She's so young. That's the first thought that hits me when she tells me she's been widowed for 6 years. She so young now but 6 years? 6 years ago she was just a baby.

I have tons of questions but I'm not sure asking any of them is appropriate. It's obvious that telling me about her past has her worked up. I'm just not sure if she's emotional about her deceased husband or if she's nervous about telling me.

Fortunately, Tiffany relaxes after I let her talk for a few minutes and I like that she feels safe enough with me already to open up about the reasons she ended up hiring Raven Swann.

Soon we fall into that same natural easiness I've felt with her since dinner and before I know it we've wandered off the subject of her tragically short marriage in her 20's to laughing about her interviews with Dani and Summer and, of course, my dear neighbor Helen.

"Honestly," I manage to say between gasps for air from laughing so hard, "I had no idea she was a crazy old lady."

"How could you put her on your team without knowing who she really is?" Tiffany says while wiping her eyes.

"She's always been the picture of propriety, all the years I've known her."

Tiffany cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow at me.

"OK! OK!" I hold my hands up in mock surrender, "Maybe 'propriety' isn't the right word."

"I can't believe Raven let her get away with drinking at dinner tonight," Tiffany says, shaking her head. "I don't think the chaperons are supposed to drink either."

"Who's going to argue with an 80 year old woman?"

"Good point. I still wonder if they planned to ditch us after dinner from the beginning?" Tiffany smirks as she sets her empty tea cup down on the table.

She's beautiful, sitting across from me with her legs crossed at the knee. Her red dress stands out against the dark stain on the bookshelf behind her. It compliments her dark hair and the subtle olive tone of her skin and she turns our corner of the cafe into a work of art.

We've been sitting here for hours now, I realize. Mostly ignoring our drinks till just this minute when we finally stop talking long enough to down the remaining drops of cold tea and coffee and set the cups down in unison.

The barista locking the door and turning the hand-crafted sign to "closed" is probably what triggers our mutual attention to the time.

"Is it really 11 o'clock?" Tiffany asks as she uncrosses her legs and sits forward on the edge of her chair while she takes her cell phone out of her purse and sees the time.

Checking my watch, I confirm.

We're the only ones left in the cafe and the barista is busy cleaning up behind the counter.

"Are you about to turn into a pumpkin?" I ask, gesturing toward Tiffany's phone, wondering if our match maker has set a curfew for her.

She smiles while she turns the screen off and slides the phone back into the small bag she's carrying. The slow shake of her head makes the fallen tendrils of hair around her face move gently and the way she catches her lower lip between her teeth as she shyly smiles up at me makes my heart speed up.

It also makes my dick jump to attention again in a way that makes wild images pop into my head.

Images of Tiffany lying back on my bed with her legs wrapped around my neck while I listen to her panting and make her writhe against my face.

I want to know if she'll moan or mewl or cry out as I make her come. I want to know if her hands will twist in my hair or clutch at the bed sheets beside her.

I imagine what's left of her red lipstick smeared along the base of my dick and it's enough to make me want to drag her off that chair right here in the cafe.

Instead, I manage to preserve some sense of self control and will myself back down. Then I gather up our tray of dishes and return them to the counter while Tiffany excuses herself to the restroom.

When she's returns, she's fixed most of the fly-away hairs and reapplied that damn lipstick, sending my thoughts into overdrive again.

Walking back to my car in the steak house parking lot, both of us are quiet. Maybe she's tired; all talked out for the night; thinking how the hell is she going to get out of marrying the geezer who can't stop turning his head to admire her under the parking lot lights.

There's no telling what's going through Tiffany's head as she allows me to help her into the passenger seat of my car and close the door behind her, but all I can think of is what a lucky son a bitch I am to have a woman like Mrs. Henries-Rowe on my arm.

"So no messages from our keepers, eh?" The air in the cab of the car is thick and I wonder if I'm the only one feeling the tension as I choke out some lame small talk on the way to drop her off at her hotel.

Her hotel is not where I want to take her. If I were still a younger man, I wouldn't even bother asking, I'd have acted on impulse and taken a chance on bringing her back to where I'm staying for the night.

The man in me wants to do it anyway. The man who has two daughters of his own remembers to be a gentleman. While the man who knows this amazing woman could fly home tomorrow and decide she can do better is scared to death of pushing his luck and simultaneously scared to death he'll regret it every day of his life if he doesn't.

Tiffany smiles as she shakes her head and answers me for the third time. No. Neither Raven nor Helen have sent either of us any messages. No one's keeping tabs on us. No one's scolding us for being out so late.

It makes it all the harder to politely walk Tiffany through the lobby of her hotel, past the desk clerk who's not paying any attention to us, into the alcove in the hallway to the elevators.

"Tonight was fun," she tells me even though she's rifling through her purse for her room key without looking at me.

"Yeah," I say, waiting for her to look up, wondering why she's avoiding looking at me. "I had a good time."

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, praying the elevator is stuck on another floor, hoping for time to screw my courage up, waiting for a sign that that's what she wants too.

The bell dings and the call button light goes off.

I can't go up to her room with her, she's sharing a room with Raven.

The coach doors slide open and Tiffany looks up at me. Her dark eyes smile and I watch those luscious lips of hers part slightly.

Maybe she was about to say something. It could have been a "thank you" or a "when will I see you again" or a "fuck off, loser," I'll never know. Because the words never get a chance to form before I have my mouth on hers.

Through the fog I'm shocked that she's kissing me back. Eagerly, hungrily. Reaching up around my neck, easily in step with me as I push her backwards.

What should be the wall just a few feet from us is the open door of the waiting elevator. We stumble slightly as we crash into the empty car where we both expected to meet solid wall. Finally stopping against the back of the coach where Tiffany's back presses to the cool interior wall while my hands land on either side of her shoulders.

I want to wrap my arms around her. I want to pull the clip out of her hair and run my fingers through the dark locks as they fall over her shoulders. I want to slide my palms along her back, around her waist, over her breasts and finally down till they're filled with the plump roundness of her ass as I pin her against the wall and let her feel just how much I'm looking forward to giving that Mrs. a new name.

The doors close and open again behind us and then voices are headed toward us before I have Tiffany's body pulled tightly against mine.

Stepping out of the elevator, I hold the doors open for the visibly tipsy couple that interrupted the best fucking kiss of my life. Tiffany uses her finger to wipe the corner of her mouth as she gives me an apologetic little smile, but her lipstick is gone.

I'm sure I'm wearing it and the couple's knowing smirks confirm it.

I don't give a fuck what they think.

I start to ask if she wants to meet for breakfast but the interlopers have already pressed the button for their floor and the doors slide shut before I get a chance to say good night.

Maybe I look ridiculous with my hair disheveled and my face smeared with crimson lipstick as I walk proudly past the raised eyebrow of the front desk clerk but I don't care. It's been a long damn time since I ruined a woman's lipstick and if I don't get back to my own room where I can jack off to the memory while I still smell like my future wife, I'm going to turn around and take that elevator to the 6th floor and Raven can go share a room with Helen.