Gina Mason admitted that sitting in a booth in a bar of this quality was beyond her more reserved habits. Adjoining one of the more up-market hotels in the area, it could be a very expensive place for a drink. But, on the way home from visiting a friend, the sudden rain had driven her into these luxurious surrounds for shelter. Any port in a storm, she would say.
Damn the rotten weather, although it suited her sour mood. Paul had gone. Just packed his bags and away, without comment. Another woman?
Gina wasn't bothered at all. Good luck to her, if she did exist. Paul had never hit the spot deep inside Gina, that she was positive should be roused into a flame. It would never happen with Paul, who had, she thought, always entered her in an almost desultory manner, as though she was an afterthought.
The fact was, she could get more pleasure from her own fingers. At least they knew all the right spots. Yet, although getting some pleasure, she was certain that there had to be more. She had heard friends talk about orgasms, had read about them, and there was no doubt that Paul had never brought her anywhere near, and her own efforts although helpful, were short of the mark.
Maybe this change of location might give her some hope, although quiet now, it could, once real business started, draw in a number of rich and lusty young men. The way she was feeling, the 'rich' was less important than the 'lusty'. She took a sip of her Grigio. Chances? Somewhere short of zero.
A shadow fell across the table, and a deep male voice asked quietly, "Is anyone else sitting here?"
Startled out of her reverie, Gina, after a quick glance at the many empty booths in the bar, looked up at this intruder. Something fluttered inside her chest, as she took in a tall figure in a lightweight brown jacket over a lighter brown shirt. Above that a very handsome face wearing a half querying smile, topped by a mop of black hair with a touch of grey at the temples. Would that signal he was in his early forties? He was holding a tumbler of amber liquid.
He raised his eyebrows at Gina's obvious hesitation, "You can always tell me to move on."
Recovering, and regretting her reluctance, she said, "No, there's no one else here."
"You don't mind if-?" He said, making a motion as though to sit.
"No, of course not." As he slid into the seat across the table from her, he added, "I don't like drinking alone, especially when the company is attractive."
Oh, oh. First steps towards attempted seduction? He looked good, but she had certain rules, plus he was older than her. She reckoned some fifteen years beyond her own twenty-six. But, God, now he was close, she saw how handsome he was, broad jawed, full-mouthed and those eyes, such green eyes.
"Call me Elga. The composer without the 'r'."
"Gina."
"What a delightful name, and it suits you."
For about fifteen minutes, as they sipped their drinks, they exchanged basic information. He was interested when she told him she worked for a woman's magazine.
"Fiction?"
"Occasionally. Mainly on relationships."
He gave a very fetching chuckle as he told her, "We're not too different then. I'm into psychological research."
"Into what?"
"Everything."
Time to find out. "What does your wife do?" she asked, having noticed the large ring on his left hand that held a red stone which surely, could not have been a ruby.
"I'm not married, You?"
"No."
"Boyfriend?"
"No longer," she said with a touch of bitterness in her voice.
His eyes were looking at her hand that held her glass, "So, you are not a virgin?"
That was it! Too much, and she grabbed at her handbag as she moved to swivel out of the booth. It was so clear where he was moving the conversation.
His hand shot across the table. It didn't grab her, but his fingers simply stroked over her hand. "Please don't go. That was impertinent of me." She looked into his face, and his green eyes seemed to be pleading, and Gina settled back, the back of her hand tingling where his fingers had touched.
Strangely, she found her eyes could not pull away from the green intensity of his. He had placed his ringed hand under his jaw as he stared at her, and the ruby stone caught the overhead lights. Such green, green eyes. So deep, so wide as they searched into her brain.
Then, for an instant, there were no eyes, no bar noises, no voices, as though a white sheet had been placed in front of her eyes. Just as quickly it was gone, and she was looking at his warm full lips.
"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.
Gina nodded, only slightly dazed by the last moment.
"Do you live on your own?"
God, another probing question, why would she tell him that? "I have my own flat."
What the hell? She had been ready to object, yet she'd given him an answer.
His face was kindly, as his next question bombed into her ears, "When did you last have sex?"
Oh, no, he can't get away with personal questions like that. "Two weeks ago."
Why was she answering? What had happened to her mind?
"Did you have an orgasm?" His voice was low, friendly and undemanding.
Why would he ask that? She just wasn't going to admit anything. "I've never had a full orgasm." Where the hell was the link between her brain and her mouth? She was thinking one thing but saying the opposite. The clinking of glasses and customer voices seemed miles away.
"Do you have dreams?"
Well, that was easier. "I have dreams, but I never remember them when I wake up."
His lips widened in a pleasant smile, "Ever had sex out in the open."
Inquisitive, but easy to answer, "Never."
