Chapter 11

Ian couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun. With Ophelia by his side, he never became bored. After the champagne incident, she managed to insult a Korean dignitary by smiling at him before she was introduced, she politely asked Chairman Gregor if the woman with him was his daughter (Cindy happened to be Gregor’s twenty-two year old wife), and she sent back her beef Wellington, telling her server that she couldn’t eat anything that “moo-ed” at her.

As soon as the dessert course was cleared away, Ophelia’s mortification had become apparent by her shrill laughter and quivering hand that clenched his under the table.

“Oh, dear,” she moaned when Bruno drove them home. “I’m so sorry, Ian! I made a complete fool of myself. You must be terribly upset with me! I ruined your night! And I embarrassed you!”

“Ophelia, stop,” he said kindly. “You did not ruin my evening. I rather enjoyed myself. However, I do wish I could have seen the look on Mason Stewarts face when you asked him what a chicken sexer does.”

“Oh, heavens,” she moaned again. “No, I don’t think you would have. I’ve never been so humiliated. He started explaining how to identify a male chicken, using all these words -- like cock and breast -- that normal people would take as sexual innuendos, and then demonstrating with his hands using that poor woman’s scarf, like it was no big deal! I swear to you, I’m not really this stupid. I know what a chicken sexer does, I really do! I was just so tense and I kept bumping into people, and…”

Ian shushed her and brought her fingers up to his mouth. That got her attention. “Stop worrying, sugar. I hate going to those kinds of functions. I only agreed to shut up my agent, and you could never beat the time I sat at the same table as Miss America.”

“You met Miss America? When was this?”

“A few years ago, and actually she was a former Miss America. I kept drinking from her wine glass, and the whole table knew, but didn’t want to say anything. I became so inebriated, I couldn’t tell which glass I was grabbing. That was an exciting night.”

Ophelia giggled, and Ian found the sound just as intoxication at that bottle of ten-year-old Bordeaux he shared with that one-time beauty queen. “I can’t imagine that no one said anything,” she said.

“If you saw a blind man sipping from you wine goblet, would you have said something?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she admitted, and he liked her honesty. “I do know how it feels to be self-conscious about those kinds of things, so I’d like to think that I would say something.”

“Good enough for me,” he said with a smile and another finger kiss. He couldn't stop touching her...wanting to taste her, wanting more than she was willing to give. Mira had been correct on one thing. Ophelia was too kindhearted for him. She seemed genuinely mortified by her behavior tonight, and he felt dirty for thinking about using that against her. But if she would allow one kiss...one single kiss, he knew he could make her swoon. That wasn't his ego talking. It was experience. Growing up blind had its benefits – mainly learning the desires of a woman's body better than any normal seeing guy could.

“Ian…”

“Ophelia,” he rasped, caressing the soft skin of her bottom lip with the pad of his index finger.

She tugged on his hand. “Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

“And why not?”

She cleared her throat and escaped from his grasp. “Because you just shouldn’t.”

“Ah, does this have anything to do with my admitting that I want to kiss you?”

A soft, nearly silent sigh escaped her. Such an erotic sound from such an innocent mouth. “Yes, I suppose it does. We really don’t know much about each other, and I’m not really the type of girl that goes on spontaneous dates, and kisses strangers, and…”

“But you did go on a spontaneous date,” he reminded her.

“Only because you might have killed yourself if I hadn’t. I can’t have that on my conscience.” She cleared her throat again. “You do realize that I probably won’t accept a second date…and I won’t give you a good-night kiss either.”

Well, hell. Talk about being shot down. Feigning unconcern, he shrugged. “A man can hope.”

Ophelia fidgeted next to him. “Please try to understand…”

He held up his finger and thankfully aimed right. It landed on her lips again, sealing any further explanation. “I do understand, Ophelia. Like you said, we don’t know each other very well. And yes, I would like to kiss you. I would like to kiss you right now, and not stop until morning breaks. But instead, I’ll make a deal with you.”

“Um, a deal…okay…”

“I’ll not do anything until you make the first move,” he said. “When you’re ready, you kiss me.”

*****

Ophelia shivered. Make the first move and kiss him? Lord, after the way he touched her face earlier, she was ready to jump him on the leather upholstery. Regardless of what she just told him. But kiss him? How was she supposed to kiss him now when she just told him she wouldn't allow a second date? Send it through an email?

“Ophelia, do we have a deal?”

The problem was that after all that happened tonight – with a few inserts of Tiki's magnanimous opinions through her cell phone while she hid out in the bathroom  – she'd been gaining perspective on her love life. The few times he laid his hand on her she nearly jumped out of her skin from desire. And that had never happened before with Steve, or any of her past boyfriends. His very presence by her side caused such nervous reactions that she was sure he could feel her skin heating up and sense her nipples hardening. The bra she borrowed from Sylvia and the dress from Tiki did nothing to hide her arousal, and some of the men at the dinner noticed. Oddly, that didn't bother her. What rankled her bell was that Ian hadn't.

Well, duh...he couldn't see her, but still...

So, somewhere between her Caesar salad and the pomegranate sorbet, she'd come to a conclusion. No more dating for a while. No more martyring her lovemaking for the pleasure of the guy on top. No, Ophelia Masters wanted one orgasm that she didn't have to do herself, and the only way to do that was to stop dating nice, boring guys. However, since she couldn't fathom getting involved with any other type of man, a hiatus from dating seemed like a rational option. She’d have to push her dreams of rainbows to the back burner for a while.

The second problem was that she felt a connection with Ian, and that didn't settle well in her stomach. He was exciting, but he was also very nice – a mystery among men. She wasn't looking for a one night stand, but he was too glamorous for a serious relationship and too courteous for her to use him just for the sex. So that left her with one option – stop beating herself up about it and go on with her life. Maybe one day, she'd meet someone who could give her rainbows and completion, if she waited diligently enough.

In the meantime, she had to get rid of Ian.

In spite of all that, Ophelia considered his request. Even if she did decide to see more of him, she didn’t know if she had the courage to make the first move. She'd been conditioned by her father's constant betrayals and too many Steve’s in her life, too many nights left in want. She would need time to get her mind on the new Ophelia – the one not looking for a husband. Ian took up far too much brain activity as it was.

Besides, what if she gave into her arousal, and Ian was just another mediocre lover? Would he scramble out her door as soon as he buttoned his fly like Steve? Ophelia glanced down at his groin and hummed a regretful sigh. As sexuality went, she was coming into her prime, and one more stagnant relationship might send her onto old maid status.

Nope. Not doing it. No more Steve's.

“I can hear the hamster wheel churning,” he said with another one of his quirky grins. “Talk to me, Ophelia. If this makes you nervous, just tell me.”

Swallowing and gathering her bravery, she said, “Yes, it makes me nervous. I’ve had my fill of dissatisfying relationships. I really don’t want another – ever. And I’m not fully confident of experimenting outside of my normal regiment. I mean no insult to you, but I’ll admit that I’m a bit afraid of stumbling blindly into another numb relationship. Stumble, I can do on my own.”

“Ah,” he commented vaguely. “I see.”

She shook her head, not that he could perceive that motion. “No, I don’t think you do. I’ve never gone out with anyone like you…”

“You mean, a blind man,” he inserted.

“No, I’m not talking about that,” she replied in a short tone. “Stop interrupting. I’m saying that most men I’ve dated were normal, suit and tie kinds of guys, and quite frankly, boring. But until now, it’s worked well for me. You’re nothing like that, and I don’t want you to be that. You’re probably the most exciting, perfect man I know—“

“I’m defective, Ophelia,” he interjected again, “How’s that being perfect?”

“Shut up and listen,” she demanded, and he grinned wickedly at her temper, causing her pulse to quicken. “I’m saying that you are a great guy, even because of the blindness. You can’t see all my faults, and I’m kind of grateful for it. But if we let this go any further, one day we might get intimate – because you don’t seem to understand the concept of ‘no’ – and then I’ll be disappointed again, because men always disappoint me when it comes to that. You do make me nervous. I want to do those things, but then I don’t. I’m very confused. I’m tired of wasting batteries.”

The corners of his lips turned down. “I comprehended up until the batteries part. But just for clarification purposes, let me make sure I heard you right. You are attracted to me, like I'm attracted to you, but you won't go out with me any more because I'll eventually disappoint you if we ever make love. How am I doing so far?”

“You got the gist of it,” she said.

“Are you a nympho?”

She backed away to the far side of the backseat, her back slamming into the arm rest on her door. “Excuse me?!”

“You said no man had ever satisfied you. I'm just trying to gain some perspective. Is it because you have sexual needs that can't be met, or what?” Ian kept his face oddly smooth, as though he fought a loosing battle with a smile, and that spiked her temper even more. How dare he?

“I am not talking about this with you,” she sputtered, and retreated further.

He shrugged, still struggling not to smile. “Okay, but I'll only have to assume that you are, in fact, a nympho.”

“I am not a nympho! I have normal needs, like normal women! I've just never known a man that cared enough to take care of me. Jesus, your impertinence! You’re just like my father.” The air in the limousine grew increasingly warmer. Ophelia scorched with fury. At that moment, she vowed that Ian Fisk would never get a kiss from her.

“I take it you don’t like your father very much,” he said with a question inflecting his tone. Ophelia turned away from him, not wanting to discuss that subject, despite how it was brought into this conversation. Ian took her silence as it was meant, a closed door, and leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “So, you've never had an orgasm?”

More sputtering sounds came from her mouth. Had he been talking to Tiki? “I've had plenty of orgasms! Just not by a man!”

“Ah,” he said with a gloomy, comforting smile, which she wanted to slap off his face, “That explains the batteries comment. I believe I understand now.”

“Good!” She huffed loudly, and the car shook for a moment, threatening to set off the Richter scale in California. “Now take me home.”

No kiss. No more dates. He'll be lucky to end this night with a full head of hair!

Ophelia didn't get in a snit very often, mainly because they reminded her of her father's temper and that frightened her, but there were times when she just couldn't contain it. Like now. She told him to take her home, but the car wasn't moving. She glared up at Bruno, who was astutely ignoring them, and then pivoted to singe Ian with a hell-fired look, even if his occipital lobe had been damaged. She put off enough heat, he should feel the sparks flying off of her.

“I said take me home,” she spit out. Ian studied her for a moment, and then waved at her window toward her apartment complex.

*****

Maybe if she'd been paying more attention to her surroundings, and less mind to her viewpoint on men in general, she would have noticed that Bruno stopped outside her home several minutes ago. Ian knew that she couldn't distinguish the scents of her neighborhood from any other part of town, or hear the faint clacking of the train tracks half a mile away. But he realized that her eyes would soon catch up with his nose and ears.

“Oh,” she breathed out a second later. “I'm home.”

“Yes, you are,” he chuckled. Not a single orgasm by a man? In the ten years or so that she's been sexually active? And what was with the crack about her father? He definitely had his work cut out for him if he intended to win her heart. First, Ophelia needed to come to trust him. He was intrigued, that was for sure. She was a fiery little thing, when backed into a corner.

“Uh, thank you for a lovely evening,” she murmured automatically, and jerked on the door handle.

“Shall I walk you to your door?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

“No, thank you. I'll be fine. Good night, Ian.”

“Good night, Ophelia dear.”

Her body hesitated for a moment, and then she was gone. Ian told Bruno to take him home. He needed to call Mira, and make plans for tomorrow. This wouldn’t end here.

*****