This work of adult fiction includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No offense to any person, living or dead, is intended. Roche Laboratories is used as the pharmaceutical house in this story because it was the first one that popped up in our Google search. No disrespect is intended or implied by the use of their name. © Reagan Kavanagh and Diana Walker 2007.

Author's Note: If you’ve not yet read TEMPTATION, go back and do so before reading this. If you HAVE read Temptation, you may want to skip down to the §§§ sign and begin reading there, as it’s after that the story begins to change, both subtly and directly. In addition, if you'd like to hear the song playing whilst Mr. Risk Management drives home at the end of this segment, clicking the link will play it immediately with no wait to download as has occasionally been the case in the past. Reags




My name is actually Helen, but no one in Dallas calls me that; I did a legal name change to Helené as soon as I got to Texas. Helen’s the name I was given when I was born 32 years ago in Ash Flat, Arkansas. I got through high school and the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville, then high-tailed it out of the sticks and headed to Big D.

The first thing I did after finding an apartment in Dallas was to sit down with a Dr. Pepper and a copy of the Yellow Pages. I needed a diction coach and some polish. I was smart, and I knew that. You don’t come out of the University of Arkansas with a 4.0 GPA and a Magna cum Laude in Molecular Biology unless you have a lot more than two neurons firing.

That was all well and good, but no one’s going to pay attention to you if you sound like a hillbilly every time you open your mouth, or you can't tell which water glass is yours at a formal dinner. One of the local hotels offers an ongoing class in social graces for business executives. I wasn’t an executive yet, but I damned well intended on being one some day in the foreseeable future. I’d signed up and didn’t miss a class. When it was over, I not only knew which water glass was mine, I knew which fork to use and when. I knew the difference in wine glasses, and now I raised my eyebrow at those who didn’t.

Finding a job hadn’t been hard; I left school with an offer from the biological research division at Southwestern Medical School in Dallas. When I was at work, I mimicked the accents of the senior people in the lab. I was also taking those diction lessons at night. Within six months, I sounded as if I’d grown up in the Turtle Creek area of uptown Dallas.

An interesting occurrence one day started me thinking medical research was not where I wanted to be for the rest of my life. It was intriguing, but I wanted more; I wanted a lot more. I saw a woman in a $1,000 Bill Blass suit pulling a sample case behind her as she walked toward the elevator bank at Southwestern; she wore a lapel pin for one of the major pharmaceutical houses. I’d seen her in the hallway and followed her downstairs. While we were in the elevator, I realized she wore perfume the way Cosmo said you were supposed to wear it. It was there, but it was subtle, and I knew she’d sprayed it in front of her and walked through the cloud rather than spraying it on herself like I did. I didn’t know what the perfume was, but I knew it was good perfume and a lot more than I could afford on my lab rat’s salary. I took a good, long look at her; I watched her walk out the main doors to the parking lot and get into a Mercedes coupe. She already had the life I wanted.

I started sending out my CV (such as it was) along with a copy of my transcript to the major pharmaceutical houses and applying for positions in their sales departments. I thought I’d be a good fit in sales because I like people, get on well with most of them, and had the professional background to talk in terms the health care industry used. I knew I had the drive it took to be good in sales. I wanted the clothes, jewelry, and cars; I wanted to be very, very rich.

I interviewed with half-a-dozen companies and got three offers. I went to work for Roche Laboratories simply because I remembered someone back in school saying Roche had at one time been the largest and most powerful pharmaceutical house in the world. I also knew they were the company that discovered and marketed Librium, Valium, and Dextromethorphan …that last one is the magic component in the cough syrup Robitussin. If you have a cough and Robitussin won’t stop it, you have serious problems.

That was ten years ago, and I’ve come a long way since then. I’m the corporate vice-president for sales and marketing for the Southwestern United States, and have been for two years. My promotions have come faster than those for most women. I’d gotten two of them by knowing whom to fuck and when. The one I’d gotten completely on my own was a result of having stabbed the right person in the back at the right time. I own my own condo on the edge of Turtle Creek and drive a silver BMW Z4; it’s been five years since I was in Ash Flat. When the Hogs come to town to play football, I leave for the Caribbean.

I had a two o’clock appointment, and it was almost one. I hadn’t eaten breakfast and was paying the price with a pounding headache. I pulled into the valet parking and tossed my keys to the attendant as I walked into Avanti. The service there is always quick, and today I needed quicker. The place was packed; there were 17 people in the foyer waiting for tables. I glanced around; those 17 people were all in clumps of two or more, which meant they needed a larger table. I looked out into the restaurant floor, and it didn’t appear anything was about to open up.

Wait …there’s a single man sitting at a table for two. The bus boy’s just filling his water glass, and his napkin and cutlery are still on the table. He’s just arrived. Can’t tell much about him because of the lighting, but those shoulders are impressive. His hair could be any color from chestnut to black; it’s hard to tell in the subdued lighting. Nothing to lose, so I might as well go for it. I walked up to the maitre d’.

“Excuse me, Bobby, ….” He turned and smiled at me.

“Ms. Bonner! Always a pleasure to see you.” Remembering to tip the maitre d’ does have its dividends.

“Thanks, Bobby …I’m in a terrific time crunch today. Do you think you could speak to the gentleman sitting by himself over there and ask if I could join him if he isn’t expecting someone? Tell him I promise to keep my mouth shut and not be a pest. I just need to grab a bite and get out of here for my two o’clock.” He looks across the room to the man in question.

“Let me see what I can do.” Off he goes. He leans down to speak to the man, who looks my direction. Still can’t see his face very well because of the damned lighting, but that doesn’t matter. He could have looked like the south-end of a northbound mule for all I cared as long as he let me share his table. Bobby straightens, smiles and nods, and returns to me.

“No problem, Ms. Bonner. Just follow me.” The man stands as Bobby and I approach. He offers his hand and his name before I sit across from him.

“Max Espan.”

“Helené Bonner. Thanks so much for letting me share your table.”

Holy Mother of God. This just might be my lucky day. The rest of him matches the broad shoulders. Deep, barrel chest, big hands and feet (I can scan more quickly than you’d believe), and what he’s packing in the slacks of that obviously custom-tailored suit made my mouth water. Nice even tan, and his left hand was completely bare; he wore a strange, antique-looking ring on his right hand, but nothing you could associate with a wedding ring. He could have slipped off a wedding ring and tucked it into his pocket, but a ring normally leaves an impression or a tan line, and there’s nothing to indicate a ring has ever been on the third finger of his left hand. There’s just a hint of curl in that gorgeous black hair. The eyes are the clincher. They’re a cross between blue and green, and he has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen in my life.

His voice is a wet dream. Low, well modulated, it’s a rich baritone, with just a hint of whiskey gravel in it. Australian or English? Hell, I’ve never been real sure on those two because I haven’t been around that many Australians or Brits. Who cares? Actually, I haven’t done much traveling out of the States because I’ve been too busy working my way up the corporate ladder and hunting for the man who would allow me to kick that ladder away. Now I was regretting my lack of international polish; maybe it’s time I took a vacation abroad. Back to the present. This man can eat crackers – or anything else that takes his fancy – in my bed any day. We make polite conversation, and neither of us has to work to keep up our side of it. We exchanged business cards before I stood to leave, and he stood with me.

”Do you often dine at Avanti?”

“I stop by frequently for lunch, usually toward the end of the week.”

“Perhaps our paths will cross again. I have enjoyed your company this day, Helené.”

Our paths would sure as hell cross again if I could manage it. I smiled as I turned and walked away; I could feel his eyes on my back all the way across the restaurant.


A week later, I walked into Avanti at one o’clock and scanned the floor. There he was, sitting at a table for two. Max didn’t look up, but Bobby came toward me with a smile on his face, though that smile was a bit more restrained than I was used to seeing. Maybe he knew something about Max Espan that I didn’t.

“Ms. Bonner. Mr. Espan said he thought you might be joining him today and indicated I was to bring you to his table.” I smiled as much to myself as to Bobby.

“Did he now? Well then, I guess we’d better not disappoint him.” The fact that Max was waiting for me was further validation of the success of my diction and social graces; I am a scintillating luncheon companion. Bobby took me to the table, and Max, AKA, Mr. Risk Management – his business card said he was in risk management – stood to meet me.

“Helené. What a pleasant surprise. I had hoped to see you again.”

I smiled as I sat across from him. I'd memorized his business card; if I weren’t careful, it would be in tatters before I’d ever have a need to use it. I’d gotten the feeling last week that he really didn’t want his name used in public. Even without a ring, I’d bet a lot of money he’s either married or in a committed relationship because men like him don’t stay unencumbered for long; I could live with that. There has to be some reason he's here to have lunch with me. I probably should feel sorry for the boring woman he's with, but I just can’t be bothered. If she isn't woman enough to hold him, her loss is my gain.

“Over the last seven days I’ve begun thinking of you as RM.” He laughed but didn’t ask me not to use RM either, at least not then. By the time we’d finished lunch, he’d asked me to call him Max.

We sat across from each other and to the rest of the world we looked like two business associates having a working lunch. In his mind, I might only be a pleasant luncheon companion. In my mind, he could be either a good fuck or my ticket to the good life. I’d like to be one of those women whose major decision for the day is what I was wearing to tonight’s charity gala. His voice jolted me out of my reverie.

“Would you care for wine with our meal, or have you appointments in the afternoon that preclude such indulgence?”

“I have a couple of calls to make much later this afternoon, but nothing that would interfere with a glass – or two – of wine.”

“Select a wine you like and we shall tailor our luncheon round it. I will be happy with your choice.” Well, now. I do like a man who isn’t afraid to relinquish a bit of control on occasion, even if it’s only in wine selection. We looked over the menu and made our selections to go with the Viognier I’d chosen.

We enjoyed our wine and lunch, and when the waiter came with the check, I reached for it. His hand stopped mine, and I felt a jolt go through me just from that momentary contact.

“Give me the pleasure of being your host today. In telling the maitre d’ that you were joining me, I invited you to lunch.”

He looked at the check and pulled his wallet from his pocket, withdrew two $50 bills, and slipped them into the check wallet.

He’s operating on cash. There’s a reason when a man like this one doesn’t use a credit card for expense account purposes. He knows the drill. Either he doesn’t want to take the chance that his bean counter will ask questions if he puts it on his corporate card, or he doesn’t want ‘her’ seeing the charge slip if he’s married or living with someone. Well, ‘she’ has nothing to worry about. Yet. So far, all I’ve done is have lunch with him. Of course, ‘she’ probably wouldn’t agree with my nothing-to-worry-about position.


I started stopping at Avanti for lunch two or three days a week. Sometimes Max was there; sometimes he wasn’t. More often than not, he was.

“Are you really that fond of Italian food?”

“I like it well enough if the company is pleasant.”

“Do you always have lunch alone?”

He smiled and picked up his wine glass.

“I am not lunching alone today.”

He put down his glass and picked up my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. Oh yes, I could get used to this.

“You know what I mean, Max.” He became more serious.

“I occasionally have lunch with one or the other of my partners. Others times I meet …well.” He let that sentence trail off into nowhere.

Uh huh. That’s what I thought. He’s in what my mother calls ‘a cheatin’ frame of mind.’ Even more interesting, he has himself on a guilt trip for nothing more than having lunch with me a few times.


I’d heard about this great bar-b-que joint out in the sticks and decided I’d give it a try; I was hoping it was worth the drive. I pulled into the parking lot and looked around. The place may be in the boondocks, but it had high priced clientèle if the cars in the lot were any indication. I got out, and started toward the door and stopped. Max’s blue Bentley was in the third space to the left of the door; I recognized the license plate. I made the conscious choice to go inside. I’d bet my life that the woman is with him, and this would let me size up my competition.

I stepped inside and let my eyes adjust to the gloom after the sunlight outside. I looked around, and there he …there they were. They were sitting at the far end of a long, wooden table, close to the wall. He was wearing a flannel shirt and weathered jeans. She was one of those blondes that Dallas has in abundance. Nothing special about that. Unless she knows more than the average number of tricks in bed, she couldn’t touch me. The corporate VP behind my name proved that. Decision time …do I go over and say hello, or not?

He’d seen me when he’d looked up as soon as the door opened. His face didn’t change, but he reached across the table and picked up her hand. I could see his thumb stroking her fingers from where I stood. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Ouch. He’d rubbed my hand, and I knew the effect it was having on her. Even from where I stood, I could see the huge diamond engagement and matching wedding ring on her hand. I decided against going over and saying ‘hi,’ and ordered to go. I’d already pushed my luck far enough by walking in the door. As I waited for my food, I looked back at the two of them and checked out the blonde again. I smiled to myself. She was obviously in the last trimester of pregnancy, and that meant she was on the verge of being out of commission for a while. Well, well, well. Sometimes a girl just gets lucky.

That was on Saturday. My cell phone rang at ten on Monday morning. Max. He asked if I was free for an early dinner the next day; the usual warmth in his voice was noticeably absent.

“I am.”

“Can you tolerate Chinese food?”

“I love it.”

“I will make reservations and meet you at Draelion on Oak Lawn at five-thirty. Do not be late.”

“I'll be there with bells on.” He didn’t laugh. My going into the restaurant on Saturday was obviously ill advised. Okay, so perhaps I should have left when I saw his car, but really …what damage did walking in and ordering to go do other than make him feel more guilty that he was already? Maybe he thought I'd been tailing him? I also suspect he may have seen someone he knew at Avanti and meeting me there was getting a little dangerous. Seeing him when he was with ‘her’ on Saturday had made him even more paranoid.


The damned traffic made me about ten minutes. Max was waiting for me in the foyer when I walked in the door. His posture – hands in his pockets – wasn’t that of a man waiting for a would-be lover. The hands-in-his-pockets thing said he wasn’t in conversation mode; he was here to talk; my job was to listen.

“I must leave by seven. It is not my wish to be unkind, but the conditions I set forth this night are non-negotiable.”

The first words out of his mouth said he’s out of here and running home to the Dallas Blonde. I may not be able to ensure he’s late for this seven o’clock homecoming, but I can sure as Hell make him late for a few in the future. Mrs. Dallas Blonde – and now I was convinced she was Max's wife because most women in their third trimester don't screw around on their husbands – has no idea what she’s up against.

Now you might wonder how a woman from Ash Flat, Arkansas and raised in the strict Southern Baptist tradition can be so blasé about seeing a married man with an obviously pregnant wife. First off, I'm used to it. This ain’t my first rodeo as the saying goes; I know what’s necessary to get ahead, and I’m willing to do it. The good life doesn’t come cheap, and it doesn’t come easily. Second, I had the feeling this man was worth the risk. Third, Max was absolutely the most drop-dead gorgeous, magnetic man I’d ever met in my life. He was extremely intelligent – always a big factor for me – and hadn’t yet tried to get me into bed; that made him a challenge, and I've never been able to resist a challenge. Hopefully, he’d get past his guilt and get on with the program in the near future. My goal tonight was to lessen his current guilt and work toward giving him a lot more guilt to carry around later.

The maitre d’ took us to our table, and we sat. Max didn’t ask what I wanted to drink, just ordered for both of us. No wine tonight. He asked for a pot of tea. I still hadn’t decided if he was Australian or British, but I know both the British and Australians drink tea and a lot of it. Before I could say that I was glad to see him, he proceeded to tell me that my behavior on Saturday wasn’t what he considered cool, cool being my word, not his.

“Helené, your behaviour of Saturday was ill-advised. If you saw my car in the car park – and I am sure you did – you should have left immediately. I will not permit anything or anyone to jeopardise the sanctity of my family.” Interesting …he said ‘family,’ not ‘wife.’

Okay, Baby, the restraints are off.

I slipped off one of my Ferragamos and ran my foot up his leg. His eyes narrowed, but other than that he ignored it completely. Damn! He’s going to make me work for this one. When we sat, he’d made sure that my back was to the door, and he sat across from me. After the second lunch at Avanti, we’d always sat side-by-side. I moved my shoe to the chair beside him, stood, and moved over myself. My foot went back to his leg.

“I had no idea you’d be at that restaurant. Once I saw you, I could have come over and introduced myself to your wife or girlfriend, but I didn’t. Which is she, anyway?” I knew she was his wife, but wanted to see if I could get him to admit it.

“That is not your business. She is a member of my family, and I will protect what is mine.”

What is mine? He’s a possessive bastard, isn’t he? I looked him dead in the eyes when I asked the next question.

“Why are you cheating on her? I saw you kiss her hand. That’s the mark of a man who’s afraid he’s just gotten caught with his pants down.”

“You and I have done nothing improper. We have met for meals, nothing more.” His version of ‘improper’ and mine are worlds apart.

“Really? What about those kisses in the corner booth at Avanti?” By that time, my foot was under his pants leg and at his knee. He hadn’t made any effort to move my foot away, and I took that as tacit encouragement. He was the one who’d allowed things to go as far as they had. If he’s allowed it to get this far, once he’s over his huff, he’ll allow it to go a lot farther. Oh, yeah. This man is ripe for the picking.

“I think you know me well enough to know that I’d never attempt to jeopardize your relationship with her. I don’t do things like that.” I was lying through my fucking teeth, but it wasn’t the first time.

“That is not a risk I am prepared to take. She and the child she carries are the most important people in my life.”

She. I’ll bet if I go back through the past couple of years’ wedding announcements in the society pages of the Dallas Morning News, it won’t take me more than half-an-hour to find out ‘She’s’ name. She has that society bitch look, and her wedding announcement would definitely have made the news.

I put on my most sincere face before I answered that one.

“You’ve already taken the risk. You need to understand that with me, it isn’t a risk. I’m looking for companionship. It’s never been my intention to make your life difficult.”

Companionship is a wonderful word. It can have such a variety of meanings. He unbent a little at that and looked at me.

“If we are to continue meeting – and I have not yet decided on that matter – any future contact must be made by me. You are not to call me at my office or on my mobile phone. I require your vow in this matter. If you break it, there will be a price to be paid, and I assure you it will be quite high and most unpleasant.”

That last was the closest he’d gotten to actually being unpleasant, but it was stated softly and with an almost gentle look on his face. It’s as if he’s afraid of hurting me rather than just making me mad. I’m not sure why he made that request …he’d been the one making the contact this far. Well, I suppose you could say I’d made a few simply by walking into Avanti on days he was having lunch there, but a girl has to eat.

“I won’t call you at the office or on your cell, and I’ll never try and get your home number. And since we’re already here, why don’t we have tonight be special?” He reached over, picked up my hand, and rubbed that big thumb over it. GOTCHA!

I thought he was about to spill his guts about why he was with me, but he didn’t. Well, not in so many words.

“Helené, my life is very busy. I travel a great deal, and my family responsibilities are of paramount import to me. If we are to continue our association, you must understand that I will never be able to commit to any meeting more than a day or two in advance, if that. It is possible I may have to break an engagement on brief notice. If I must do so, it will not be out of a conscious intent to distress you; rather, it will be unavoidable. Do you understand?”

I nodded, and he continued.

“Because of the nature of my work and intent to protect my family, it is best we meet in locations unlikely to be frequented by my clients or those who know members of my family. Do you understand? If such an arrangement is unacceptable to you, we will go our separate ways at the end of our dinner tonight.”

“I can live with that.”

He walked me to my car at five minutes of seven and stood there for a minute just holding my hand. It was plain as the nose on your face that if this was going to advance any time in the next century, I was going to have to make the first move. I felt a tiny little surge of guilt – and quickly suppressed it – at what I was doing, because Max seems to be a genuinely kind and gentle person. I also think he either doesn’t read women all that well, or he may not have a great deal of experience with us; he has no idea of how manipulative we can be when it suits our purpose. He’d bought that crap about my wanting companionship hook, line, and sinker, and had let down his guard. I really didn’t have any intention of making his life hell at this precise moment. He hadn’t had time to think about what I might have actually meant when I said what I did, and he was at his most vulnerable. One thing I learned as a kid back in Ash Flat was to strike while the iron was hot.

I stepped up to that chest and kissed him on the lips – just a little peck – and was about to step back and write him off as a lost cause. That’s when he stopped me. The hand holding mine pulled me back in, and his left arm went around my waist as his right hand came up to the back of my head and tangled itself in my hair, holding my head – and my lips – right where he wanted them. The kiss he planted on me curled my toenails. I could feel the heat start in my gut and move upward like a flame-thrower. I was panting when he let go of me. He tilted his head and smiled softly as he let me go and stepped back, saying he’d call me. I got into my car, locked the door, and just sat there watching him walk away and get into his own car. He waited as I backed out of the parking place and drove away. I wondered how long it would take him to call.


We continued meeting. The restaurants remained upscale, but got smaller, more out-of-the-way, and more intimate. So did we …get more intimate, that is. We sat in tables in secluded corners; we touched, we whispered, we kissed. We talked about our jobs. I told him about moving to Dallas and tried to probe him for information. I didn’t get very far. It was obvious that he didn’t intend letting me find out anything about his private or professional lives.

“What exactly do you do for a living?”

“It is in your own best interest and continued safety to know no more about me than you do at present. I do not wish to sound harsh, Helené, but it would be wise for you not to pursue that as a topic of conversation.”

He spoke briefly of his partners but only to mention their names. I already knew their last names; they were on his business card.

One night as we stood at my car, he said he was leaving town for a week on business, and that he’d call when he returned. I read it as a kiss-off. This had been going on for five weeks, and he’d never suggested we go to my place or a hotel. I knew his firm kept a corporate apartment in downtown Dallas, but he hadn’t suggested we go there either. He never again mentioned his wife, but she was always there like a specter between us. It was obvious that he was in love with her; he was just as obviously in lust with me.

He had someone to go home to and on whose body he could slake his desire until she was too far along – and too disinterested – to spread her legs. I had an empty condo, an empty bed, and a hand-held shower head with a pulsing massage spray in addition to my vibrating rabbit. Both were getting a workout.

He called three times while he was out of town, so telling me he was leaving town hadn’t been a kiss-off.

“You know, when you get home, you should come to my place and let me cook dinner for you. I’m pretty good in the kitchen.”

“I am sure you are, and no doubt the experience would be most enjoyable; however, I do not think it wise.”

He called me at ten the morning after he got back to town and asked if I was free for lunch.

“I regret calling so late, but I have missed your company.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Where do you want to meet?”

“Red, Hot and Blue. It is in Irving, on North Macarthur Boulevard. Do you know it?”

“That’s what Map Quest is for. I’ll be there at one.”

One o’clock was our usual time to meet, and Max didn’t change it. He was waiting in a booth at the back of the place when I walked in and stood to meet me. Before I could sit, he pulled me gently into his arms and kissed me softly. Even with a soft, relatively chaste kiss, the man is better at it than any man I’ve ever known. I just wish I knew how well he could fuck because if he fucks like he kisses, I’d be on the short road to Paradise. We were out in an hour because – you guessed it – he had to get to the office; at least he wasn't running home to the wife in the middle of the day.

I was driving back to the office when my cell rang. I pulled it from my purse and looked at the display …it was Max. I smiled. Just because I'd promised I'd never call him didn't mean I didn't have his cell number programmed into my Treo.

“Hello.”

“Once again I apologise for short notice, but I find myself suddenly unencumbered this evening. Is it possible your invitation for dinner in your home might extend to this night? If it is inconvenient, I will not press you.” I smiled to myself. He didn't mention the Dallas Blonde and still wasn’t going to acknowledge that he was married and ready to break those vows.

“I think I can work you into my schedule. How about seven?”

“That is quite acceptable. What is your address?”

I called my secretary and told her to cancel anything on my calendar for the afternoon. Following that, I called Georgette Klinger’s and made arrangements for a manicure and pedicure, a facial, and to have my hair done. I turned the car around and headed for the Linen Gallery to pick up a set of 1200 count Egyptian cotton sheets and matching towels. I’d also make a stop at my favorite shop and picked up new lingerie and then run by Marty’s for wine. Max would never know what hit him.

Three hours later I was talking to my hairdresser as he blew dry my hair.

“Special night?” I grinned.

“You could say that.”

“So how do you want it done today?”

“Put it up, but no hair spray. As few hairpins as it takes to keep it in place through dinner, and when he takes it down, I want it to tumble over my shoulders.” Ramón laughed.

“Poor bastard won’t stand a chance.”

“That was my entire intention.”

“Well, Honey, if it doesn’t work out for you, give me his phone number.”

I put the new sheets on the bed and fluffed the pillows before hanging the new towels in the bathroom. The flowers in the living room were fresh – I just bought them yesterday – and the wine was in the cooler. The Waterford crystal glasses were sitting on the bar. The Rougie foie gras was on a crystal plate in the refrigerator. I scanned the room, and it looked perfect. Time to get dressed. Well, maybe undressed was a better term. I headed upstairs to my bedroom and laughed when I looked at the La Perla lingerie on my bed. Bra and panties with a darling little robe. As Ramón said, the poor man wouldn’t know what hit him. It was ten minutes to seven, and I changed, revelling in the feel of the silk on my skin as I spritzed on a bit of Obsession. I went to the bathroom and pulled loose the requisite tendrils of hair around my face and stepped back to admire the effect. We both knew precisely why Max was coming here tonight, and it sure as shit wasn’t for dinner. I’d been pretty subtle until now, but I was pulling out all the stops tonight.

The doorbell rang promptly at seven. I detoured by the refrigerator and got the pâté, setting it beside the wine before going to the door. I opened the door and could smell the scotch on his breath. He took off his coat and placed it on the back of the couch before removing the gun and holster that were over his shoulder and laid them beside his coat. He didn’t say a word; his hands just went to my hair. His eyes bored into mine before his mouth bruised my lips. He might get past that gentlemanly reserve if I encourage him a little. I’d given control of my body to him long ago; he was finally getting around to taking what he wanted.

One hand came down to my hips and pulled me into his groin, and I could feel him. Jesus Christ. He was fucking huge! He doesn’t even have to know how to use that thing …all he needs to do is point it in the right direction, and I’d make damned sure that happened. My arms went around him; his hands came back to my hair, sending the hairpins flying. My hair tumbled just the way I’d hoped it would.

His hands went from my hair to the silk of my robe, moving slowly up and down my back, stopping periodically to knead my butt as if he was trying to sculpt me into his own personal fantasy. I could – and would instantaneously – become whatever he desired. His mouth had been up and down my neck and came back to mine as his hands pulled my hips even harder into his. I dug my nails into his scalp and deepened the kiss. If I only have one shot at this, tonight and everything I do could be the make-or-break point for my getting him to dump his wife and make me Mrs. Max Espan.

His hands left my butt and moved all over my body again, but this time it was almost professional. They were everywhere. Up my back, sliding forward and under my arms and breasts, before moving down the front of my body and over the part of my legs covered by the short robe. I pulled back and looked at him.

“What the hell are you doing? Checking me for weapons?”

“Yes …it is a habit.” One hand crumpled the fabric at the shoulder of my robe.

“Take this off.” If I’ve ever heard an order in my life, this was it. His voice was rough and sounded like I’d think a general would issuing orders on a battlefield.

“Whatever you want, Darlin’.” My voice was as rough as his had been, giving him permission to do anything that got his rocks off and would keep him coming back to me. I pulled my hands away and dropped my arms, letting the silk drift to the floor. I arched my back as the robe fell, shoving my breasts in his face. I pulled one of his hands to my breast and led the other between my legs. I smiled when his fingers moved the string of the thong to the side and pushed into me. His fingers were incredibly long and went so far inside me that I went onto my tip toes. His index and third fingers had gone so far up into me that it actually hurt, and I fought my instinctive reaction was to move away. I wasn’t going to let a little momentary pain stop me, and as soon as I recovered, I ground down on his fingers.

The bra, panties, and robe were soft and seductive; they were camouflage for the determined woman wearing them. The robe barely had time to land before the hand on my breast dropped, and he took my hand, tugging me across the room and up the stairs. He didn’t give me a choice in following him, and though I didn’t really think he’d actually hurt me, I suddenly realized this was a very dangerous man and he was on the edge. This was going perfectly according to my plans.

He didn’t have to decide which way to go at the top of the stairs because my condo is a loft. He gave me a gentle push toward the bed, and I stumbled, catching myself as his hands went to his tie. He loosened the knot and pulled off his tie; it flew across the room. I walked back to him and started on the buttons of his shirt. His right hand came up and grabbed the front of my bra, pulling it away. The gossamer silk shredded and the $390 bra was history. If I’d known he wanted it rough – and he was the last man I’d have thought would though I’ve been surprised before tonight – I could have worn something more appropriate, but that little scrap of silk had been a good investment while it lasted. He unbuttoned the last two buttons of his shirt and shrugged it off. I shimmied into his arms, starting low and moving up until I pressed my naked breasts into that chest. I moved my hands between us and started on his belt. His fingers were back inside me and stroking my G-spot when I got his belt undone and reached inside his slacks, grabbing that rock-hard cock.

He sucked in air like a drowning man and fucking froze. It was like I’d thrown a bucket of ice water on him except for his dick. His hands grabbed mine, and he took one step back as he looked at me. He shook his head as if to clear it and said one word.

“No.”

I stood there speechless and watched as he turned, picking up his shirt and tie before walking out my bedroom door and down the stairs. I heard the front door close a few seconds later and knew I’d lost my chance.


I couldn’t bring myself to look for him any place other than Avanti because things started going south after we quit meeting there. I went there at least twice a week and finally asked Bobby if Max had stopped coming there for lunch. He said he hadn’t seen him since the last time we were there together. After that day, I didn’t bother going there any longer. I thought I saw his car on the freeway one day, but whoever it was sped up, and I couldn’t be sure it was him.


I was sitting in a scummy little bar in Manhattan. I’d had one too many and was spilling my guts to the bartender. I had a meeting yesterday at headquarters in New Jersey and was spending the night in New York before going home. The bartender mopped up the sweat from the glasses and looked at me as I finished the tale.

“So, that’s my story. Guess you hear a lot of them, don’t you?” He nodded. “You know, I’m not sorry for what I did. I just wish it had worked out differently.”


MAXIMUS
I drove slowly on my journey home. I was a few miles from Helené's when I turned on the stereo; I had forgotten which CD was in the player. I pulled to the side of the road as I listened; my tears obscured my vision.


I reached into my pocket and found the ring Cassandra had placed on my hand the day we wed. The last time I had attempted to put it on, my hand was still too swollen from the break earlier in the year. I sat looking at the band of gold cupped in the palm of my hand. I placed it on my finger and moved it downward; it slipped easily over my knuckle and into place. I could list the reasons for my temptation with Helené on my right hand; all that mattered to me in the world was represented by the ring on my other hand.

By the time I entered the house, I was as at peace with my transgression as it was possible for me ever to be. I was relieved Cassandra had not yet arrived home from her meeting, a change of plan for her that led to my having called Helené this day. Perhaps in the interval prior to my wife's arrival, I could compose my features and manner so as not to betray myself to her. My behaviour had been reprehensible, and I was assailed with guilt for betraying her trust, but I had stopped in time. I had not taken that final step into perfidy; I had not committed the ultimate betrayal.

I undressed and changed into gym shorts and t-shirt before going to the barn where my gym equipment is presently located. I spent half-an-hour lifting weights, then another period of time at the speed ball until I had exhausted myself. I returned to the house and showered to remove any trace of Helené’s fragrance, dressing in sweat pants and a clean shirt before sitting to await my wife’s arrival home. I spent time in meditation to calm myself and compose my visage so as not to give away my inner turmoil. My past has left me well-practised in that process. I felt the tears of regret fall as I sat on the couch awaiting Cassandra’s return. I heard her car come up the road and wiped away the tears before going to the sink to splash water on my face, drying it before I walked to the door to meet her.

I will not tell Cassandra of my dalliance; it would wound her too deeply, and I do not deserve the comfort of unburdening myself at her expense. I would force myself to toss away this indiscretion like chaff on the wind. I have so many regrets in my life; this is another I must live with and keep my silence. It will never happen again.

NOTES

On the Other Hand

On the Other Hand  Storms of Life (1986) Randy Travis

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