'Believe me, darlin',’ he drawled. 'The revelations are just beginning.'
But there weren't any more revelations over dinner. The quartet began to play again, more softly this time, romantic saxophone pieces - plus a decent cover of an old Robert Cray tune, 'Little Boy Big', I think. I hadn't listened to his music since Joe left. Some of the guests stepped on to the dance floor. Joe and I had never danced together.
I wished that hadn't occurred to me, and that I really were relieved he didn't ask me now.
With music greasing the wheels of nostalgia, Joe told me about his work and asked about mine and made me laugh and kept my wine glass consistently topped. Now that he'd backed the pressure off, I warmed to him. I couldn't help it. He wasn't the old Joe, but he was still a man who knew me well and liked what he knew and obviously found me attractive. Of that I had no doubt. The banked heat of his gaze proved it, the way he used any excuse to touch me, the way he hung on my every word.
He kept my palm cupped to his inner thigh, urging my little finger against the solid swell of his cock. I quickly perspired through his trousers, or he did, but he didn't seem to care. His seam-straining erection never faltered, not for the whole hour-long conversation. Nor did he seem to mind that all I did was press the outer edge. I was the one squirming in my chair.
Anyone who saw us would have thought we were lovers. By the time I swallowed the last sip of coffee, I almost wished we were.
'I have to work the room now,' he said, with seemingly genuine regret. He lifted my hot, damp hand from his lap and kissed my fingertips. 'I'm afraid it'll bore you. Why don't I get my driver to take you home?'
My driver. What a funny thing to hear Joe say. Not so long ago his primary means of transportation had been a ten-speed bike. He escorted me down the stairs to the car park. Even in my trainers, I wobbled a bit. I'd drunk more wine than I realised - enough not to care very much, or to remember why a shiny Cadillac limo should not be idling in front of the awning.
Joe helped me into the passenger compartment and leant on the open window. We stared at each other. The streets were quiet. Halloran's was the only place open here. I looked at his lips and remembered how soft and gentle and clever they were.
He muttered something under his breath.
'What?' I asked.
'Lean out so I can kiss you,’ he said.
Amazingly, I did.
He clasped my face in his hands and brushed his nose against mine. Our breath mingled, silent and warm. His tongue touched one corner of my mouth, then the other, then the centre. He pushed lightly, delicately penetrating the barrier of my lips until we both moaned low in our throats. Our mouths opened to each other, then closed, commingled. Oh, his reined-in hunger tasted so good, his heat, the assurance he'd grown like a sleek new skin. * ran my hands over his shoulders, testing the hard, rounded muscle. I wished I could rip his shirt off and ravish him where he stood.
The kiss grew deeper and wetter. Our tongues slid together like lovers coupling, quivering with six months of unassuaged yearning. My emotions seethed like heated oil as my desire for him fought my need for self-protection. Was this kiss merely one of a long procession of kisses, or did it mean what his half-choked moans implied it meant? Was it special? Did it make him sing from soul to sinew?
Ultimately, my sinews didn't care. I clutched his shoulders. My nails pricked him through the starched cotton of his shirt.
At the tiny injury, he exhaled slowly, as if he'd set down a heavy load. He turned his head and kissed me harder until the back of my head met my own shoulders. His hand bracketed the arch of my throat. He swept it lower, crossing my collar bones and dipping into the warm, scented valley between my breasts. He counted the ribs there with the pad of his thumb, up and down, down and up, as though he dared not stray from this track but could not force himself away.
Touch me, I thought, my nipples a stony pain, my blood thundering in my ears. The strength of my attraction to him dizzied me.
Then he broke away.
My only consolation was that he was breathing as hard as I was.
'Now.' He gave my cheek an little smack with the flat of his palm. His eyes glittered coolly under the street-lamp. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Maybe next time you'll do what I tell you to.'
He couldn't have shocked me more if he'd slapped me senseless. I closed my gaping mouth with a snap. In a flash I remembered the supposedly broken-down limo, the very limo whose engine purred so smoothly through the quiet night.
He'd lied - about everything - and I'd fallen for it.
'Don't hold your bream,' I said.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. Take the lady home,' he instructed the impassive driver, 'and make sure she gets safely inside.'