Capture and Release

Walking into a place as familiar to me as my own home, I paused and took the time to thoroughly survey my domain - noting the obvious couples; nervous first dates, anxious blind dates, and the settled in pairs that were paying more attention to their cellphones than the person sitting across from them - and the singles; men and women on the prowl, and on Valentine's Day of all times. My eyes met the gaze of the bartender, since the servers were too busy to do more than take orders and deliver them - before they congregated together at the end of the bar to bemoan their luck at working on this tragically romantic holiday, and he mirrored my smirk with a subtle nod toward the back of the room.

I skirted the tables holding couples, ignored the women entirely and any male form that was attempting to emit any form of pseudo alpha male energy, weaving with purpose toward a table and its occupant that would be easily overlooked - so quiet and shuttered both were. A simple white button down, and large hands wrapped around a gleaming glass of amber liquid, owned by a man whose wary gaze locked on my approach. Wondering if I'd only see the bob of his Adam's apple when I drew closer, or if I'd win the gift of hearing an audible gulp - the smug curve of my lips grew into a smile.

His hand raised the glass as I took my final steps toward him, my grin growing as he covered any overt anxiety with a careful sip of liquor - stealing the noise I'd earned, but I was certain I'd find a way to repay the loss.

"May I join you?" He glances around the room, wondering if I'm confused about who I'm meeting - a valid theory given the date. "I'm not meeting anyone," my amusement laces my words and his eyes meet mine fleetingly before resettling on his drink. "If I stay standing for much longer, I'm sure the other customers are going to think you're turning me down -" his eyes meet mine again, wide and a hint of a blush starts to creep up his cheeks. "Or that I'm waiting for you to say the magic word to get me to open this coat and start a strip tease." A choked gasp escapes from his lips and I bite my lip. "So may I?" I flick a look at the empty seat next to him and he nods. "Thank you -" I wait, and he jumps to his feet, sliding the chair back so I can sit.

I take my time, not removing my coat, and lean back enough as I do to graze the whitened knuckles of his hands as I slide into place. My ears pick up the sharp inhale behind me as he pushes my chair in gently - and wait again as he takes his own seat, that he's moved a subtle few inches away from my own.

"All alone on Cupid's big night?" I ask, raising a hand to gesture for a server to come take my drink order, but the bartender is more efficient and knowing my order he's already loaded her tray with it and a refill for my new - acquaintance. Smiling at the girl who sits both down and assuring her that all I want is a drink, I focus my attention back on the man seated next to me, whose eyes are once again trained on his glass. "Oh, come now, it can't be that miserable."

A breath of a laugh escapes him, like every ounce of his strength is intent on keeping him and his emotions locked up nice and tight. "Do I look miserable to you?" His eyes find mine, or at least my face and he shakes his head. "Why did you pick my table?" Glancing around the room, clearly uncomfortable with direct eye contact - something I added to a growing list of things we'd need to work on - he scanned the room as I had upon entering, landing on the single guys scattered around the room, and far more open to company than he wanted everyone to believe.

"Which shall I answer first?" Taking a sip from my glass and letting the tart taste be chased by the gentle burn of the alcohol, I waited, and waited. My eyes were locked on him, not his face since he'd gone straight back to staring at his glass once he made certain he wasn't the only unattached man in the room.

He broke first, which he'd soon learn would be a pattern in our time together. "Why did you pick my table?" Ah, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know if he looked miserable - a resounding yes, by the way, but rather why I chose him out of the offerings on full display.

I take another drink, rolling the liquid around my mouth as I consider my words, the answer simple enough and swallow before licking my lips. "I'll happily answer your question, but only if you look at me while I do so." Eye contact, after all, is so important to forge a connection. Once his eyes meandered to mine, I smiled and waited for some hint of emotion to cross his face. I was rewarded with a half smile, which was something at least. "Isn't this better? While I'm sure your drink is complimented by your attention, I think I'm more likely to show my pleasure a touch more easily." I didn't hear the swallow, but the bob in his throat informed me that I'd managed to breach a bit of his fortress. "You want to know why I chose you," I refused to allow him to depersonalize my choice by making it about a table. "Because you look -" he tensed, from his shoulders to his hands, "like you would be better company than anyone else here."

Expecting a snort or a sign of derision, I'm pleasantly surprised when he simply inhales deeply and meets my eyes without a reminder. "I'm not sure you're right about that." He offers, shaking his head. "It's be a rough -"

My fingers touch his hand and he goes quiet. "Regardless of how things have been, let's push that away for at least tonight," I have a good feeling about this one, breaking down his walls sounds like a wonderful pastime. One that I plan on taking great pride and delight in doing before molding him into a perfect little - but if I'm pressing for him to leave his bad lot behind us, then I need to keep my plans at bay until I have his agreement, otherwise it's a pipedream that gets me - us - nowhere.

He doesn't twitch under my touch, only relaxing further and I bite my lip to keep from letting a laugh slip out. Poor thing, he only needs a little guidance to get to where he needs to be. "So I should just forget about -"

"Everything," assurances are important and so is the promise of something to replace what's left behind. "Just be in the moment with me, for now." Yes, for now, because later, not too much later, he'll be locked into more than a single moment. "How does that sound -" I allow a small huff of a laugh to breach my lips and his eyes leave mine to track where it escaped. "You know, I haven't a clue what to call you."

His own lips, pink and lush part and a matching breath of humor meets mine somewhere between us. "I could say the same for you," his eyebrow arches a touch and I find myself smiling in earnest, now that his guard is slipping slowly and a little of the man behind the suffering and walls peeks out at me.

"Touche," sitting back, pulling my fingers from his skin and noting how he flexes his hand as if it feels wrong now that I'm no longer touching it. "Jessica," he waits, and I add a point to him for his patience as he waits me out, but a note to myself as well that petulance might need to be addressed at some point. "Do you think we need last names?"

That eyebrow of his might be more expressive than his entire face, but I promise myself that I'll make the rest of it shine with all forms of emotion by the end of our - "If there's no last name, isn't that a red flag?"

Playing with the satin belt of my short trench coat, I consider how careful he really is, and have to admire it. Most men wouldn't have cared about a name, first or last, and would be trying to paw at me at this table so tucked away from everyone else. I feel far more certain that I chose - with the help of my favorite bartender - the right man. "Shall I give you a green flag?" He waits again, and I smile in spite of myself. "Jessica Havoc," his eyes widened again and I felt slightly vindicated. Glancing around the room, attached to the restaurant that also bears my name, I wait for him to react more than with his eyes.

"Havoc Holdings," he murmurs, eyes on mine without a reminder now. "You're -" I know there are a thousand ways for him to finish just what I am - rich, obsessive, a tabloid scandal that has no photos - but he surprises me again. "Private." Ah, well I am that, even if those who have found their way into my graces tend to ignore the socially acceptable parting gift of confidentiality and decide to spread tales far and wide. With enough money, however, I've found that the stories linger, but there are rarely any illustrations or photos.

It's his turn, the ball in his court, and he takes a fortifying drink from his second glass, the first finished moments after this refill found its way to us. Mine is still mostly full, I prefer a clear head during my courting ritual, as it were. "Philip, well Phil," he stumbles a little over his name, as if he's not used to the attention I'm giving him - which is ridiculous, in my opinion. "Phil Peters," he looks at me and I feel the snap, like he's finally engaging, and it only took pulling his name out of him like an abscessed tooth.

"It's nice to meet you, Philip," he licks a stray bit of liquor from his plump lower lip and I contemplate how it will feel between my teeth. "Now why are you all the way over there?" I hook my shoe into the leg of his chair and give a little tug, happy that I insisted the floors and chairs work in concert to make sliding both easy and silent. It slides closer and I grin at the startled look that greets me on his face. "Isn't this better?" I can feel the warmth of his body now, and my leg is against his. The fabric of his pants slipping against the silkiness of my stocking. "Isn't it?" We were going to have to work on his response time, since clearly he wants to elongate everything.

"It's," he shifts a little in his seat and only manages to touch more of me, making him a bit more flustered as he does. "It's -"

I lean closer to him, smiling as he inhales so deeply I hope we have oxygen to spare in the room. "Phil," my breath caresses his skin, as I move my head so my lips are close to his ear. "Philip, it's not a difficult question, really." Licking my lips and "accidentally" grazing his earlobe in the process, I'm rewarded with another sharp inhale. "Is it better that I'm so close or not?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, sitting as still as he could while I moved back a touch, far enough so I could see his face in full.

Studying him, looking for a reason he couldn't decide if me being near him was a positive turn in his evening, he surprised me again by asking, "could you ask me again?" Head tilted, I opened my mouth, but he shook his head. "No, um, could you ask me AGAIN?" Philip turned his head slightly and I had to bite my lip to keep from smirking. What a naughty man, I thought, but leaned in close and rather than ask the question, I nipped his earlobe and was awarded a gasp.

"Better?" I murmured, lips teasing his skin. "Or shall I -" flicking the tip of my tongue lightly against his barely battered flesh, my smirk couldn't be held back at the needy noise he released. "Ask again?"

Moving back again, I watched as he slowly opened his eyes that must have gone closed while I teased him. "Well?" I needed him to say it, to admit that he was as interested as I suspected he might be.

"Is there a word that surpasses 'better'?" There it was, the first true admission and it could only grow from this one simple concession on his part. "Because that's the one I'd use, if it exists."

Perfection, that's what Philip Peters was going to be, at least for me. A little coaxing and he'd be the malleable toy I yearned for, until playtime was over, and I hoped this time I'd found a toy that could keep his mouth shut when he was finally released from my hook.