“Well, fill me in on the details,” he said with a smile fixed on his face.

She began describing her mother’s plans for their fundraiser, but I noticed that while he nodded as if he were listening, he seemed distracted, and he kept looking at something or someone over her right shoulder. I followed his gaze but all I saw were the journalists and photographers questioning people who were leaving. Miss Flirty and Mr. Greasy were still there, and still standing next to each other. Maybe they were from the same tabloid.

“Will you be coming to my mystery weekend as well?” he asked, still seeming distracted.

“Several of us from The Justice Project will be there,” she answered, giving him a stony look.

“You’re an attorney with Braden’s practice, Mark?” Gerard asked, now paying attention to me.

“Yes, we’ve been friends since law school,” I answered.

“Well, you and Beth make a striking couple,” he commented. “Perhaps there’ll be another Pierce family celebration soon.” He patted me on the arm and Beth and I smiled politely as if everyone on their second date wanted to hear people hint about future wedding plans. No pressure.

Eventually, he moved on to other guests, and we moved back inside. We hit the buffet line, filling plates of food and finding a place to sit, where we enjoyed some lively jazz accompaniment as we ate.

“I’m sorry about the questions and the hints. I know it’s weird for reporters to ask about wedding plans when we haven’t even had sex yet,” she said, popping a grape into her mouth. Lucky grape.

“By tomorrow that won’t be an issue anymore.” Thank you God.

“Let’s finish this and get out of here,” she said, letting out a deep breath.

“Sounds good to me,” I answered enthusiastically. I had planned this night out and I was ready to rock. “When we get to your place why don’t you grab some clothes for tomorrow and change into something more comfortable.” And more easily removable, I added mentally.

“Okay,” she said giving me a look that went straight to my dick.

“When we get back to my place, I’ll change, and then we can maybe dance? I really liked dancing with you.”

“You know, for someone without a lot of dating experience, you’re doing a really good job.”

“Good. Because I want this to be a night we’ll remember. Now we need to call Louis or I’m going to re-examine my position on fundraiser trysts, and that’s probably not a great idea.”

Chapter Eleven

Beth

Louis brought the car around, and we got into the backseat. Mark rested a hand on my leg, and traced a path much like the one I had traced at O’Malley’s. I swear that if Louis didn’t work for my father, I would have put the divider up and suggested some limo sex for real. I was dying to at least make out but I had known Louis since I was a kid. It would be like making out in front of my uncle. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot of traffic and we were back in the city in no time. Louis dropped us off, and Mark and I went up to my apartment.

He waited for me in the living room while I went into change. I decided to be daring. I found a light, loose cotton mini dress and I slipped it over my head without a scrap on underneath. I found a decently comfortable pair of strappy heels, and with some moisturizer on my legs, and a dab of Jour d’Hermès, on my pulse points I was done.

I did toss some undies in an overnight bag along with some comfy clothes, make-up and necessary toiletries, and I made sure to take my pill. When I came back into the room Mark was examining a painting on my wall. He turned around and his eyes went to my legs.

“That’s one of mine,” I said, wondering what he thought of the explosion of color.

“I know I recognize it,” he said, surprising me. I was about to ask him how when I was distracted. “You look great,” he said letting his gaze travel lazily back up to my eyes, and walking over to kiss me softly on the lips.

“Thanks.” I smiled thinking about how he would react when he found out I wasn’t wearing anything underneath my dress. He took my hand and we left.

When we got to the parking garage, he led me to his car and deactivated the alarm. I confess, I paused to ogle for a moment. That was one hot car.

“This is a classic Karmann Ghia,” I said, lightly running my hand over the hood. “The Karmann Ghia is like the coolest car ever made, and it’s in beautiful condition. What is this, a 1970?” He didn’t reply so I looked up. He was staring at me with a funny look on his face.

“1971,” he answered, still looking at me strangely.

“Are you okay?” I asked, wondering if he was suddenly feeling ill or something.

“Yeah. I’m good. I’m great. I’m just… Let’s go.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were back at his place. I knew he had recently moved, but I hadn’t realized that he had moved into a renovated warehouse in the hip Northern Liberties neighborhood. I was immediately in love with his place. It had bare brick walls and hardwood floors. There was a circular wrought iron staircase leading to a loft overlooking the living room, a modern kitchen underneath the loft was done in black and chrome and the fireplace was made of dark wood.

It was what was hanging over the fireplace that made freeze in my tracks. It was one of my paintings. I had been lucky enough to get a place in a few local gallery showings. This one had been shown a couple of months ago. Like the one in my apartment, it was an abstract explosion of color, but this had words incorporated into the design “art” “music” “live” “breathe” “desire” and “experience.”