Andrew Cleese and Ms Lyon Read online

Losing the battle with herself, she flicked a quick glance at him, ruthlessly suppressing the dart of pure arousal she felt as the bulge in his pants moved a little, almost as if it was aware she was surreptitiously checking it out. Which she wasn't, of course. It just happened to be in her line of sight.

  Confused and a bit irritated at her wayward thoughts, she waved him abruptly to a chair. "Please sit." Take that damn bulge of yours and get it out of my way. It's distracting me.

  "Thank you, Demetria." He sat, crossing his legs and bringing a tiny sigh to Demetria's throat. Whether it was relief or disappointment, she wasn't quite sure. She dragged her mind back to the matter at hand, deciding to overlook the fact that he'd addressed her rather familiarly.

  He was a nutcase, she reminded herself. Best not to antagonize him. "So what's your interest in my magazine?"

  "The magazine? Purely financial. I'm thinking of investing." His foot waved to and fro, distracting her. He had a nice foot. Two of them probably. Big feet.

  She wondered...shit. She was doing it again.

  "We haven't put out a call for any investors, Mr. Cleese." Demetria tapped her pen on some papers. "Right now we're pretty solid, financially."

  "Of course. I wouldn't think of doing business with Luscious if you weren't." He raised an eyebrow and grinned at her, making her want to smile back.

  She didn't, although it was a hell of an effort not to. "What did you have in mind?"

  "Oh lots of things."

  His gaze drifted over her and damn if she didn't feel it like a caress. "Mr. Cleese, in the interests of saving us both time, perhaps I should be quite clear." Demetria straightened her spine. Enough of this silly sexual crap. She didn't have either the inclination or a free ten minutes on her appointment schedule. "I'm really not interested in entertaining an offer for the magazine. Neither am I looking for investors."

  He watched her, his unusual gleaming eyes filling with heat as his gaze met hers. He didn't move, just kept that annoying wave of his foot thing going. And his smile widened. "How about twenty million?"

  Demetria was caught off-guard. "What?"

  "Twenty million dollars. Could you use that?"

  She swallowed, staring at this absurd man. Now, more than ever, she was convinced he was a raving imbecile. He could have bought half the town for several mil less.

  "You're not serious." She glared at him.

  "Of course I am. I'm also hungry." He rose, unfolding his lean body from the chair, bulge and all. "Let's have dinner and talk about it."

  "I...I..." Totally out of her depth, Demetria stuttered. Something that would have sent shockwaves through her staff if anybody had overheard her.

  "It's nearly five. Your offices will be closing soon. My car is outside. I think a proposal like this needs some further discussions and those would be better held in a more informal atmosphere."

  Opening her mouth to point out that nothing could, in fact, be further from the truth, Mr. Cleese held up his hand and stopped her with a simple gesture. "Don't protest. You have to eat. So do I. Why don't we continue our meeting over a nice meal? There's a little Italian restaurant not far from here...good food, great wine...that'll give us chance to hash this out in greater detail."

  Demetria pulled herself together. It wasn't easy, since she was totally convinced this sexually dynamite man was either an escapee from a mental ward or a psychotic serial killer who would ravage her body before discarding it in the nearest dumpster.

  Admittedly, the ravaging bit held a certain amount of appeal, but Demetria battled it for all she was worth.

  "I don't think..." she began.

  "Yes you do. Too much, I believe." He had her jacket in his hands and was moving toward her, as she stood amazed that she was allowing him to drape it over her shoulders. "Let go, Demetria. Have dinner with me."

  His breath was warm on her cheek, his fragrance surrounding her, making her a bit dizzy. Or maybe it was hunger. He was right, she did need to eat - she couldn't remember what she'd had for lunch, if anything.

  It seemed like a really good idea, going to dinner with this man. "Okay." Her heart thudded as she said the single word and once again she was seized with the odd notion that her vision was shimmering around her.

  God, her sugar levels must be bottoming out. Either that or something in his gaze was acting like a hypnotic drug. Her pulse was rapid - she could hear it beating in her ears as she stared at him.

  His eyes - so bronze, so warm. Once again they stroked up and down her body.

  She let him tuck her arm through his and lead her from the office, and simply nodded her agreement when he told Sandy that Ms. Lyon would be out for the rest of the day.

  She never noticed the utter and complete silence that had fallen in the reception area, nor the little wink Mr. Cleese gave Sandy as the elevator doors closed on them.

  She barely did more than give a little shake of her head when he asked her if she liked okra, not even catching his sigh of relief.

  All she could think of was the growing need within her to find out if there was any chance at all the restaurant would let them eat dinner naked.

  Chapter Three

  She was naked beneath him, deliciously, blissfully naked.

  Her thighs were snug against his ears and Andrew had his face buried between them, lapping and sucking at her pussy for all he was worth.

  He'd often wondered why they called it "pussy" and now he knew. Her shorn pubic skin was delicate and as smoothly soft as a kitten's fur. Her little mewls of pleasure as he suckled and teased her clit merely reinforced the feline description.

  She lay sprawled against the dark leather of the rear seat, her limbs white and pearly, her eyes closed, writhing at each and every touch. His hands were cupping her butt cheeks, firm mounds of flesh that surrendered to his fingers as he squeezed them and lifted her higher into his mouth.

  Andrew was harder than granite, kneeling on the carpeted floor, blessing the expansive space that had welcomed them as they stepped into the car. He wanted to fuck her right there, to open his trousers and stick his cock into that blazing wet heat, but he waited, toying with her, arousing her with his incredible tongue and oral skills...

  "Mr. Cleese?"

  A voice rang in his ears somewhere off to his far left but he ignored it, too far gone in the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her pussy lips as they throbbed and pulsed around his tongue.

  She was so wet, drenching his face with her juices, kneading his spine with her heels, flexing her fingers on the seat then lifting them to his head, pulling him even closer...

  "Mr. Cleese..."

  The voice came again, a little louder this time. Perhaps she was nearing her orgasm. Andrew hoped so, since he'd promised himself she'd come first, then he'd claim that silky cunt with his cock and make her come again. And again...

  "Mr. Cleese."

  Now the voice was accompanied by a sharp poke in his arm and Andrew regretfully dragged his brain out of the decadent fantasy he'd been enjoying to the fullest and turned his head to look at Demetria.

  Who was, sadly, fully clothed and staring at him with a mixture of confusion and irritation. "Where are we going? I've asked you three times already." She frowned, the white skin between her eyebrows creasing into furrows.

  He sighed. Apparently the tiny dash of attraction aura he'd used to get her to accompany him in the first place was wearing off.

  "Don't worry, sir. I know where we're headed." The driver glanced into the rear view mirror and smiled warmly at Andrew. "I did tell the lady, but she seems to want to hear it from you." He winked. "Can't say as I blame her."

  Ooops. Andrew gulped. Maybe he'd overdone the attraction spell a bit. It wasn't the driver he was trying to attract but the adorable woman beside him. Who was now looking extremely angry and drumming her fingertips on the upholstered armrest of the door. If she moved any further away from him she'd be running alongside the car.

  "Look, I'm not quite sure why I agreed to
dinner in the first place." The words fell like shards of ice into the space between them. "But I did. So I'll go along with it. We have business to discuss. But you'd better make it snappy because I have other things to attend to as well, you know."

  "Now, Demetria..." Andrew poured charm into his voice as he reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. God, she tasted delectable. "You need to eat." He let her fingers slide from his before she could pull them free. "There's nothing like a good meal to relax you. And make you more amenable to - my financial offer."

  "Hmm." She glared at him, although whether with business frustrations or surprise at his gesture, he wasn't quite sure. "You won't get anywhere by filling me with garlic bread and wine. I don't do business that way."

  "Do you do pleasure that way?"

  "What?" Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  "Pleasure. You know, fun."

  "I don't do fun, I don't have time. I run a business. Very successfully too."

  Andrew shook his head. "Everybody has to do fun, Demetria. Without fun, well - what satisfaction is there in life?"

  "I have plenty of satisfaction." She looked irate. "I'm satisfied every month when Luscious magazine hits the stands. When our sales figures increase, when our circulation numbers surpass expectations - "

  Andrew chuckled and interrupted her protestations. "That's all work, sweetheart. I'm talking about play." He let his eyes wander over her tailored suit.

  "I'm not your sweetheart. And if you're talking about what I think you're talking about, then you can stop the car right now." She curled her lip and drew even further into her corner.

  "Good idea." He nodded as the car slid smoothly to a halt.

  "What?" She blinked.

  "We're here."

  "Oh."

  Politely, Andrew escorted her from the car and into the restaurant, nodding at the maitre d' and heading toward an empty table next to a pair of partially open French doors. He walked with the confidence of someone who knew the place like the back of his hand.

  He did, of course, since he'd created it very carefully with a lot of attention to detail. When it had appeared, looking like it had been there forever, customers flocked to its doors, wondering why they hadn't remembered what a great meal they'd had there.

  Magic definitely had its uses in this world. He was now realizing quite a tidy profit from it and had created employment for some very grateful - if surprised - workers.

  He pulled out one chair and seated Demetria where the last rays of the setting sun could brush her glowing hair with flares of brilliance. He sat across from her and just looked - she was really incredibly beautiful.

  Although the frown creasing her brow couldn't be called entrancing. She glanced around. "I don't remember this place."

  Andrew smiled. "And how often do you stray from your office to find the best Italian restaurants?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "Okay. Point taken." An attentive waiter hovered in that inimitable waiter-ish way that seems to come with the donning of an apron. "I'll have white wine." Demetria barely glanced at him.

  Andrew nodded. "The house white, Frank. And we'll both have the usual."

  "As you wish, Mr. Cleese. I'll be right back with your wine." The waiter scurried away.

  Demetria's frown deepened. "How do you know what I want?"

  "I took a guess."

  "Hah." She snorted. "Now I suppose I'll end up with something you like. Don't expect me to be polite. I really prefer to make my own choices."

  "I know." He reached across the table and tapped the back of her hand with one finger. "But this time, I'm prepared to bet I got it right."

  Demetria glared at him. "And I'll bet you got it wrong."

  "You're on."

  Her chin went up. "How much?"

  Andrew's grin widened. "I wouldn't ever bet money, my dear. Much too crass. No, I'll bet you a kiss."

  She blinked. "A what?"

  "A kiss. You know, that thing where two people put their arms around each other and lock lips. Tongues are usually involved."

  "That's a French kiss."

  "Vive La France."

  Andrew watched her think about this. Would she bite? He rather hoped so. Her teeth were nice and straight and he could damn near feel them nipping at the little spot just beneath his navel -

  "Okay." She straightened her shoulders. "One kiss. One kiss if you've ordered a dinner I like. And I haven't decided about the tongue yet."

  "Done." Andrew held out his hand and grinned as yet another electric tingle shot from his palm to hers. He'd bet anything that her nipples were hard. Goddess knew his cock was getting there.

  Frank returned, quietly pouring them both glasses of white wine. "Your appetizer will be with you in a moment, sir. Madam. And the chef sends his regards."

  "Thank you." Andrew nodded and smiled. "I hope Joe's daughter made the cheerleading squad?"

  Frank's face creased into a smile. "She did, sir. I'll tell him you asked."

  Demetria was observing this interchange with a raised eyebrow and when Frank departed she turned her gaze on Andrew. "Family?"

  "No." He shrugged. "I like people."

  "Waiters? Chefs?"

  "Why not?" Andrew sipped his wine. "They're people. Just like you and me."

  "I - uhh - " Demetria blinked, obviously struggled for some response, then sipped her own wine. Whatever she was about to say disappeared as she stared at her glass, sipped again, then looked back at Andrew. "God, this is really very good."

  Before Andrew could answer, their appetizers arrived. Fragrant bruschetta glowed crisply on a small plate, scenting the air with a hint of warm garlic. There were several slices of fresh mozzarella cheese arranged pleasantly beside them and the slightest touch of basil dappled the olive oil drizzled over the toasted Tuscan bread.

  Yep. Demetria was definitely drooling. Andrew resisted the urge to smirk. Wait until she got a look at the agnolotti...

  *~*~*~*

  This had to be a fluke.

  There was no way this man could possibly have known all of her favorite foods, since she wasn't really sure she knew them herself. But if Demetria could have waved a magic wand and created the ideal dinner for herself - well, goddammit, this would have been it.

  The wine was bottled moonlight, the food beyond exquisite, and the service impeccable. She could find nothing to complain about, no tiny omission that would give her cause to lift an eyebrow and make any kind of derogatory remark.

  Her dinner partner made no attempt to create awkward conversation. He simply enjoyed his food as much as she did, by the looks of him, and other than the occasional casual comment, they relaxed and ate their meal in companionable silence.

  She didn't pride herself on being obstinate or picky - merely observant and demanding. Yes, she knew many regarded her as a pain in the ass, but she could never understand why asking for something to be done right should upset others. She did things right herself; she always had. Why then, was it such a big deal to require the rest of the world to match her standards?

  And why was she so amazed that for once, for one incredible dining experience, the world had actually accomplished just that? It had met and surpassed her standards.

  She slipped her dessert spoon from her mouth with a last lingering lick and managed to restrain a moan of bliss as she returned it to the dish in front of her. The bowl was empty, but a short time before it had nurtured a tiramisu that was obviously made in some out-of-the-way heavenly bistro staffed by angels.

  "Mr. Cleese..." she began.

  "Call me Andrew."

  "Very well. Andrew." She jumped as a figure at her elbow silently removed the platters and replaced them with a snifter of something golden and a small cup and saucer which he immediately filled with a smoothly fragrant coffee.

  "I've really enjoyed this meal." She closed her eyes for a moment in appreciation of the aroma of the coffee. "Truly outstanding."

  "I'm glad." He simply smiled at her, then lifted his
snifter. "A toast." His smile grew gentle. "To our better acquaintance. And to magic."

  Instinctively Demetria duplicated his gesture, lifting her own glass and extending her arm until they could clink the snifters together. "Magic?'

  He sipped at the liquid. "Most definitely. I believe in magic. Don't you?"

  She sipped as well, knowing that it would be excellent brandy. But again, she found herself out of her depth as the warming stuff slithered down her throat, leaving behind a bouquet far more complex than any brandy she'd tasted. It was sweet, fragrant and as the taste lingered on her tongue she had the oddest feeling the sun had come out somewhere.

  "Demetria?" Andrew was staring at her, his eyes as golden as the liquor in his glass. "Do you believe in magic?"

  She blinked, her vision blurring a little. "No. Yes. I don't know..."

  "That's good. For someone who lives a practical life, where all the details are neatly finished off, some confusion is healthy."

  "It is?" She drank again, eager for more of whatever was in her glass. "This is delicious brandy."

  "Thank you. I have it made just for me. The trolls of Lower Nineoaks have a way with liquors like this. They tell me it's the touch of elderberries that gives it that sweet aftertaste."

  For some reason, the idea of trolls making brandy struck Demetria as funny. She giggled. "That's sooo cute."

  "You didn't answer my question. Do you believe in magic? Really? Deep down?"

  "Nah." She swirled the brandy around. "I believe in myself and in success. Making a name for my company and my magazine. I believe things should be done right." She glanced up at him, fascinated at the slight shimmer of an aura she thought she could see around his shoulders. "Oh. Pretty."

  "What?"

  "Sorry. Got distracted. As I was sayin'...things should be done right. Magic would only mess 'em up."

  She frowned. Some of the words weren't quite coming out of her mouth the way she intended them to. Perhaps this brandy on top of that wine... She glared at Andrew. "You've got me drunk."

  "Maybe a little." He smiled. "You're perfectly safe with me."