Silk and Champagne by M.M. Brennan Page A

Over time, we'd developed a relationship of sorts. A phone call here, a text there. I knew enough about him to be unafraid to meet him and he knew enough about me to want to spend a night together.
     
    Don't get me wrong. I'm no fool and certainly not quixotic enough to believe he had feelings for me. Well, besides the feelings causing the swell in his pants. My feelings for him didn't extend that far... literally and figuratively.
     
    "No," I said. I just wanted to get this over with, though I had no idea what the night would entail. I knew his fetishes- bondage and obedience. He'd paid for a few web shows and we'd discussed his sexual desires during several late-night conversations. But telling someone you want to tie them to a bed and fuck their brains out and actually doing it are two very different things.
     
    He nodded. "Okay, let me just pay for mine."
     
    I waited as he took care of his tab, anticipation and nervousness coursing through my veins like a drug. I was dizzy, hot, and breathless... and, unfortunately, not from a long bout of delirious passion. I sighed, knowing that wouldn't come tonight.
     
    "Shall we?" he said, and surprised me by taking my hand. He laced his fingers in mine and gave a gentle squeeze. "I'm so glad you came."
     
    I'll be glad when you do, I thought as he lead me through the lobby to a bank of elevators. We stepped in together and I watched as he pressed the button for the top floor. Governor's Suite not the penthouse. He was well off but, perhaps, not wealthy.
     
    I stood beside him, my heart drumming, as he unlocked his room. He held the door, allowing me to enter first. I swallowed down the lump of fear stuck in my throat and crossed the threshold. The room glowed a warm yellow from the light of dozens of flickering candles. Pink and white rose petals were scattered about the floor and across the bed.
     
    I rolled my eyes. How pathetically cliche. An open bottle of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket on the bedside table. He caught me eyeing it and smiled.
     
    "Change your mind about that drink?" he asked and poured us both a glass.
     
    "I suppose one couldn't hurt," I managed and thanked him as I took the drink.
     
    "You seem nervous."
     
    "I am," I said. Why bother lying? My unease was apparent.
     
    "I know you don't trust me," he said. His tone was sad, his breath laced with the scent of scotch.
     
    "I'm sorry," I said, feeling a little guilty. I was the one who had suggested this, not him. Of course, he'd talked about meeting. Claimed he adored me. Wanted to take care of me. All talk with an unlikely follow through, which, didn't matter to me. I just hoped one night of drunken, mind-numbing sex could convince him into loaning me some money. Actually, a great deal of money.
     
    "Don't apologize," he said, and the edge of his lips lifted into a sad smile. He ran his fingers through my hair, pulled me close and kissed my forehead. "In time."
     
    I nodded, took a sip of champagne, and willed my hands not to tremble. How much time did he think we had? Just till checkout, then I was out of there! I sure as hell had no intentions of making a habit out of this. Hell, if the price was right, I'd never see him again.
     
    He kissed the edge of my jaw, his lips soft, full, and warm. I shuddered. Just my nerves, I assured myself, but couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in my stomach. His lips found my earlobe and moved slowly down my neck, stopping at the hollow between my collarbones. A faint sigh escaped my lips as he wrapped a hand through my hair at the nape of my neck and pulled my head back gently. The champagne slipped through my fingers and I pulled away to pick up the glass.
     
    "Forget about it," he whispered, and steered me toward the bed.
     
    He pulled his tie loose. "Give my your arms."
    '
    I hesitated, alarm stealing into my heart.
     
    "I'll take care of you," he promised. And despite myself, I wanted to believe him.
     
    My past relationships were