Late on a Friday night, Cara stood in the Commission Conference Room on the top floor of the Denver Central Public Library. The library was closed, but she had snuck away from a special event in the basement conference facility. Even after several glasses of champagne, Cara was bored at the fundraiser and this room was one of her favorite spaces in the city. Although the library was deserted, she had moved surreptitiously through the dark corridors to revel in this magnificent chamber. When she entered, she left the lights extinguished.
The room has a soaring tepee shaped ceiling accented with large wood beams. During the day, the windows offer fabulous views of the snow-dusted Colorado mountains. This was Cara's first night visit. The near full moon light gave the room a magical, quicksilver patina. Fingering the soft material of her sundress, she wandered the room and took in the panoramic views of the downtown lights.
The centerpiece of the room was a large, circular wood table that was built for a 1997 economic summit of world leaders. The birch table spans 13 feet and is decorated with a cherry inlaid sun symbol at its center. Cara rubbed her hand across the highly polished surface and sensed an invigorating warmth.
Leaning against the table, she relaxed into a moonbeam reverie. Cara closed her eyes and envisioned the room as a setting for a passionate romance novel scene of bodice ripping and lust.
She was shaken from her dreamy state by the sound of approaching footsteps. Flustered, Cara prepared to explain to library security why she was present in the off limits area. Instead of a guard, another escapee from the soirée filled the doorway. He wore a tailored shirt that hugged his trim physique. Even in the twilight glow, Cara could make out the stranger's ruggedly handsome features and carefully tussled dark hair.
He seemed unsurprised to find someone else in the room. He silently appraised Cara lounging casually against the table. She was about to speak when he reached and closed the door. Turning back, he removed his tie. With an unhurried gait, he crossed the room and approached with a lascivious look in his feral eyes. Cara was simultaneously frightened and excited. He wordlessly stepped so close that they were sharing breathes.
Speechless, Cara stood to feel less vulnerable. Although they weren't touching, she could feel his body heat through the thin fabric of her dress. The notion flashed in her mind that she was glad she wore some erotic, red lingerie today. The thought shocked her because she was usually sexually reticent. To defend her virtuous self-image, Cara justified the sexy undergarments as simply a means to help her transition from workaday professional to a more feminine weekend persona. She attributed her licentious feelings to his sensual proximity, or the beautiful setting, or the time it had been since she'd had satisfying sex, or his deep and wanton eyes, ... or ... or, all of the above.
His hand moved up and Cara trembled expecting him to touch her hardening breasts. Instead, still staring into her rapt eyes, he opened the top two buttons on his shirt. She felt torn: safe that this stranger didn't cross the taboo barrier of inappropriate touching without permission; disappointed that he didn't touch her the way her heated flesh desired.
