Blood & Wine

“I’ve got the most perfect Porterhouse steaks and a couple of bottles of wine,” a sexy voice said, “you want to join me for dinner?”

“May I see your ID officer?”

“I’ll show you anything you want, Ms. Fox,” he purred.

“Oh, my!”  I exclaimed with a chuckle.  “May I bring anything?”

“How about your tooth brush?”  he teased.  “See you at eight.”  and hung up.

Chapter 20

I took a long hot shower, washing my hair with the rich jasmine-scented shampoo and conditioner that Frederick Fekkai made up espeically for me, lathered  twice with jasmine body shampoo, and after briskly toweling off, smoothed coordinating creamy lotion all over my body.

The last few days had been unseasonably warm, so I dressed in very soft pink cotton cuffed shorts, as my tan was still a beautiful creamy color, a matching top with wine bottles and wine glasses happily dancing across it with beads and stones that shined, and soft pink sandals that also had beads and stones that adorned them.  To this I added fun pink ear bobs, then twisted my hair up into a pink clasp.

He had rented a cottage just down the beach from me, and as I approached I could see him through the kitchen French doors.  He had on khaki shorts, a polo shirt and dock shoes.  He was mixing something, very engrossed in his work, so I snuck up the stairs from the beach and rapped sharply on the glass, watching him jump and throw the utensils he was using into the air.  He screamed something, then muttered something else while he opened the door for me.

“Awfully jumpy for a cop, aren’t you?”  I snickered.

“Cute,” was his only reply.

“What are you making?”  I inquired.

“Caesar salad, so why don’t you mix us a drink?” he glowered.

I spied a cocktail bar at the end of the kitchen and proceeded to fix a couple of  Black Velvet’s on the rocks.   When I handed him his, he pushed me against the counter, and I felt the hardness of him against me.  He lowered his head and his mouth came down over mine with a possessiveness that surprised me.  I kissed him back feeling the intense heat, and then suddenly he moved away, almost like he needed to get that out of his system.  I should have felt assaulted, however I felt wonderful instead.

He went back to preparations of the salad and asked me how I liked my steak.

“Rare, or medium rare, depending on the chef,”  I replied.

He glanced sideways at me, and resumed his duties.  “So, just what brought you to this area?”  he asked.

“Well, I was born in Iowa, studied in New York, and decided if  I were to ever make any money I needed to be where people loved to spend money.  I’ve worked very hard to be the very best I can, and I am lucky to have an excellent reputation throughout the community of the privileged.”

At this point the salad was done and he went to the refrigerator, pulled out two beautiful thick steaks, and headed for the grill.  I could smell the baked potatoes in the oven, I picked up my bourbon and headed out onto the patio right behind him.  He threw the steaks onto the flaming grill, and smiled.

He was so confident, so sexy, without even trying.  It was almost like he didn’t care what you thought of him.  He knew who he was and didn’t care if anybody liked him or not.

He had a patio table set for dinner and even had all the flatware in the right place!  He reached over and flipped a switch on a CD playe