Tinsel Town Read Online Free Page A
he’d be yanking her underneath the table and taking her right here.
And she’d want it -- he would make damn sure of that. She would be begging him, pulling at him, opening herself to him while he -- What the hell was wrong with him? He was sitting here, trying to justify making love to a woman under a table in his favorite restaurant. Not that the idea didn’t have merit, but the first time they made love, he wanted it to be private.
“Your wine.”
He looked up to find the waitress there. With a perky smile in place, she set down two wine goblets and placed the chilled bottle at his elbow. She uncorked the top efficiently then poured just a bit into his glass for him to taste. It was a chauvinistic ritual, he supposed, but one he enjoyed. He was determined that tonight would be perfect, and the wine was a large part of that plan.
“It’s excellent,” he said, and smiled as the waitress filled both glasses. He waited until she’d disappeared again to lift his goblet. “To pretty redheads who make beautiful music.”
Kate gave him a bemused look, but gently clinked her glass against his. She took a healthy sip before setting the wine aside. He watched as her fingers began to fidget, as if they were trying to find an outlet for her anxiety.
“You know I play?” she asked quietly.
“I’ve seen you leaving the apartment with your violin case and music folder. Whenever you’re in your black dress, it usually coincides with an Elizabeth Falls Orchestra performance.”
She nodded, took another sip of her drink. “I play violin, third chair.”
“That makes you third in charge of the section. You must be very good.”
“You know how that works?”
Tinsel Town
19
He chuckled and nodded. “I was in the band in high school; trumpet, never made it past fourth chair.”
“Ah, a brass player. I should have known.” Her smile was quick and potent, the flash in her whiskey-colored eyes stoking his fire higher. “Brass players are always chasing girls around.”
“Guilty. To brass players and the girls they chase around.”
This time there was no hesitation; she saluted him with her glass and sipped. Asking about pieces of her life, finding out facts that no paper could have told him, he continued to talk to her while they waited. She had an agile mind, quick to think, but careful in responding. She also had a strange sense of humor and irony, the same kind that he did, actually.
Over their food, they talked more, while he was sure to keep her wine glass filled. He was careful, keeping her relaxed with the alcohol but not too close to being drunk. Just enough so that she wasn’t too shy, but not so much that her judgment was impaired. He had plans, and he didn’t want to be the one to ruin them.
“So, your sister is getting married?”
She forked up a piece of spumoni and gave him a long, suffering look. “My younger sister. My perfect younger sister. My perfect older sister has already snagged her man.”
He weighed her words but found no real bitterness there. “Who says they’re perfect?”
“The world,” she replied, and her mouth tipped into a smile. “Not that they’ve ever flaunted the fact. Actually, they’ve been great sisters.”
“The world doesn’t think you’re perfect?”
“No, thank God. I mean, could you imagine what kind of pressure that has to be? Wait, look who I’m talking to. Of course you know.” She took another drink, ate another bite of dessert. “I suppose there were times I wondered what it would be like if I had been born with blonde hair and a cute little figure. But I never resented them because they were.
20 Flesa Black
Besides, I don’t really have the personality to be a cheerleader, or student body president, or even the college equivalent of those. Which they were, of course. I was always happier playing music, learning languages, reading books…”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Sitting back, he sipped his wine. “I was a
And she’d want it -- he would make damn sure of that. She would be begging him, pulling at him, opening herself to him while he -- What the hell was wrong with him? He was sitting here, trying to justify making love to a woman under a table in his favorite restaurant. Not that the idea didn’t have merit, but the first time they made love, he wanted it to be private.
“Your wine.”
He looked up to find the waitress there. With a perky smile in place, she set down two wine goblets and placed the chilled bottle at his elbow. She uncorked the top efficiently then poured just a bit into his glass for him to taste. It was a chauvinistic ritual, he supposed, but one he enjoyed. He was determined that tonight would be perfect, and the wine was a large part of that plan.
“It’s excellent,” he said, and smiled as the waitress filled both glasses. He waited until she’d disappeared again to lift his goblet. “To pretty redheads who make beautiful music.”
Kate gave him a bemused look, but gently clinked her glass against his. She took a healthy sip before setting the wine aside. He watched as her fingers began to fidget, as if they were trying to find an outlet for her anxiety.
“You know I play?” she asked quietly.
“I’ve seen you leaving the apartment with your violin case and music folder. Whenever you’re in your black dress, it usually coincides with an Elizabeth Falls Orchestra performance.”
She nodded, took another sip of her drink. “I play violin, third chair.”
“That makes you third in charge of the section. You must be very good.”
“You know how that works?”
Tinsel Town
19
He chuckled and nodded. “I was in the band in high school; trumpet, never made it past fourth chair.”
“Ah, a brass player. I should have known.” Her smile was quick and potent, the flash in her whiskey-colored eyes stoking his fire higher. “Brass players are always chasing girls around.”
“Guilty. To brass players and the girls they chase around.”
This time there was no hesitation; she saluted him with her glass and sipped. Asking about pieces of her life, finding out facts that no paper could have told him, he continued to talk to her while they waited. She had an agile mind, quick to think, but careful in responding. She also had a strange sense of humor and irony, the same kind that he did, actually.
Over their food, they talked more, while he was sure to keep her wine glass filled. He was careful, keeping her relaxed with the alcohol but not too close to being drunk. Just enough so that she wasn’t too shy, but not so much that her judgment was impaired. He had plans, and he didn’t want to be the one to ruin them.
“So, your sister is getting married?”
She forked up a piece of spumoni and gave him a long, suffering look. “My younger sister. My perfect younger sister. My perfect older sister has already snagged her man.”
He weighed her words but found no real bitterness there. “Who says they’re perfect?”
“The world,” she replied, and her mouth tipped into a smile. “Not that they’ve ever flaunted the fact. Actually, they’ve been great sisters.”
“The world doesn’t think you’re perfect?”
“No, thank God. I mean, could you imagine what kind of pressure that has to be? Wait, look who I’m talking to. Of course you know.” She took another drink, ate another bite of dessert. “I suppose there were times I wondered what it would be like if I had been born with blonde hair and a cute little figure. But I never resented them because they were.
20 Flesa Black
Besides, I don’t really have the personality to be a cheerleader, or student body president, or even the college equivalent of those. Which they were, of course. I was always happier playing music, learning languages, reading books…”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Sitting back, he sipped his wine. “I was a