Part 7 (1/2)

I could feel my guard slipping more and more with each pa.s.sing minute and I couldn't find it in me to care. He truly seemed like a genuine, normal guy.

Who just happened to have s.e.x with beautiful women for a living.

He pushed the last bite of roasted duck into his mouth and sat back with a contented moan, ”Delicious. The natural jus was the perfect touch.”

And he's a foodie. Who would have thought?

”The Alaskan halibut was to die for as well,” I glanced down at the half-eaten fish and wished there was more room in my stomach for it, ”I should've skipped out on the tempura soft sh.e.l.l crab. I'm afraid I might rip a seam if I try to put anything else in my mouth.”

There was a quick flush of red in his cheeks as the corners of his mouth quirked upward, but he schooled his expression quickly.

”Does that mean no dessert?”

I couldn't tell if he was joking or if he actually felt crushed by my inability to put anything else inside of me.

”By all means, help yourself! Surprisingly, I'm not in a rush to get out of here. I've really enjoyed your company tonight, Porter.”

Something troubled flashed across his face for the briefest of moments before he cranked up the megawatt smile and picked up the dessert menu. I wasn't sure if I had imagined it or not, so I let it slide.

”These are all dude desserts,” he complained, ”I was hoping for something a little more feminine after dinner.”

”What do you mean, 'dude desserts'?” I reached for the menu to see what he was talking about, ”What did you have in mind?” My eyes quickly scanned the menu, judging the desserts fairly generic, before I looked back at him and froze.

”I was hoping for something along the lines of tiramisu,” he reached forward and tenderly lifted my hand from the table, ”it's so hard to find good lady fingers though.” He placed a soft kiss on the very tip of my index finger, ma.s.saging the palm of my hand with his thumbs.

There were flas.h.i.+ng red lights and sirens going off somewhere inside my head, but it felt like someone was holding a pillow over my brain and stifling my ability to reason.

”Exorcism!” I cried, yanking my hand back and picking up my purse.

The look of confusion on his face was both pathetic and comical all at once, but I couldn't risk being around him any longer. The leather seat was probably already soaked and I was convinced that my panties had climbed their way down my legs and rested somewhere around my ankles.

”Thank you for dinner, Porter,” I said as I rose to my feet, ”but I have to go now. I have a-” what did I have? ”a thing.”

Smooth.

I bolted before he even had a chance to say anything.

I slammed the door of my Audi and tore out of the parking lot like I had just planted a bomb in the women's bathroom. The two hundred and twenty horses under the hood carried me from zero to sixty in about seven seconds. It still wasn't fast enough. Nothing short of a jet engine could put enough s.p.a.ce between Porter Hale and my unwieldy s.e.x drive.

I could still feel my heart hammering in my chest as my brain recounted the way his lips had felt on my skin. The gentle brush of flesh on flesh had flooded my body with heat and sent my brain into short circuit mode. My face was flushed, my clothes felt too tight, and I was positive that my v.a.g.i.n.a would explode at any moment.

It wasn't until the red and blue lights flashed behind me and I heard the short quip of the police siren that my body came cras.h.i.+ng down from the endorphin high I had been riding. I glanced down at the speedometer and swore as I put on my turn signal, let my foot off the gas pedal, and made my way over to the right hand shoulder of Wils.h.i.+re Boulevard.

”Any idea how fast you were going, Miss?”

Sixty-eight.

”I'm not sure officer. I was just keeping up with the flow of traffic.”

He raised an eyebrow at me and held out his hands for my license and registration. ”What's the rush?”

My seventy-two year old grandmother fell down three flights of stairs and broke both hips.

”I'm running a bit late for a meeting downtown and let myself get carried away I guess.”

”Stay put and turn off your car.”

f.u.c.k.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and watched him as he climbed back into the driver's seat of his patrol car to run my registration.

With today's technology, I still can't figure out why the h.e.l.l that part of the ticketing process always takes so d.a.m.n long.

There's nothing worse than sitting on the side of the road with police lights flas.h.i.+ng behind you and the rest of the world gawking like you're in a zoo. I always have the overwhelming urge to flip off the pa.s.sers-by as they slow down to rubberneck. Not every arrest in Beverly Hills is an Olsen twin DUI, after all.

A ma.s.sive black Land Rover pulled up along side me, travelling even slower than the rest of the cars that had pa.s.sed, before pulling up against the curb in front of me.

”You've got to be f.u.c.king kidding me,” I couldn't believe someone had actually stopped. If it was a paparazzi looking for his next breaking story I was going to lose my s.h.i.+t.

Then Porter Hale stepped out of the SUV and started toward my car.

There was a brief moment that I considered turning my car back on and gunning it. Vehicular Manslaughter is only a misdemeanor in most cases and, with a good lawyer, I probably wouldn't even get the maximum sentence of one year.

He walked right past my door and up to the police cruiser.

I watched the two of them in my side-view mirror as I crushed the steering wheel in an iron grip.

What the h.e.l.l does he think he's doing?

I waited for the cop to just pull out his gun and shoot him, but it never happened. Instead, he got out of the cruiser laughing and shook the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h's hand!

It took every ounce of my willpower to stay seated in my vehicle. I wanted to storm back there in punch Porter right in his big, dumb mouth.

The two of them walked back toward my car like old friends and I tried my best to school my features back into the late-but-innocent look of panic I had managed to pull off when handing over my paperwork.

The officer handed me my license and registration with barely a glance in my direction.

”You make sure to keep her behind you the rest of the way to that meeting, Mister Ruff. Try to keep it under the speed limit.”

They shook hands and Porter thanked him with a megawatt smile that would have set my panties on fire in any other setting.

”I just saved you a five hundred dollar ticket,” he said from the side of his mouth as he waved to the officer, ”You're buying dinner next time.”

Porter turned and walked back to his Land Rover without so much as a backward glance.

He waited for the cop to drive off before pulling away from the curb and accelerating through the intersection. He made a left two blocks down the road and disappeared from my sight.

I sat there in shocked silence and stared into the distance after him.

Not only had he managed to smooth talk his way into getting me out of a ticket, but he'd also managed to nail down a second date, if I wasn't mistaken.