"Don't show that around," I murmured. "It is just my last four days' worth of junk mail I dragged out of the recycling."
Wanda only waved at the sofa in her office and disappeared. I wasn't positive, but I felt pretty sure she had more sashay in her walk as she headed off than usual. I was not complaining about the sight. Part of me, in fact, was complaining that I had not spent more time in the past observing that ass. Other parts of me were acerbically reminding my how crazy it was for me to be staring at it so intently now.
Virtually all of me was speculating about how marvelous it was going to look when bare...
With her gone, and nothing better to do, I shrugged and sank into her couch. Sank is the wrong word. It was hard as a rock. It was perfect HR interrogation furniture. You felt like you were being offered hospitality, and should be thankful for it, but you could only be uncomfortable.
I was not worried about being called into HR. I was on edge about leaving HR... along with the head of HR.
I actually shuddered a little bit as I sat on the couch, waiting. Damn her, why hadn't Wanda hit the john before I got here, instead of leaving me here waiting? As I sat there, waiting, the enormity of what we were planning on doing was weighing on me.
She took her sweet time, but it was honestly quicker than my imagination had dreaded she might have left me there.
"Okay, Clark," I heard Wanda say from the door, just as I was mentally peeking down another dubious potential alley in this crazed situation. "Let's figure out how we are going to do this project." I started to rise from the sofa, looked up and saw her. I froze again, just as I had when I had first entered her office.
Wanda, unlike me, is apparently one of those people who like to signal the end of work by ditching their tie. The missing cravat was probably in her purse, and she had unbuttoned the collar of her blouse. She had her jacket slung over her shoulder with one hand, while the other clutched my fat envelope of gadget catalogs, power washing flyers, and line of credit applications to her chest.
What arrested me was that she seemed to have taken most of her time to let down her hair. Her workday do had had her hair up in a tight bun that pulled her red hair back away over her ears. Now that corona of fire flowed loose around her face and down along her shoulders. Stray curlicues dangled along her smiling cheeks and set off her broad, black-framed glasses, through which her huge, emerald eyes gleamed at me. Her gaze seemed calm, almost passive, but since I was desperately looking for it, I easily perceived at least a touch of the nervousness that was running rampant through me. And excitement, too.
Yeah, well I guessed that I was excited too, especially now.
I ushered her out of the building and we ambled to my car. On an impulse, I moved to open and hold the car door for her, a gesture that I had not bothered with for anyone for at least a decade, but which had once very much been a part of my regular routine.
As I pulled my door open and stood back, Wanda casually handed me the envelope again and I gawped. She had not just opened the top button of her blouse, she had undone it halfway down between her breasts! The cleavage show was fabulous, but the thinness of the blouse's fabric, which had just betrayed her sturdy bra before, now betrayed the incontrovertible fact that she had ditched the bra when she had ditched the cravat. Her breasts bounced a bit as she smoothly sat on the side of the passenger seat, and she leaned forward to give me a view even deeper down her front. I could see the faint dark impression of her nipples right through the fabric. Slowly, she turned and folded her sleek legs, encased in perfectly flesh-toned pantyhose, into the car.
Struck dumb, I gently closed the door, then hopped around to get in behind the wheel.
"Thank you, Clark," Wanda said softly.
"Thank you? For holding the door?" I asked, confused and still deeply bemused.
"Nonsense," she snorted. "But your leering was both complimentary and very reassuring."
"That leer was exactly what you were fishing for," I retorted with uncomfortable amusement.
"It was still nice to get it," Wanda said primly. "Now, where are you taking me to dinner in hopes of getting lucky?" she asked, turning toward me and making her blouse gape open even more.
I shook my head to clear it from the view and told her, "I have a reservation for us at The Understudy."
"Wow," Wanda breathed in surprise. "I've only eaten there once, and it was fabulous."
I put the car in gear and exited the parking lot.
"Seems like overkill though," she mused. "We could be headed for the drive-thru at Zaxby's and you would still be going to get lucky."
I grinned at her in open-mouthed amusement. Then I just stared. For a woman who seldom rocked more than the most modest cleavage, at least in my own experience, she knew lots of ways to show off that valley. At the moment, she was subtly pulling the left side of her shirt tight, which pressed down her left breast a little flatter, accenting its obviously erect nipple, and getting it out of the way so I had an easy, full view of the inner curve of her large, full, braless right breast.
My car's lane-departure warning beeped at me angrily, and I jerked my eyes back to the road. The car lurched as I swerved it back between the lines. Wanda laughed again in satisfaction.
"You are going to have to put your jacket back on," I groused, still a little scared at nearly leaving the road. I tried not to look at her. She just purred in satisfaction and reached back for her jacket. I refused to look as she twisted around, and immediately regretted missing whatever majestic sight that would have been. With some maneuvering, she shrugged her suit jacket back in place.
"Thank you," I said, looking over at her with a grateful smile.
Yeah.
She had put the jacket back on, but she hadn't buttoned it. And in the process, she had undone one or two
more
buttons on the blouse. I looked across to find myself treated to a side view of her breast from neck to several inches below. Her smooth, firm breast might have been forty-four years old, but it was clear that droop was still more of a suggestion than a reality.
I groaned and tried unsuccessfully not to drink in that sight, and the fun it presaged. "Wanda, I'm glad that at least one of us is having fun with this."
"You aren't having fun?" she asked, her voice suddenly serious.
"Wanda, my body is a hormonal soup of fear, uncertainty, lust, confusion, guilt, anticipation, and lust. I am eager and excited, but I am not having fun."
"Well," Wanda said airily. "At least I get 'lust' twice," she said as if to herself. She calmly did up a few buttons on the blouse, then a jacket button. You could still see the Grand Canyon, but in comparison to the view all the way to the bottom of moments before, the cleavage now looked almost demure.
She had put them away! Now I could add disappointment to my list of emotions. At least I could look over at her more now that it was merely an awesome sight, not life-threateningly mesmerizing.
Wanda lifted her hand as if she was going to grasp mine, but she pulled it back hesitantly.
"I'm all those things, too, Clark," she said quietly. "I'm just being kind of gonzo to keep up my nerve."
"Thank God," I replied. "I was starting to get an inferiority complex in the face of your massive certainty."
Wanda just laughed. But I could now hear the uncertainty from her, too.
"Look," I said quickly. "This is a crazy situation we are in, and a crazy plan we are trying to execute. I am still not sure this is smart, either. I need some normalcy. I think you do too," I rambled. "I know this isn't a date, but let's just treat it as one. Let's have a nice dinner and see where the evening takes us."
Wanda considered that for but a moment. "I am with you, Clark. But for the record, I think this is a date, of sorts."
"You are married," I managed to say, not snap.
"So? Married people date, and not always with their spouses... see Yancey Franklin and Rebecca Howard. A date is just two compatible people leaving work and home behind to socialize, maybe eat or drink, and see where things take them." Wanda smiled brightly. "It is especially a date when the guy takes his prospective girl out to a swanky place like The Understudy. It shows he is bringing his A-Game."
