The chef at Le Cirque is a personal friend. I asked her to plan a six course tasting menu with wine pairings so I could spend the evening focused on Lucy.

I sit back and watch as Lucy studies the engraved card detailing the evening’s menu. It’s really just an excuse to look at her. And I’m not the only one. We’re tucked into a private circular booth at the back of the five-star landmark, but the woman sitting across from me has had the eyes and attention of every red-blooded man in the restaurant since the moment we walked in.

That dress. It’s a draped stunner, with a low-cut V to make my eyes and mouth water, and a thigh-high slit cut into the long dress that shows off leg for days. I make a mental note to send Roberta flowers tomorrow morning. The woman knows her business.

After Lucy accepted my invitation, I had my driver run her home in the limousine to change. The driver whisked her back, but the vision in sapphire waiting for me when I climbed into the car was something straight out of my dreams. There hasn’t been a part of this woman I haven’t wanted to put my mouth on since I met her, and every inch is draped or sheathed in skin-hugging fabric I’m anxious to peel straight off. With my teeth. To top it off, she piled her hair high again, a formal variation of the way I saw it the day we first tangled up. The style exposes her neck and the swell of her chest in a way that makes me force myself to look away. The sexy smile she gave me when I settled next to her almost sent me to my knees.

We didn’t speak on the way to the restaurant. The silence didn’t feel awkward at all. The way she looks tonight had me momentarily speechless anyway. But on the ride over, though I don’t remember how it happened, my arm found its way around her. Lucy snuggled into me with zero hesitation. We’d ridden before in this very car to various appointments or trips to the airport, and never once touched. Everything already felt different and new.

Lucy sets the card on the edge of the table, and looks at me skeptically. “Six courses? You’ll have to roll me out of here.”

“Don’t worry, they’re tastings. But prepare yourself for something special. Helene doesn’t do this for everyone.”

“Helene?”

“The chef. She might make an appearance a little later, but I asked for some privacy. She planned everything personally.”

I look at the card to see what we’re in for, but I realize it’s in French. I’ve gotten rusty. Lucy didn’t seem to have any trouble.

“Why did you become an interpreter?”

Lucy seems a little self-conscious at the question, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear.

“I was a natural polyglot in high school and college. That service track was just the best fit for me.”

“Did you know Arabic before you joined?”

“No. I went to a training school for language. I didn’t deploy, but I worked for Military Intelligence.”

“When did you learn French? High school?”

“No, high school was Spanish. I taught myself French.”

“Taught yourself?” I ask, uncertain I heard right.

Lucy smiles. “I did. I was about eleven or so and I went through this phase where I loved all things French. My Aunt Cece had all these old movies and musicals at her house, and when I would visit she showed me American In Paris and Phantom of the Opera. I dreamed about the Seine and artists and can-can girls. The whole thing. I even made my mother buy me a beret.”

“Did she pencil one of those little mustaches on you, too?”

“No. But she did bake me those croissant rolls that come in a can, every day for a whole month.”

“The height of French cuisine! No way we top something like that tonight.”

Lucy laughs. “So since I couldn’t go to Paris, I borrowed CD lessons from the library and taught myself French. Made me feel sophisticated. But that’s how I figured out I could pick up language easily.”

I’m impressed with her skill, yes, but more distracted trying to picture Lucy in a beret. The image isn’t that difficult, actually. In my fantasy she’s wearing it and nothing else.

“So have you been? To Paris?”

Lucy’s face falls in a rueful smile, and she shakes her head no. I realize I hate it any time she looks even a little sad.

“I’ll get there. Someday. I thought the Army might get me to Europe for some kind of assignment, but it didn’t happen.”

We continue to chat about travel and life over five courses, each presented by a small team of waiters and attendants. Lots of Lucy’s stories involve Aunt Cece, and I gather the woman is Lucy’s favorite aunt. I can’t stop peppering Lucy with questions about herself—where she grew up, went to school, what she thought of New York. The wine is flowing, but I’m more intoxicated by this woman than by anything else.

Finally, after patiently answering all my questions, Lucy tilts her head to ask. “But what about you?”

I shrug. “If you know my company, you know all about me.”

“That can’t be true.”

“All work and no play. I’m a dull boy.”

She smirks. “Not according to TMZ. Or Fast Company. Or Time.”

“We have excellent P.R.”

“So you didn’t used to race cars in Monaco?” She seems a little disappointed when she asks.

I put a napkin to my mouth and cough. I did do that, a long time ago. “Some of the stories about my exploits in my twenties are true. Maybe. The rest is a tycoon image to keep the shareholders intrigued.” A fact Nicole drove home more than a few times when she left, I think to myself, but don’t say.

Lucy cuts into a veal chop. “My dreams are dashed. When I first came to work for you, I was sure you were Bruce Wayne. I’m still waiting to meet Batman.”

“Nope. My father was Batman. You’re a generation too late.”

She chuckles at my joke, but then she gets serious. “Was it his passing that ended your playboy career?”

“It’s the reason I took over Breson Company, sure.” This is true. Twelve years ago my father died suddenly of a heart attack, and that’s when I stepped in as President. “I finished college and had a great time for a few years on his dime, living it up in Europe. But when he died, the company came to me. Time to grow up.”

Lucy seems sympathetic, but it’s not something I like to dwell on.

“Besides, someone had to keep my mother in the lifestyle to which she’d grown accustomed.” I crack the joke, but don’t share that my mother was devastated when my father passed. I was the only one she had left.

“And where is she this month? I have a monthly reminder set in my office calendar to send her flowers, but the address keeps changing.”

“Hmm, it’s October? Probably in the Hamptons.”

Lucy smiles and sits back in her chair, her hand over her heart. “A boy who takes care of his mother. Who needs Batman?” She picks up her wineglass and sips.

Distracted by the wine on her lips, I almost don’t catch her next question.

“Anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Friends? Interests?”

I try not to show it, but the innocent questions irk a little. Bad memories. So I punt.

“You have my schedule, Miss Warner. You tell me.”

“You play golf and travel for business. You’re in the gym every day. No time for much else.”

“Like I said, if you know my company, you know all about me. Surely you’ve memorized the history of Breson Company, as a good employee should, haven’t you?”

She laughs, “I memorized the ‘About Page’ of the website. Does that count?”

“Prove it.”

Lucy sits a little straighter in her seat and begins to recite: ‘‘’Founded in 1948 by Gerald Breson, Sr., the company began as a modest…’”

To her credit, she does seem to have the whole thing down. For fun I pull out my phone and call up the website in the browser and make her start again. She finishes and, just to be a smart-ass, she recites the history again. In French.

“No fair. I don’t know enough français s’il vous-plaît to check for accuracy.”

“You doubt me?” she asks, mischievously.

“At my own peril, certainly. Stellar job, Miss Warner.”

She arches a brow. “Oooh, ‘stellar.’ My, my, you have changed your tune. Things are looking up for my review.”

“Wear that dress to your review and I can guarantee you a raise. Pun very much intended.”

Our eyes lock, but then there’s a break in the conversation as the team of attendants arrive with the final dessert course and wine. I watch Lucy ooh and ahh over the last course and I realize I’m having fun. This has been one of the most relaxed and natural nights I can remember for a while now. Certainly since Nicole. Even since I lost my old best friend, Jake, actually. In fact, I think that’s exactly it: being with Lucy feels just as much of a night out with a friend as it does a date.

The kind of friend I also want to fuck seven ways to Sunday. But why sweat the details?

The waiters leave and I interrupt Lucy’s delighted perusal of the elegant chocolate and berry confection with a question.

“Should I have ordered champagne?”

Lucy presses her napkin to her lips to hide her smile, and her eyes narrow, pretending to scowl.

“You don’t like champagne. I’d be drinking alone.”

I wince, remembering how I snapped at her. “I feel bad about that night.” After a heavy second I correct, “That part of the night, anyway.”

Lucy’s eyes drop and she plays with the stem of her wineglass. Her lips twist in a little secret smile and she shrugs. “It’s ok. Now I know where you keep your scotch.”

I’ve been half-hard since I climbed into the car tonight. Her little scotch reference from that night, and the memory of what followed, makes my erection almost painful.

Looking around the room, I slide out of my side of the circular booth and stand next to the table, pretending to adjust my tie. When I can see the waiters have left us to our coffee and there’s no one else paying attention, I slide over to Lucy’s side of the booth. My back is to the room and I’ve boxed her into the booth so I can shield us from view. Lucy’s eyes go wide and then soft as I pull her hard into me for a kiss.

I can taste the chocolate and rich coffee on her tongue, but there’s still the sweet taste of her, so much sweeter than dessert. Turns out I’m still hungry after all.

Her lips follow in protest when I end the kiss. But then Lucy moans low and deep as I push a hand into the high slit of her dress, right between her legs. Her thighs close on my hand for the briefest moment, a half-hearted attempt to stop me. She has the wherewithal to crane past my shoulder, trying to see the room.

“Are you crazy?” she whispers.

I answer her question with my fingers, slowly, relentlessly pushing into her core. I can feel she’s even wetter than she was that first night. Hotter, if that’s even possible. When Lucy’s head falls back and she arches against my palm, all I can think is that I can’t wait to make her do the same thing when I have my cock inside her later.

“Tsk, tsk, Lucy. You’re not watching to make sure the waiter’s not coming to check on us.”

Her eyes flutter open and meet mine. “Do you want him to come over and see? For everyone to know what I’m doing to you?”

She looks past my shoulder to the restaurant beyond my shoulder and then back to me.

I twist my fingers deeper, so the heel of my palm is right against her clit and I can feel her start to grind against me, squirming to get higher, closer.

“Keep watching. Or they’ll know.”

She’s torn between how much she likes what I’m doing to her and the fear of getting caught. I lean in close and whisper through her hair. “You’re going to come for me right here, you know that, don’t you? In front of everyone. Tell me yes, Lucy.”

She’s getting closer. I pull out a bit and flick her clit with me thumb, and then sink in deep again, over and over. “You’re going to come for me here, just like you came on my mouth last week, aren’t you? Say it.”

“Yes, Dominic, yes. Oh god oh god,” Lucy chants softly under her breath the closer she gets, and I smile when I remember she did the same thing the first day when she spilled the coffee. And again, the day she came on my desk.

“And when we’re finished here, you’re coming home with me. You’re going to lift up this dress I bought you and let me fuck you in it, and then you’re going to come again. Only this time on my cock. Do you understand?”

She tries to pull me close for a kiss, but I don’t let up. “Come for me baby. And then come back with me tonight and let me finish you right.”

She bites her lip and I know I have her then. She chants one more low, “Oh god” and then I feel her tight pussy clamp down and pulse as her body spasms deep around my fingers.

I take my hand away and soothe her as she comes down, her breathing returning to normal, her color still high. I glance over my shoulder and check. No one’s watching. Satisfied, I pull her close to me and wait for her to get calm and straighten her dress before I sit back and meet her eyes.

“Had enough?” I ask. We both know I’m not talking about dinner.

Her eyes glow when she replies. “Not a chance.”

Check please.