At first the only answer he got was Amber pulling away from him, the warmth of her hand disappearing from his leg, her arm no longer within reach. Foreman hadn't missed the flicker of her glance towards the bathrooms, and he wondered if she'd made her own calculations and decided it was too risky after all. He sat back, the roil of anticipation and arousal suddenly grinding to a halt. But a second later, Amber's voice curved warmly around the ordinary, pointless topic of what was good on the menu, as if she was cool, careless, and completely uninterested. Foreman couldn't miss the impish smile at the corner of her lips, or the slide of her foot along his calf. He swallowed hard. She wanted to tease him, and it was so damn sexy. She had to know it. And, knowing Amber, she had to be doing this on purpose. She was testing him. Seeing what he'd do.
This time Foreman didn't hesitate. He let his hand rest on Amber's knee, but instead of the light, warm, promising touch he'd intended earlier, he immediately went further, sneaking his hand under the hem of her skirt. His reach was longer than hers, giving him more room to play. There wasn't anything between his hand and her leg except the silky smoothness of her nylons. Foreman loved the sensation of the sheer fabric under his fingers, warm as Amber's skin, and so goddamn tantalizing. He might be imagining the hint of moist warmth as he reached higher, but from the flash he'd seen in Amber's eyes before she decided to pretend indifference, he didn't think so. With a hint of pressure, he urged her to uncross her legs. If she didn't want them to duck into the bathroom...God, it was even more open here, exposed. The waiter could interrupt them at any time. But Foreman wanted to know what Amber would show--whether he could deepen the flush on her cheeks, make her breath come sharp and halting.
"I've never been here before," he said, letting his voice stay dark and warm. Anyone listening might imagine he was talking about the restaurant. "You'll have to tell me what's good."
no subject
This time Foreman didn't hesitate. He let his hand rest on Amber's knee, but instead of the light, warm, promising touch he'd intended earlier, he immediately went further, sneaking his hand under the hem of her skirt. His reach was longer than hers, giving him more room to play. There wasn't anything between his hand and her leg except the silky smoothness of her nylons. Foreman loved the sensation of the sheer fabric under his fingers, warm as Amber's skin, and so goddamn tantalizing. He might be imagining the hint of moist warmth as he reached higher, but from the flash he'd seen in Amber's eyes before she decided to pretend indifference, he didn't think so. With a hint of pressure, he urged her to uncross her legs. If she didn't want them to duck into the bathroom...God, it was even more open here, exposed. The waiter could interrupt them at any time. But Foreman wanted to know what Amber would show--whether he could deepen the flush on her cheeks, make her breath come sharp and halting.
"I've never been here before," he said, letting his voice stay dark and warm. Anyone listening might imagine he was talking about the restaurant. "You'll have to tell me what's good."