working too hard.”
”I'd say that's one of those myths that isn't based on reality. I see a lot of people who find all kinds of ways to work as little as possible.”
”But you're not one of them. In fact, I suspect you're unlike most people,” Catherine said.
”You've known me less than a day. How could you say that?” Jan turned to her beer.
”I'm sorry,” Catherine said, looking sincerely concerned. ”Did I insult you somehow? I just meant that in the best way. You're clearly, at least to me, a person of integrity. Of all the people I met today at TSI, you're the only one who seemed more concerned about doing the job than keeping a job.”
Jan shrugged. There wasn't much to say to that. They were silent for a moment.
”So go on,” Catherine said. ”You can't work twenty-four seven. Not really.”
Jan sighed. ”Let's see. I work out at the gym.”
”Yes. I can see that you do.”
Where to go with this, Jan wondered. Catherine wasn't shy; that was obvious. It didn't really matter what they were talking about. The words were the thin veneer covering the single question on both of their minds. Would they or wouldn't they have s.e.x?
”And I read. See friends. Drink some.”
”Here's to that.” Catherine beamed. She took up her gla.s.s and touched it to Jan's. ”And here's to a very mysterious woman.”
”I'm not mysterious. I just don't have much to tell you.”
”Yet. I have a feeling we'll be getting to know each other better.”
Jan was usually not much intrigued by obvious flirtation, or by women who came on too strongly. She preferred the feeling of control when she picked a person to pursue. She felt freer to also choose to leave when their time together was up. The fact that Catherine was flirting and coming on to her strongly didn't dampen her interest in the least, which was a first. She worried about that.
”Tell me about yourself,” Jan said. ”Fair's fair.”
Catherine's knees brushed along Jan's thighs as she swiveled her barstool toward her. Jan backed away and sat down.
”Let's see. Raised in London, mum and dad both doctors. Didn't see much of them, but we were happy enough. My sister, Elaine, is married and lives near Brighton, poor thing. I went to Cambridge and did a masters in information technology and economics.”
Catherine seemed to change her mind about what she was about to say and stopped talking.
”Did you go to work for CGS right after school?” Jan asked.
”No, actually. I worked for the government for quite a long time.”
Jan waited for more. She thought Catherine looked a little less sure of herself than she had moments before. She put her hand lightly on Catherine's forearm. She felt it jump.
”You don't have to tell me anything, you know. We're just making small talk.”
”Is that what we're doing?” Catherine asked. ”I was rather hoping it was something a bit more.”
Jan stared at her lips as she spoke, concentrating more on how they looked than what they were saying. They were luscious lips and she watched them curl into a smile ”Tell me what you think we're doing,” Catherine said. She reached over to take Jan's hand.
”A second ago I would have said we were talking. Now I'd say we're playing with fire.” Jan wrapped her thumb around the top of Catherine's hand and lightly rubbed; she could see the little hitch in her breath. Catherine's eyes glittered as she leaned closer to Jan.
”Because I'm technically your boss? I think Americans are much more hung up on what two consenting adults do than even the British. If we were in France, our clothes would already be off.”
Jan looked around the room. ”Well, I'm not French. But I'm not concerned about you being my boss either. Not if you're not. Anyway, you live in London, right?”
”Yes.” Catherine now had a hand on Jan's thigh, matching the rubbing motion Jan was making on her other hand. It had taken nothing more than the sight of Catherine to flip the switch on Jan's libido and start the march of caution out the door. Now she was unbelievably turned on. All that rubbing ”So you'll be gone soon and we can't really get into too much trouble.”
”Well, I'd like to get into a little trouble,” Catherine said.
Catherine leaned in for a kiss. As Jan met her lips her thinking stopped, mercifully, and her tongue found Catherine's. A first kiss was often such an awkward thing. When teeth clanked and heads moved the wrong way and tongues felt more at war than love, Jan often felt her desire slip away. But Catherine's mouth pressed into hers as if precision fit for it; the kiss felt like the flame of a match strikeinstantly flaring and white hot. When Jan pulled away at last, she kept Catherine's face in her hands and whispered, ”My car. Your hotel.”
”Yes. And quickly.”
Catherine was staying at the Ritz-Carlton, an uber-luxury hotel in the heart of Chicago's Magnificent Mile. Jan fought her way through the Friday night traffic on Michigan Avenue, trying to concentrate while Catherine's hand moved up and down her thigh.
”We'll get in an accident if you keep that up.”
Catherine's laugh was musical, like her voice. The cello, the bow, the thrum. Jan began to turn left on Pearson Street, completely missing the sign warning that left turns were on the arrow only. Pedestrians poured into the Pearson crosswalk, stranding her in the intersection as a cavalry of cars barreled toward them on Michigan. Horns erupted as she blocked their pa.s.sage.
Catherine removed her hand. ”Perhaps you're right. I'll restrain myself.”