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January 4, 1962

Holy cow. Is it really 1962 already? I swear, each year goes faster than the last. Mr. Stevenson gave me two weeks off for the kids’ Christmas break. Of course, the family time was wonderful, but, though I must be a terrible mother for admitting this, a part of me was longing to get back to work, or, more accurately, back to Mr. Stevenson. I felt guilty about this, naturally, and really tried to focus on the family. But there you are.

I need to get to what I wanted to write about. I did something I never thought I’d do. Not because I find it disgusting, but because Frank would have been horrified at the thought of me doing it. I suspect he isn’t horrified in general at the idea—I know about the Playboy magazines he keeps hidden in his workbench—but I think the concept of his wife doing it is more than he could handle.

Here’s what happened.

I’ve been back at work since Tuesday, and the first two days we were so busy catching up with mail and dictation that there was very little time for any hanky-panky. We began to ease back into some of our sexier routines after that, including several painful but exciting bouts with the ruler on my bare bottom. But then this morning, Mr. Stevenson upped the ante. Boy, oh boy, did he!

“Today,” he intoned in that formal way he has, “will be a new test of your submission. I am going to teach you the art of fellatio.”

Fellatio.

It sounds like a character in an Italian opera. My first reaction was to refuse outright. There was no way I was going to get on my knees and put my mouth on that man’s penis. And I said so, in no uncertain terms.

He lifted his eyebrows, a smile playing over his lips. He waited several beats and then said in a gentle tone, “Olivia, who do you belong to?”

I admit it—I love when he says that. There’s something so sexy and intense about it. And the way he says it, so soft and low, like a caress.

“You, Sir,” I whispered, unable to help myself.

He nodded slowly and then asked, “Do you understand, when you refuse something I want, that you are saying, through your actions, that you don’t trust me? That whatever is going on between us is really just playacting to satisfy your sexual whims?”

I stared at him, at a loss for words.

He was right, of course. I love the game, as long as it’s my rules we’re playing by. I can pretend to be submissive all I want, but when he asks me to do something I don’t want to do, or am afraid to do, I balk.

He didn’t press me. Instead, he said, “I want you to take a day to think about it. I’m not going to force you. You will have to come to this of your own free will. Our exchange of power is a voluntary one. Here’s what I want you to think about—do you want to keep things just as they are between us, or are you ready to move to a higher plane of submission, one where you truly surrender, truly give of yourself?”

I didn’t reply, not sure what to say, though I could already feel some of my outraged resolve slipping away.

“We’ll revisit the subject in the morning, Olivia. When you’re ready, you will ask me if you may suck my cock.”

Suck his cock! It sounds so obscene. I’m not even sure it’s legal.

But that was the end of it. He spent most of the day in his office, the door closed, while I clacked away on my typewriter, did some filing and handled phone calls. At first, I was just plain annoyed. Sometimes I think he’s full of boloney. He puts these ideas in my head and couches them in lofty sentiment, just to get what he wants. But then, I get to thinking…

 

January 5, 1962

He has this way of working on me, like he’s planting these seeds in me that burst into flower when I’m not watching. I couldn’t stop thinking about this whole idea of what he wants me to do. A part of me is actually quite curious, from a physiological standpoint. What would it be like? Could I even do it?

And then there’s the psychological aspect. From what I know of this, the man kind of loses control. He’s in seventh heaven, completely under the spell of the woman who is pleasuring him. Talk about power! For once, I’d be the one in control. At least, as in control as one can be when on her knees.

I was considering it. I really was.

But, when he asked me if I was ready to submit to his wish, the words just popped out like popcorn. “No, Sir. I am not.”

 

January 8, 1962

When he came into the office this morning, after I’d spent the entire weekend silently obsessing about what I would or wouldn’t do, I blurted out, “I’m ready, Sir. I want to do it.”

In classic Mr. Stevenson style, he cocked his head slightly, as if confused, though I was damn sure he knew just exactly what I was saying. “I’m sorry, what? What is it you want to do?”

“You know,” I hedged. Was he really going to make me say it?

“I may know,” he replied calmly as he hung up his hat, “but I want you to tell me. What is it you want to do?”

“What we talked about last week. About your, uh, your cock,” I mumbled.

“Speak clearly, Olivia,” he said, not even trying to hide his smile. “Are you asking me for permission to suck my cock?”

Heat seared across my face, while at the same time, I can’t deny it, I got that achy feeling I get in my sex when he asserts control. He wouldn’t let up until I said the words he wanted to hear. Somehow, I forced myself to say, “I want to suck your cock, Sir.”

“That’s good to hear, Olivia. I’m pleased. I’ll call you in when I’m ready for you.”

Typical.

Anticipation is key, he likes to say. As I sat at my desk, trying to work, I could barely sit still. I stuck a hand in my panties right there at my desk. I rubbed a little and it felt good. I was thinking of heading into the bathroom to do the job properly, when he called out, “Olivia.”

Excited and nervous as a cat, I came into his office. Mr. Stevenson was standing in front of the couch. His jacket was off, but he was otherwise fully clothed. He sat down and said, “Come here and kneel before me, slave.”

My heart already going a mile a minute, I obeyed, letting that lovely net of submissive release settle over me.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and set it beside him. “Open my belt and my pants.”

I managed to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants without too much fumbling.

He pulled his shirt and undershirt out of the way and reached into the fly of his boxers. When he pulled out his cock, I nearly bolted from the room, but I gathered my courage and stayed put. I looked up at him, expecting some kind of direction, but he just said, “Go ahead.”

Taking a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes shut and stuck my tongue out in the general direction of his penis.

Mr. Stevenson chuckled. “For God’s sake, Olivia. It’s not going to bite you.” He took my head gently in his hands as he peered down at me. “I want you to make love to my cock, Olivia. To worship it as a sign of your devotion. You can do it. Do it for me. Relax and open your throat, and take pleasure in the knowledge that you’re pleasing me.”

His voice, his words—they struck a perfect, resonant chord in me, and my tensed muscles relaxed, my pulse slowing.

At first, I just kind of licked around the head and then drew my tongue along the shaft. He smelled good—like Ivory soap and his own musky essence. There was a fat vein on the underside that throbbed against my tongue.

He sighed with obvious pleasure and leaned back, his eyes closing.

I was instantly pleased with myself. I had a glimpse of what it must be like to dominate another—to take control and reduce someone to pure lust and need, as he so often does with me.

I continued a while longer, licking along the smooth, satiny skin, until he placed his hands on my shoulders and looked down at me. “You’re doing well, Olivia. Now, I want you to take it into your mouth. You may cradle my balls and the base of the shaft with your hands, gently. Take your time. Start with the head and move slowly down. Open your throat and stay relaxed. I understand this is new and difficult for you, and I’m honored with this gift of your submission.”

Suddenly, all I wanted was to please him.

I kept gagging when I tried to take it in too far. Still, whatever I was doing must have been okay, because it wasn’t long before he began to breathe heavily, and I could actually feel his balls tightening in my hand. I started to panic when I could tell he was about to climax. The thought of him ejaculating into my mouth was—is—so disgusting that I was afraid I’d end up spitting it out and making a scene.

He must have sensed my sudden tension in the rigidity of my body, because he said, “Don’t worry, darling, I won’t come in your mouth. Not this time.” Then he took my head in his hands and began to move his cock in and out of my mouth.

It was weird, because I’m used to being the one who loses control, but now it was he, my Master, who was moaning and panting. All at once, he pulled back and grabbed his handkerchief, his face twisted in orgasmic pleasure. With a cry, he spurted his seed into the handkerchief and then fell back against the cushions, still breathing heavily. He looked like such a sweet mess, disheveled and exposed.

Along with a rising sense of feminine triumph, I felt an extraordinary tenderness toward Mr. Stevenson.

Toward James.

He looked down at me, something raw and vulnerable in his face.

Then he whispered, “I love you.”

~*~

It was Sunday morning, and they’d slept in, a rare event for either of them. After another delicious breakfast prepared by Peter, they’d returned to the bedroom for some lovemaking and journal reading.

“Hey, don’t stop,” Ryan said as Tess closed the last of the notebooks. “I need to know what happens next.”

Tess flipped through the last few pages again, just in case she’d missed something, but they were blank. “That’s it.” A sense of loss moved through her at the thought that these were the last of Olivia’s secret diaries. “That’s all she wrote.”

Ryan scrunched his face. “That can’t be it. She called him James. He said he loved her. I’m starting to understand why there are so many women who love romances. I’m totally into this.”

Tess laughed, but then shook her head as she stroked the cover of the pale blue notebook, sad to think the window into Olivia’s past was closing for them. Tess was going to miss the ritual of sharing Olivia’s story with Ryan.

“These are all I found in that strongbox,” she said, recalling the day of her discovery. “But you have to be right. That can’t be all there was between them. After all, he called the house right after she died.”

“Do you still have access to your grandmother’s house?”

Tess nodded. “Yeah. I still have a key. It’s about to be put up for sale, though. My mom has ordered a dumpster and they’re going to toss everything left that can’t be sold when the place goes on the market.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed with determination. “Then we better get over there pronto and tear that attic apart, just in case you missed something the first time around. If there are more of these precious gems hidden away, we need to find them before they’re inadvertently thrown out.”

“Or found by someone else, like my mom,” Tess said, catching Ryan’s sense of urgency. “Let’s go.”

 

After over two hours of scouring every nook and cranny, not only of the attic, but the basement and every room in the house, they were forced to admit defeat. “If they existed,” Ryan said, “they don’t anymore. We’ll never get the full story of the Master and the secretary.”

“Well, we know one thing for sure—my grandparents never split up, so they kept the affair secret. You know,” she added, staring contemplatively out the kitchen window, “I think that last entry was a game changer. The relationship between them was shifting to something a lot more intimate. It’s one thing to write a journal about some kinky games played at the office, but I imagine it would be quite another to document a real love affair.”

Ryan nodded thoughtfully. “I bet you’re right.” He took Tess into his arms and kissed her nose. Then he pulled back, capturing her in his green-eyed gaze. “We’re at a similar crossroad as James and Olivia, you and I. We’re both ready to move to something more intense—more profound.”

“Yes,” Tess replied softly. She was at once terrified and thrilled to her bones at the thought of giving herself so completely to another. “I want that, too, but I have to confess, sometimes I’m scared. At the same time, I feel more alive than I ever have in my life. I feel, so—this may sound weird—but so brave and empowered. It’s like we’re exploring a whole new world together. Though, obviously, it’s been explored before.” She sighed, thinking again of Olivia and her Mr. Stevenson.

“She was an amazing woman, your nana,” Ryan said gently, as if reading Tess’s mind. “And you’re amazing, too. And yes, I get it that you’re scared sometimes. This is new, scary stuff, but that doesn’t make it bad. It takes courage to submit. I’m asking you to give up control, and that requires a lot of trust. I promise to always be worthy of that trust, Tess,” he said softly, again taking her into his arms. “We’re becoming, together, what we were always meant to be.” He dipped his head and kissed her.

The ringing landline made them, reluctantly, pull away from one another. “Huh,” Tess said, moving toward the wall-mounted, old-fashioned phone. “I wonder who that could be.” She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

There was a pause, during which Tess almost hung up, and then a deep, resonant voice said, “Tess? Is this Tess Shepard?”

Tess’s heart began to pound. Even before her conscious mind processed who was on the phone, she knew. “Yes,” she managed to stammer, “This is she.”

“This is James Stevenson. I don’t know if you remember, but we spoke, very briefly, a few weeks back when you…when you gave me the terrible news.”

“Yes, of course I remember,” she replied, managing to keep her voice steady and even. “I’m so sorry you had to find out that way.” She recalled the shock and heartbreak in his voice that, at the time, she hadn’t fully understood. “But how did you know my name? Or that I’d be here?”

Ryan had moved to stand by her, his eyebrows raised in question.

“It’s Mr. Stevenson,” she mouthed silently, letting her incredulity show in her face.

“No way,” Ryan breathed softly. “What the hell?”

She shrugged to indicate she had no idea, and then focused on the man’s words.

“I hope you don’t mind my calling you. I had your mother’s phone number, and she told me I might find you at Olivia’s place. I believe I’d mentioned during our first conversation that Olivia and I were old friends.”

And a whole lot more, Tess immediately thought, but of course didn’t voice.

“Olivia spoke of you fondly and often, more than anyone else in her family.”

Grateful tears filled Tess’s eyes, and she wiped them away. Ryan put his arm around her, and she leaned into him.

“I called because… well, frankly because I’m seeking a way of closure, having missed her funeral service. I’m having trouble processing the fact that your grandmother is no longer in the world.” He cleared his throat. “Forgive me, I’m still somewhat emotional over the loss.”

“Not at all,” she replied, still not sure what he was seeking.

“I hope you won’t find this request too odd, but I was wondering if we could meet, perhaps for dinner?”

It was as if the universe, having denied Tess any more of Olivia’s journals, was giving her the next best thing—a chance to meet the real Mr. Stevenson in the flesh. How could she possibly refuse?

“I’d be delighted to meet you,” she replied sincerely. “I’d like to bring my boyfriend, Ryan Hunter, if that’s all right.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Mr. Stevenson agreed readily. “Are the two of you available for dinner tomorrow evening?”

Tess put her hand over the receiver and murmured to Ryan, “Dinner, tomorrow night with Mr. Stevenson?”

“Absolutely,” Ryan said emphatically. “Holy shit.”

“Yes,” Tess said, grinning into the phone. “That would work. Did you have a place in mind?”

“Do you know Le Coq, downtown?”

“I do, but I’m not sure we could get reservations on such short notice,” Tess replied. Le Coq was a very high-end restaurant that was famous for three-month waiting lists for reservations, not to mention ridiculously high prices.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Stevenson said smoothly. “I am good friends with the chef. This will be my treat, and my pleasure. Shall we say seven o’clock?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tess agreed.

“Thank you again. I look forward to meeting you and Ryan.”

 

As they were getting dressed the next evening, Ryan said, “Do you trust me with your submission, Tess?”

She drew in a sharp breath, the thrill of his words reverberating inside her. “Yes, Sir,” she said softly.

“Tonight, if it feels right, I may ask you for a display of that submission in front of Mr. Stevenson.”

“What?” she blurted, stopping midway through putting on her earrings. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we both know that Mr. Stevenson is hardwired like we are. He’s a Dom, and he demonstrated pretty clearly in those journals that he’s very comfortable in the role.”

“But he’s—he’s so old. He must be over ninety.”

“So?” Ryan countered. “You know the old saying—a tiger doesn’t change his stripes. These kinds of feelings and desires we share—they don’t just go away, I’m sure of it.”

“Okay,” Tess said slowly. “So what would, um, a display of submission mean exactly?”

Ryan smiled, his eyes sparking in a way that sent a shiver through Tess’s body. “I’m not sure, exactly. That’s why I’m asking for your trust. If it feels right, I’d like to show him what we share—that you belong to me, much as Olivia once belonged to him.” He came over to her and took her into his arms, adding, “Though we’re so much luckier, because we don’t have to hide our love.”

He ran his finger down her cheek and along her jawline. Then he placed his hand lightly around her throat as he peered into her soul. The primal touch sent another shudder coursing through Tess’s loins. As he tightened his grip, she couldn’t help herself—she moaned aloud.

“Is that a yes?” Ryan teased, a small, sexy smile playing over his lips.

“Yes,” Tess breathed, electrified with fear and desire in equal measure. “Yes, Sir.”

 

The maître d’ looked down his nose as Ryan and Tess approached the host station. “Ryan Hunter and Tess Shepard,” Ryan said smoothly. “We’re meeting Mr. James Stevenson.”

The man’s expression instantly softened into a deferential smile. “Ah, Mr. Stevenson. He has already been seated.” He nodded toward the young woman standing beside him. “Angela will show you to his table.”

The large room was elegantly appointed, with linen tablecloths and subtle lighting, every table occupied. Toward the back in a discreet corner, an imposing older gentleman sat alone at a table set for three. He still had a full head of silver hair brushed back from a high forehead. When he looked up, his eyes, though faded, were still blue, and his face creased into a smile as they approached.

He got slowly to his feet and reached out to take Tess’s hand. “You must be Tess,” he said in that deep, resonant voice Tess had so often imagined when they’d read Olivia’s journals. “What a pleasure to meet you at last. I feel as if I already know you.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Tess replied, slightly awestruck at seeing Mr. Stevenson in the flesh.

Dropping her hand, he turned to Ryan. As they shook, Ryan said, “I’m Ryan Hunter. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Stevenson.”

“Likewise. And please, call me James.”

A waiter appeared instantly before them. Ryan and Tess each ordered a glass of wine, while Mr. Stevenson requested a martini with two olives. They spent a few minutes exchanging pleasantries and backgrounds, with Mr. Stevenson noting he’d retired from his law practice some twenty years before, and now lived a quiet life, enjoying his solitude and taking pleasure in his grandchildren when they visited. He was very interested in Ryan’s and Tess’s law careers and asked lots of questions about what it was like to practice in today’s environment.

“Olivia had a very sharp legal mind, you know. She would have been an excellent attorney in her own right,” he remarked.

“Nana was sharp as a tack,” Tess agreed. But tell us about your affair. How long did it last? How far did it go? She was dying to ask, but didn’t dare.

The food was delicious, and Mr. Stevenson couldn’t get enough of Tess’s childhood stories about Olivia. He kept refilling Tess’s wine glass, and she drank more than she was used to. She had a definite buzz going by the time the main course was cleared away.

As they were waiting for coffee and dessert, it must have been the liquor that loosened her tongue, because the words slipped out before she could censor them. “We found the journals, you know. The secret diaries.”

Both men stared at her, Ryan with an amused smile, Mr. Stevenson with confusion. Then, all at once, he seemed to understand, and his face grew pale. Tess desperately wished she could stuff the words back into her mouth, but it was too late. Ryan, no doubt sensing her distress, put his hand over hers and gave it a little squeeze.

Mr. Stevenson seemed to compose himself, and after a moment, he said quietly, “She still had them, after all these years?”

There was no point in trying to backtrack at this point. “Yes. I found them after she died,” Tess said. “They were locked in a strongbox in the attic. I’m sure no one but she had ever seen them,” she hastened to add.

“Until you, I suppose you mean? You read her secret, private journals?” Mr. Stevenson’s tone was more bewildered than anything.

Shame rushed through Tess’s veins. There was no doubt—Ryan and she had trespassed into someone else’s very private life. It was like peeking in on lovers who didn’t know you were there. She turned helplessly to Ryan, not sure how to respond.

Ryan gave her a reassuring smile and addressed Mr. Stevenson. “Let’s put things in perspective. If you had discovered old tracts of writing buried in your relative’s attic, wouldn’t you have done the same? Tess loved her grandmother with all her heart. Imagine being offered the chance after someone you love has just died to somehow connect with them again, to perhaps know them a little better, for a little longer. In Tess’s position, would you have denied yourself that chance?”

Mr. Stevenson, who had been gripping his glass tightly, released it and sat back, his color returning. He smiled. “You’ve made your point. And yes, given the situation you have described, I doubt I could have resisted the temptation.” He looked steadily at Ryan. “I assume you read them, as well.”

“Yes,” Ryan admitted, gazing back. “I apologize for imposing on your privacy in that way. Tess was seeking a connection with Olivia, and she wanted to share that with me. The truly astonishing thing is how strongly Tess and I connected with you both—with the exploration of Dominance and submission.” He reached for Tess’s hand under the table. “Tess and I are on the same path, if that puts your mind more at rest. Olivia’s journals gave us permission, in a way, to deepen our own exploration into D/s.”

Mr. Stevenson raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?” he said slowly, looking from Ryan to Tess, gazing at her in a way that made her want to look away, though somehow, she was unable to.

He broke the spell by reaching for his water glass. He took a sip and set his glass down carefully. “I never read them, you know. She stopped writing in them after the first year or so. After”—he paused, a wistful expression coming onto his face—“things changed between us.”

Tell us more, Tess silently begged, but managed to hold her tongue.

Mr. Stevenson smiled, though the sadness lingered in his eyes. “When I saw her scribbling away, sometimes I would tease her that she was taking notes for a great novel she would someday publish. She would laugh and tell me to mind my own business. For a submissive, she could be pretty bossy.”

“She could be pretty bossy for a grandmother, too,” Tess said with a laugh, missing Olivia something fierce.

“I’d like to hear more about what you said about your own exploration in D/s,” Mr. Stevenson said. “That is, if you’d care to share.”

Ryan again took Tess’s hand underneath the table, giving it a slight squeeze, as if asking permission from her. She squeezed back, granting it, though butterflies had begun to dance in her stomach. Was this when the “demonstration” Ryan had promised would take place?

“We’re both pretty new to the scene,” Ryan said, “at least in terms of acting on our desires and impulses. I’ve always had dominant feelings, but I hadn’t really found the right partner to explore it with until I met Tess.” He gave her hand another comforting squeeze and glanced at her.

Taking her cue, she added, “I had never really articulated my submissive feelings, even to myself, until I started reading Olivia’s journals. Ryan has been amazing, always there to take me to the next level when I’m ready. It just feels…right, if you know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean,” Mr. Stevenson replied. “I envy your generation. You’re so much freer, not only to explore, but to acknowledge these feelings in yourself, without the accompanying shame, confusion and guilt most people of my generation experienced.” He fixed them each with those fierce blue eyes, looking from Ryan to Tess, and then back to Ryan. “Once Olivia became more comfortable in her role as my submissive, we found our relationship deepened when we shared that submission with others. I’m curious—have you found that to be the case in your relationship?”

“It’s funny you should ask that,” Ryan said as Tess’s heart lurched into her throat. “We were discussing that concept this evening while we were getting ready. I mentioned to Tess I might ask her to demonstrate her submission in some way to a witness—to you.”

Mr. Stevenson raised his eyebrows, again fixing Tess with his fiery gaze. “Indeed. I would love a demonstration.” The timbre of his voice had changed, and she could feel the quiet power and authority in his tone.

Ryan’s lips lifted in a slow, sexy smile. “I thought perhaps you might have something in mind, James.”

Tess felt dizzy, and it was only partially from the wine. Was this really happening? Could she handle it? Did she want to?

Yes, a sure, steady voice whispered from deep in her core. I want it. I need it.

Mr. Stevenson looked thoughtful. “We are in a public place, so of course you’ll need to be discreet. I suggest something simple—a small testament of her desire to please you—something that will test her submission in a concrete way.”

“An excellent suggestion.” Ryan turned to Tess. “Take off your panties and hand them to Mr. Stevenson.”

“Right here? Right now?” Tess blurted, reflexively glancing to the left and right of their table.

Ryan lifted his eyebrows. “Do you have a problem obeying me, Tess?”

Tess bit her lip, her breath catching in her throat.

Ryan gently cupped her cheek as he stared into her eyes in that way he had that left her weak in the knees. Her body and soul yielded to him, opening and softening like a flower in bloom. “No, Sir,” she whispered.

She stared down at the table as she reached beneath the tablecloth. With another anxious glance around her, Tess lifted her bottom, praying the waiter wouldn’t choose that moment to reappear at their table. As she removed her panties, hot, sweet humiliation melted her from the inside out.

Mission accomplished, she extended her arm underneath the table toward Mr. Stevenson, her panties bunched in her fist.

“No,” Ryan interjected. “Not under the table. I want to see you give your panties to this gentleman.”

Face flaming, Tess handed the wadded-up bit of silk to Mr. Stevenson in plain sight of anyone who might have been looking.

He accepted it with a solemn nod. “Thank you, Tess. You are as courageous as your grandmother was.” He slipped the panties into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and then smiled broadly at Ryan.

Ryan squeezed Tess’s thigh under the table as he leaned over to kiss her cheek, and happiness flooded through her being.

The waiter appeared with their coffee and dessert. Once he had gone, Mr. Stevenson regarded Tess with a thoughtful expression, though when he spoke, it was to Ryan. “Is Tess also a sexual masochist?”

“She is,” Ryan said without even looking at her. “Though we’re still exploring her limits in that regard.”

Tess flushed anew at the way they were discussing her as if she were a toy or…or a slave… She felt at once hot and cold, heated by the sexual fire in her core, while at the same time frightened by the icy sensation of being so objectified by these two men.

“How wonderful for you both,” Mr. Stevenson said.

The waiter appeared, placing a bill folder next to Mr. Stevenson’s plate, and the strange, sensual netting that had dropped over Tess’s senses melted away as the mood shifted.

Mr. Stevenson reached into his jacket and took out a slim leather wallet. He placed an American Express Black Card on the folder without even glancing at the bill. As the waiter whisked it away, he took a business card from his wallet and handed it to Ryan. “I do hope we can meet again. This dinner has been most”—he patted his jacket pocket where Tess’s panties now resided—“delightful.”