Chapter 9: Claire

The food prepared by Sean’s private chef was nothing short of amazing. I’m usually not one for fancy food (I don’t eat what I can’t pronounce), but the filet mignon with whatever was under and on top of it was amazing. I wasn’t a shy eater. I cleaned my plate and had to resist swirling my finger around the plate and sticking it into my mouth, though Sean probably wouldn’t have minded.

I could feel his eyes on me all through dinner. He was good at flirting, dropping little innuendos and hints as we spent the hour chatting like strangers getting to know one another on a blind date.

I found him smart, charming, witty, and sexy as hell. I had to force myself to pay attention to the conversation because he was so distracting. My ears were trying to listen, but my mind kept wondering elsewhere. My mouth said the words, but my lips had other things in mind.

It’s incredibly hard to concentrate when you can feel hot juices pooling in the crotch of your black lace panties.

Yes, I was wearing black lace panties.

What?

They matched the dress.

His blue eyes sparkled when he looked across the table at me. His lips and teeth were perfect. His eyes narrowed and his nose wrinkled when he smiled.

The expensive suit was tailor-made to show off his round shoulders and thick arms. It was like having dinner with a model. I almost expected photographers to jump out and start snapping pictures. The sight of him was just icing on the cake of a wonderful meal.

“So, tell me about yourself,” he said as the dishes were cleared to make way for dessert.

“Well, what would you like to know?” I asked.

He put his elbows on the table and spread out his hands. “Oh, you know, the usual. Where were you born? Did you have a happy childhood? Did you come from a big family? Have you ever been married? Are you seeing anyone now?”

“That’s quite a list,” I said, dabbing a napkin to my lips. The trick to being an effective undercover cop was to use as much truth as possible without giving yourself away because the truth was easier to keep up with than lies. So, I told him my life story without mentioning that I was a cop.

I propped my elbows on the table and rested my chin on one hand. “Well, let’s see. I was born in Ohio. I had a very happy childhood. I come from a large family, three brothers, and three sisters. I was married once when I was young and stupid. Divorced after a couple of years.” I took a comical deep breath. “Anything else?”

He spread his hands again. “You forgot to answer the last question.”

“Which was?”

“Are you seeing anyone now?”

I slowly shook my head. “No. I’m not seeing anyone now.” I picked up my wine glass and leaned back to take a sip. “What about you? What’s your life story?”

Sean picked up his glass and leaned back, mirroring my posture. Our bodies seemed to have their own silent conversation going, apart from our brains. Sean took a long sip of wine and slowly licked his lips. My eyes focused on his tongue as it worked its way around.

“Well, let’s see. I grew up right here in the city, the only child of a close-knit Irish couple. My dad was an old school Irish businessman. We had money but didn’t show it off. Happy childhood, no therapy required. High school athlete, college at NYU, law degree from Harvard, and here we are.”

“Wow,” I said, leaning into the table again and sounding impressed. “You have a law degree from Harvard. Why aren’t you practicing at some big law firm rather than working at an import/export business?” I saw his face darken a little at the question. “I mean, I didn’t mean to be condescending, I was just…”

“It’s all right,” he said, patting the air with his palms. “I had planned to work at a big firm, but my dad needed help with the business. As I said, we’re a close-knit family. He needed my help and I could not turn him down.”

“That’s admirable,” I said, meaning it. “Putting your plans on hold to help your dad.”

“It’s what good Irish sons do,” he said, taking on a thick Irish brogue. He held up his wine glass. “Lest the good Irish guilt descend upon thee.”

I smiled and held up my glass. Taking a sip, I asked, “Do you ever regret your decision?”

He drained his glass and shrugged. “Regret is for people who had options.”

“What does that mean?”

Before he could answer, the server returned with dessert; a huge slice of cheesecake covered in fresh strawberries and drizzled with chocolate. I licked my lips and picked up my fork.

“I hope you like cheesecake,” Sean said.

“Yes, this looks wonderful.”

“Please, eat, enjoy,” Sean said. He glanced at the empty glass in his hand. “We need another bottle of wine.”

He got up to follow the server into the kitchen. A few minutes later I heard the front door open and close just as Sean was returning with a fresh bottle of wine.

“Did someone leave?” I asked.

“I told Jean Paul he could go,” he said, refilling my glass, then his. He set the wine bottle in the ice bucket on the side server and sat back down. He took a bite of his dessert and smiled at me as he licked his lips.

He said, “I told him I could take it from here.”