“HOW DO I look?” I asked nervously, checking the clock over the bar again.

“Like a million bucks. You’re going to have him eating out of the palm of your hand. Or any other body part you’d like,” my favorite bartender said with a grin.

I smiled, but inside I was nervous. Ian’s plan had been so erotic, so much fun. I didn’t want to disappoint him. Okay, yeah, I didn’t want to lose the bet, either. But mostly I didn’t want to let him down.

“You okay? You really do look amazing.”

I looked down at my low-cut cocktail dress. It was a little fancy for the early afternoon, but I’d figured what the hell. The surest way to seduce my husband was to look and feel my best. And hopefully drive him out of his mind with lust.

My dress was sleeveless, with thin straps draping over my shoulders that just barely concealed the bra straps of my new lingerie. The dress flared out at the waist but was quite short. I was also wearing brand new thigh-high stockings, held up by a sexy garter belt. I’d bought it at the lingerie store this morning and had ‘forgotten’ to tell Ian about it so that I could surprise him with it later.

I’d spent some time on my makeup and hair, too, making my eyes smoky and adding soft waves to my bronze tresses. Before parting outside the hardware store, we’d agreed that I’d go back to the apartment first, get ready, and then text him when I was done. It almost felt like we were a bride and groom again, not allowed to see each other before the wedding.

The final part of my fill-him-with-lust plan was my four inch black heels. Not very practical for walking, but the added height would be good for increasing my confidence. If I could look my sexy husband in the eye, or nearly so, it would help me keep the upper hand. It was my turn, and I was going to be the one in charge for the afternoon.

“Thanks,” I said. “I guess I just feel a little foolish dressed like this in the middle of the day.”

“You’ll feel better when Ian gets here and looks all hot in his suit.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just wish that we could do this at night ... seems like the sort of thing to do in a dark corner of a bar.”

“Maybe I can do something about that,” she said, and she strode toward a lighting panel near the entrance to the kitchen. She fiddled with the light switches, plunging one area of the restaurant into darkness, lighting another one up. She appeared oblivious of the startled looks of the few customers that lingered over their lunches.

Finally, she seemed satisfied with the lighting. The bar area was much darker now, almost as if it were night outside. The main part of the restaurant was also dimmer, though not as much. As she came back to me, a few diners were still staring in our direction.

She shrugged dismissively. “Screw them,” she said. Then she glanced toward the door and her eyes widened. “No,” she said, her voice faint. “Screw him.”

I turned to look. It was Ian. God he looked incredible in his dark suit. He’d slicked his short hair back, and put on a dark maroon tie. I wanted to grab him by the hand, shove him into the coatroom, and ride him until we both passed out from exhaustion. And judging by the bartender’s stare, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to do that.

“Holy crap. You’re a very lucky woman.” With visible effort, she pulled her eyes off my husband and turned to me. She whispered as he drew nearer. “Remember when I said you didn’t have to quit your job to spend more time together? Fuck that. Quit your job. Spend more time together. And good luck,” she added, moving away from me.

It was showtime. I kept my eyes on the bar as Ian came up next to me. I waited a long moment before turning to him.

“You look amazing,” he said, genuine appreciation in his voice.

“Thank you,” I said politely. “I’m Alyssa.”

To his credit, it only took him a second to figure out the game. “I’m Ian,” he said, shaking the hand I offered. I’d been counting on him being a quick study.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked.

I shook my head, turning back to my drink. The bartender had been down at the end of the bar, but now she approached us, shooting me a subtle wink and asking Ian what he wanted.

“I’ll have whatever the lady is having,” he said.

When his glass of red wine arrived, he clinked it against mine. I smiled, looking into his eyes, trying to see what a stranger would see in them. Such dark irises, almost charcoal. I wondered if other people ever noticed how his eyes could sparkle with mischief, narrow in concern, and intensify when he was excited?

It was weird, thinking of him as a stranger and not my soulmate, but if we were going to truly reconnect, then we couldn’t keep behaving in the same way as always. We needed do something different. And it wasn’t going to be easy. I was going to make him work for it. We’d both have to do that.

He sipped the wine slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “So what do you do, Alyssa?”

I was prepared for this question. I’d even sketched out a basic answer in my head. I’d say I was in education, that I loved working with kids. I’d even memorized a cute anecdote I’d found on a kindergarten teacher’s blog. But I didn’t end up saying any of that.

“I’m in advertising,” I said instead.

Ian raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Do you like it?”

“Yes, I really do. And I know I’m good at it. Good at helping people see that the product I’m promoting is just what they need to make their lives better. So yeah, I like that part.”

Ian’s gaze was steady on mine. “But there’s a part you don’t like?”

“The long hours. And I always take work home with me. Sometimes ... it feels like I’m so busy planning how to make other people feel something, how to make other people find what they need that I don’t make time for the things I need. For the things I want. Or for the things the people in my life want.”

“Like who? Do you have a boyfriend or a husband?”

“No ... I live with my, umm, my cat. I have this cat. And sometimes he feels lonely.”

“You live with a cat?” Ian frowned. He was definitely a dog person.

“Yes. Sometimes, he curls up on my bed, late at night. And he sleeps while I’m in the den on my laptop, working on my advertising campaigns. And, well, I know he’s just a cat, but I can tell it hurts him. That I’m not in there with him. That it feels like I’m putting my job before him.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to make you feel that way,” Ian said, and this time I was the one who frowned. Ian paused for a moment, seeming to mentally review what he’d just said. “I mean, I’m sure you don’t mean to make him feel that way.”

This wasn’t at all the way I’d planned this to go. But now that I’d started, I should see it through. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“I had a feeling you might say that,” I said, and he smiled. “Do you like your job?”

“I love it. I love helping people get justice. Using all my knowledge, skills, and creativity to find a solution to their problems. I’m good at what I do. I think I’m going to be made a partner in the firm in the next few years—maybe sooner.”

“Hopefully,” I said, clinking my glass against his again. “Are there any parts of it you don’t like?”

“Yeah,” he said, for the first time looking at his drink instead of me. “I work long hours, too. But also ... sometimes, when I’m with someone, family or friends, I’ll be thinking about one of my cases. About how I can help my client. And the person I’m with can sometimes tell that my mind is on something else.”

Okay, I was not expecting that. Did he really feel that way? That I was distracted when I was with him? I stared at him until he met my eyes, and then I could see that he did. I wonder why he’d never said anything like that before.

The tension grew, and then he broke it with a crooked half smile. “Or at least that’s how my cat sometimes feels.”

I held his gaze for a moment longer and then I smiled, too. “You have a cat, too? You somehow strike me as the type to claim to be allergic.”

“What can I say, I’ve always been a fan of pussy ... cats,” he said, his voice teasingly suggestive.

But instead of responding in kind, I wanted to finish our coded but serious discussion the right way. “I’m going to try to be better. To be a better pet-owner. To make sure I give Fluffy all of my attention when I’m with him.”

He nodded. “And I’m going to try to spend more time with little Boopsie.”

“Boopsie? I’m afraid your cat might jump out the window when she finds out that’s her name.”

“Perhaps,” he said, and then we talked about inconsequential things. The city. The traffic. The weather. Except it didn’t feel inconsequential. It felt like we were making time for each other. Really listening to each other. We weren’t rushing. We weren’t thinking about other things.

My wine was almost gone, but I sipped the last of it and looked up to find Ian staring at me. Hungrily. Needfully. “Has anyone told you recently how beautiful you are?”

“Not recently.”

“Then they should have. So I will. You're gorgeous. I’m glad you’re single. You don’t look married,” he said, purposely echoing what that man had said when I’d come here a few weeks ago. “You’re much to sexy to be a staid and respectable wife.”

Smiling at the sparkle in his eyes, I knew it was time to continue with the erotic agenda I’d planned for my handsome husband. “Respectable is overrated, in my opinion.”

“Mine too. After all, you’re the most desirable woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re drinking alone at a bar, dressed like every guy’s fantasy, and talking to a strange man. Nope, not even close to respectable behavior. I think you’re a bad girl deep down inside.”

“Maybe,” I said, trying to look nonchalant, trying not to flush with pleasure at his wicked words.

“If so, I’d really like to meet that side of you. How about we go somewhere and get to know each other better?”

“I’m fine right here, thanks.”

“Okay, we’ll stay here,” he said, his eyes scanning the room. “Let’s get a table and I’ll order some appetizers.”

“No, thank you.” At least this part of my plan was back on track. He was working for it. For me. For us.

“Come on, Lyss. I mean, Alyssa. You’re a beautiful, charming woman. I’d really like to get to know you better. And I think you’ll find I’m not a bad guy even if I do work too much.”

I was wavering. Maybe this wasn’t part of my plan, but it might work out.

Ian could see I was torn. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll play you for it. I win, we’ll go get a table. You win, we’ll stay here.”

Now we had a bet inside a bet. But what the hell ... apparently that worked for us. “All right,” I said. “If we can agree on the game.”

Ian looked around. “Miss,” he said to the bartender. She’d stayed away while we were talking, dusting liquor bottles along the back wall. She turned now with a carefully polite smile on her face. “Do you have a deck of cards?” Ian asked.

She didn’t even blink at this somewhat strange request, making me fairly certain she’d been listening in. I ducked my head to hide my grin—I probably would have done the same in her situation. “No, sorry. But there’s a dartboard in the back room if that helps any.”

Ian looked at me, and I nodded. “That’ll do,” he said.

* * *

“First round goes to me. Getting nervous?” Ian asked. We were playing two out of three, and he’d just won the first set. The dartboard was in a small room off the main hallway. There was also a pool table, but it was covered and looked as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time.

Ian had taken off his suit coat, freeing up his arms. His crisp white shirt and tie showed off his thick biceps well, and contrasted nicely with his dark eyes. For a moment I wondered what it would be like if this really were my first date with him. He was being charming and flirty and humorous, but he also kept looking at me with hunger in his eyes. I was fairly certain that were I just getting to know him, I’d be well on my way to falling head-over-heels by now.

He plucked all six darts off the board and handed me mine. I took careful aim and let my first one fly. It landed near to the outer ring, nowhere near the bull’s eye I’d been aiming for.

Ian moved closer. “Somehow I get the feeling you normally have better aim. Maybe it’s those sexy high heels that are making you unstable.” He trailed a finger down my side and rested one hand and then the other on my hips. “Maybe this will make you steadier.”

I barely managed not to laugh. Not likely. His hands felt like electric current. He wasn’t pressed against me, but I could feel the heat from his body behind me all the same. Having him so close to me made it harder to draw my arm back and aim, but I didn’t want him to move.

My second shot was closer to the center this time. But then Ian started rubbing his thumbs across my back, his strong hands still gripping my waist. It felt so damn good. I threw my last dart and it didn’t even stick—it just hit the board and fell to the floor.

“Nice job,” Ian said, his mouth close to my ear. I don’t think he’d even seen my last throw. “Your hair smells so good.” He swept it aside and leaned over my shoulder to nibble on my ear. “Are you still wearing the lingerie from this morning?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “And it’s your turn.”

Reluctantly, he let me go. He stepped up to the line, but then looked at the board. “Where’s your last one?”

“It fell.”

“Try it again.” He started to move towards it, but I put my hand against his hard abs and stopped him.

“Let me.” Turning, I walked to the board, feeling Ian’s eyes on my black stockings and the swoosh of the hem of my dress. With a glance back at him, I bent at the waist, keeping my legs straight. Slowly, I folded my body down, feeling the skirt rise to my upper thighs. Cool air across my bare skin told me that he could see the tops of my stockings and the strings holding them up. Ian’s gasp was extra confirmation.

Still moving slowly and fluidly, I picked up the dart, straightened back up, and turned. I looked him in the eye as I ran my hand through my hair, flipping it back into place. Then I walked to my husband, who wore a dazed look of desire. He was practically drooling. Turning on my heel, I threw my last dart. It landed about an inch from the bull’s eye.

“Not bad,” Ian managed, finally finding his voice. Them he blinked, shook out his arms as if to loosen up, and took aim. All three of his darts landed between mine and the bull’s eye. “Let’s go get a table,” Ian said, grabbing my hand and hurrying me out of there.

* * *

We sat side by side, in the corner booth. I was inside, and Ian’s large body was between me and the rest of the restaurant ... which was a good thing since he had his hand under my dress, running his fingers along the top of my thigh-high stockings. I was profoundly grateful this restaurant used tablecloths on the booths as well as the tables. Two plates of uneaten appetizers sat on the table in front of us.

“Tell me more about yourself. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?” Ian said in a relatively normal voice, as if he didn’t have his hand between my legs.

“Well, I’ve always dreamed of honeymooning in Europe,” I began, but Ian frowned and slid a finger under my stocking, stretching it out and letting it snap back in place. Ouch. That stung.

“Be good,” he warned, and I wondered why he thought that he suddenly got to be the one in charge. But then he tickled the soft skin of my upper thighs with his fingertips and I forgot to be mad. “Tell me something sexy you’ve always wanted to try but never have. In the bedroom ... or out of it,” he added with a cheeky wink. We certainly weren’t limiting our play to the bedroom today.

Hmm ... how should I answer that? I thought for a minute, but then his hand on my thigh gave me an idea. “I guess lately I’ve been having some fantasies about being submissive. Might be fun to experiment with that a little. With the right man, I mean.”

His eyes twinkled. “I was hoping you’d say that. You look like you’d be good at following orders.”

“Hey,” I said, getting irritated in spite of the fact that I’d just admitted to fantasizing about it. “I’m a lawyer—um, I mean, I’m in advertising. At work I’m the one in charge.”

“Clearly. But I think that at home, you might like being at someone else’s mercy.”

“You mean like at my cat’s mercy?” I said, glaring at him, but the humor of the situation was getting to both of us, and I couldn’t hold my stern expression for long. We were weaving so many fictional elements into our backstories it was hard to keep it all straight. And to keep a straight face.

“I just mean that you look like the kind of woman who might do something risky if she was ordered to do so. Or challenged to do so, if you prefer.” He grinned. “Like perhaps, if someone dared you to go into an adult toy store by yourself, you just might do it.”

I had to smile at that. “Yeah, but that kind of thing is always more fun with a partner.”

“Especially if that partner orders you to wear a vibrating toy in a restaurant.”

“Maybe,” I said, trying to maintain some decorum—not easy to do with my legs spread wide and his talented fingers stroking me.

“I think you’d do that. In fact, I think you’d do that right now, if I told you to.”

“Too bad I don’t have any toys with me, then,” I said smugly.

“Alyssa,” Ian growled.

“What, Mr. Perfect Stranger? Do I really look like the kind of woman who walks around with an arsenal of sex toys?”

“You look like the type who might have one,” he said. “Let me see your purse.”

“No,” I said, and he made a grab for it. I was quicker, holding it out to my side so he couldn’t reach it. “I’m not about to let a man I hardly know look in my purse. Besides, there’s nothing in there,” I insisted, just as my purse began to quake, a low buzzing noise issuing from it.

Looking over, I saw a smirk on his face and his hand in his pocket. He must’ve kept the remote on him when he’d changed.

“Okay, okay, so I still have it,” I said, breaking character.

“Good,” Ian said. “Because you’re going to put it in again.”

I protested, mostly out of form. “This is still my turn. I’m in charge here.”

“And we’re doing what you wanted. Talking. Flirting. Connecting. But you can do all that with the egg inside you.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was getting pretty turned on. The moisture between my legs told me that once I reached the restroom, the toy would slip in easily. “Okay, let me out.”

“No,” he said, his grin widening.

“No?” I echoed, confused. He was planted across the seat, blocking my way. And then I understood. “No!” I gasped.

“Yes,” he said, leaning down to whisper to me. “Your legs are spread, you’re already wet and slippery,” he said, wiggling his fingers nearer my center. “So just slide it in.”

“I can’t,” I whispered back, tempted by his wicked grin, but not enough to do that in public. I folded my arms over my chest, accidentally bringing my purse back into his reach.

He plucked the purse from my grasp. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Ian!” I said as loudly as I dared, but it was too late. His hand was already under the table and my purse was lying on top of it, no longer vibrating. He transferred the egg from one hand to the other, and suddenly, I felt it, running up the inside of my thigh, heading toward my core.

Giving in, I slipped my leg up and over his thigh, opening myself up to him more. He grinned and pulled aside my panties, pushing the vibrating oval over my moist folds. I closed my eyes at the sensation, but then opened them again when he pressed it against my clit.

I gave him my sternest wife look, willing him to behave. Yeah, not much chance of that. He held my gaze as he kept the vibrations steady on my most sensitive spot for several long, tantalizing seconds. Finally, he moved the egg lower, slipping it inside me. The vibrations radiated out through my core, making my heart rate increase. How many times could I get worked up today without actually exploding in orgasmic bliss?

He smoothed my panties back into place, withdrawing his hand. I sat there, squirming, panting, watching his face. With a wicked grin, he brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking the moisture off of them. “These appetizers sure are good,” he said for the benefit of anyone around us.

Fortunately, there was no one nearby, but even as turned on as I was, I wasn’t willing to risk getting too carried away in public as we did before.

“Ian, do you want to—” I broke off, shaking my head. We’d said before that wanting to skip ahead would mean forfeiting the contest. No way was I doing that.

But he seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Do you have more things planned for your half of the day, Lyss?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you want to skip them?”

“No,” I said. “I mean ... do you? Are you willing to forfeit the contest?”

He smiled and took my hand. “I think you’ll find, Counselor, that according to the legal code, it’s not forfeiting if both parties agree.”

I thought about that for a minute. “Works for me,” I said, and there was barely time for him to throw some twenties on the table and for me to wave at the bartender before we were rushing for the car, heading for home.