Strangers on a Train I (5 page)

“Yes,” I lied.

“Good. We’re going to The Palm, my favorite restaurant.”

“Cool.”

This was not going well. Despite my intimate encounter with this gorgeous man only a few hours ago, I now felt at a loss for words. Remembering one of my favorite sayings,
“Speak only
when spoken to,”
I peered out the tinted window, gazing at the spectacle of cars, cabs, and pedestrians that made New York the city that never sleeps. A thought crossed my mind. I could see them, but they could not see me. Somehow, I thought Trainman’s piercing blue eyes could see right through me yet mine could not penetrate him. He made me feel naked.

Trainman’s voice diverted my attention. “Would you like a drink?”

“Um, a coke would be nice.”

Trainman smirked. He reached for a bottle of wine, already uncorked, and poured some into two crystal goblets. He handed me a glass and then clinked his against mine.

“Cheers. To you and a fine meal.” His eyes stayed fixed on my face.

I put the goblet to my lips and took a sip of the wine. It was chilled and delicious. It didn’t taste like the acidic or oversweet “house wine” I occasionally ordered when I was out with Lauren. No, it tasted perfectly balanced and velvety. I glanced at the label on the bottle; it was in French. So, Trainman liked fine cars, fine wines, fine food… and fine women?

The limo was heading east across Forty-Second Street, the driver expertly weaving in and out of the insane Friday night midtown traffic. I imbibed more of my wine.

“So, Saarah…”

There he was saying my name with that slow sexy lilt. My breath caught in my throat.

Holding the glass of wine in one hand, he slowly ran the manicured fingertips of the other down my right leg, all the way down to my ankle. His caress gave me goose bumps.

“…You didn’t wear any pantyhose,” he purred, his hand rubbing up and down my ankle.

I swallowed hard. I was too nervous to say anything.

“I hope you’re as hungry as I am.”

“I’m famished,” I squeaked. Suddenly, I was craving a heaping portion of his cock. My stomach emitted an embarrassing growl.

He responded with that bemused smile.

His hand glided back up my leg and made its way under the silky satin of my little black dress. His middle finger toyed with my button. I was getting hot. Very hot. And very wet.

“You’re salivating. You
must
be starving.”

I bit down on my berry-stained lips to suppress a moan.

“Open your mouth,” he growled.

Hesitantly, I parted my lips. Removing his hand from between thighs, he slid his middle finger, wet with my sex, across my tongue. “Just a small taste of what’s to come.”

I steadied the wine in my hand. I feared one way or another I was going to end up with a large wet stain on my stunning black dress if we didn’t get to the restaurant soon.

The limo turned north on Third Avenue and, after a couple of turns, pulled up behind a cab in front of The Palm. The driver got out and the door opened. Trainman slid out and I followed, aided by his hand. I really was hungry.

Inside, The Palm was a noisy, bustling restaurant with white-clothed tables and a colorful array of caricatures of well-known celebrities lining the walls. At the reception area, a jovial heavyset man, with half-moon glasses, who looked to be in his late sixties, greeted Trainman with a warm handshake.

“Good to see you, Mr. Golden. Your regular table is waiting for you.”

So now, I knew Trainman’s full name. Ari Golden. Fitting for the golden-haired warrior. Later tonight, I would google him and find out everything there was to know.

Holding my hand, Ari followed an attractive, mini-skirted hostess who kept looking back at him, past the jammed bar and table after table of chicly dressed couples and businessmen devouring lobsters. I managed to keep up on my heels and again prayed I wouldn’t do something embarrassing like breaking my ankle in front of all these diners.

Several stunning, well-dressed women stopped Ari along the way, eyeing me curiously. Ari politely acknowledged each of them with a quick smile and a nod.
Former strangers on a train?

The booth to which we were led was in the far corner of the restaurant. It could easily accommodate four more people, but we had it all to ourselves. I sat on one side, Ari on the other.

A waiter came by shortly, and Ari ordered for the two of us. Two Manhattans, Caesar salad, and a four-pound lobster to share.

I was happy when the Manhattans arrived at our table. I still felt super-nervous in front of this man. I didn’t know what to talk about. I took several consecutive gulps of the drink—another first. The velvety cold liquid went down smoothly and loosened me up. A little.

Twirling his Manhattan cherry by the stem, Ari eased into conversation. “Sarah is a beautiful name. It means ‘princess’ in Hebrew.”

My mother had told me that once, but I was the last thing from being a princess. Tomboy, geek, plain Jane, yes. But not princess. “Thanks,” I said in a tone that was more dubious than flattered.

He plucked the cherry from his drink and flicked it with his tongue. “I’ve seen you many times before at 30th Street Station.”

I gulped. He had been spying on me? He really was a stalker.

“Were you visiting someone there?” He popped the cherry into his mouth and swallowed.

I nervously nodded.

“Oh, a boyfriend?”

“No, my mom,” I replied, taken aback by his question. “She’s being treated for cancer at The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania.”

All the emotions I had bottled up broke loose. I don’t know what caused it. The wine. The Manhattan. The cherry. Or a combination of all three. Tears that had been welling up in my eyes on and off all day streamed down my cheeks.

Before I could apologize for my emotional outbreak, Ari leaned into me and brushed them away with his thumbs. With a tenderness that surprised me.

“I’m sorry,” I sniffed.

“Don’t be.” His voice embodied genuine compassion. “I lost my father to cancer several years ago.”

So we had something in common. Or close enough. Fingers crossed, my mother would go into remission.

“What kind?” I asked hesitantly.

“Lung.” Sadness filled his voice. “He was a smoker.”

“My mother has lung cancer too, but she never smoked a day in her life.” Anger from this unfair fate rose fast and furious inside me. Just in time, the Caesar salads arrived. I picked at mine, my appetite suddenly gone. Trainman dug into his, sheepishly gazing up at me with each forkful.

“Saarah, cheer up!” It was almost a command. “Here comes the lobster.”

My eyes grew wide at the sight of the monstrous red-shelled creature that our waiter set down in the center of our table. On either side of the platter, he placed a couple of nutcrackers and pickers. Tying ample plastic bibs around our necks, he bid us,
“Bon appétit.”

My anxious eyes darted back and forth between the lobster and Ari’s face. I had never eaten a lobster before and had no clue where to begin.

He was a god. And a mind reader. “Watch. Use the nutcracker and start with the tail. The most succulent part.” Squeezing the utensil, he skillfully cracked the creature’s tail and then plunged one of the slim two-pronged forks into the meat. “Taste,” he ordered after dipping the snowy meat into a side of melted butter.

I opened my mouth and let him feed me the buttery piece of lobster meat. Oh, God, it was good. Rich, melt-in-your-mouth good. I instantly wanted more.

“Your turn.” A wry smile curled on his face. “But, I want you to crack a claw. The next best piece of meat.”

Taking the nutcracker, I wrapped it around one of the lobster’s large claws. I pressed hard, but the shell would not crack

Suddenly, under the table, I felt Ari grab at a naked calf. He pulled off my Jimmy Choo and moved my foot to the crotch of his expensive jeans. The sole of my foot sat directly on the warm bulge between his muscular thighs. Gripping my ankle, he rubbed my foot up and down. Slowly. Then faster. The mound hardened and expanded while my foot caught fire.

I fumbled with the nutcracker. I still couldn’t crack open the damn claw. I was totally distracted.

“I’m hungry,” growled Ari. He rubbed my bare foot faster and harder against his member. The rigid rod beneath his jeans tensed further. Absent-mindedly still working on the claw, I gazed at the man sitting across from me; his eyes were closed, his lush lips parted, and his back slightly arched. His member thrust deep into the arch of my foot and gave way to a spasm beneath my sole that made my toes curl.

And at that very moment, the claw cracked opened, the tender white meat inside exploding through the shell. I plunked the two-pronged fork into a chunk and slid it into Ari’s parted lips. His eyes remained shut as he moaned, “Mmmm.”

I delighted in the pleasure I could give this gorgeous man.

He savored the meat in his mouth and then opened his eyes. I watched him swallow.

“My princess, that was delicious.”

I flushed at his compliment. And he called me his princess!

“And now for dessert.” With a hungry smile, he picked up a spoon and then accidentally on purpose dropped it. It landed under the table. “Whoops. Excuse me.”

Puzzled by his behavior, I watched as he gracefully slid his sculpted body under the table to retrieve it.

Remembering my bare foot, I quickly wiggled my toes back into my shoe. A hand gripped my ankle and yanked my foot out before I could set my heel down. A moist, warm mouth descended on my big toe and sucked it up and down feverishly. Tingles shot up my leg, all the way up to my crotch. Oh my God! Dessert had arrived.

Having enough of my big toe, he nibbled and sucked the rest of them. Delicious pain followed by delicious pleasure. He bent my foot backward and moved his mouth to my heel. His tongue glided, like a slow rollercoaster across my high arch, making its way back to my toes. The sensation sent a shiver up my spine. Who knew that the soles of my feet were so sensitive?

Holding my foot in his palms, his tongue continued its journey up my long, naked leg. The sensation was ticklish, yet strangely erotic. I did some back arching of my own. When it reached my inner thigh, his hands firmly pulled my legs apart. Oh, God. Here came the icing on the cake.

Instead of the warm tongue I was expecting, the back of the spoon pressed against the folds of my pantyless crotch. The unexpected chill of the metal jolted me. He circled the spoon around my cleft, arousing me further. I clenched my fists and moaned inwardly. Oh, God. What this man could do me!

Pulling up my dress a high as it would go, he let his tongue take over. It figure skated across the surface of my folds, performing all kinds of tricks, from spins to figure eights. My patch of ice was melting, turning into one steaming hot wet river. His ever-so fit tongue stroked furiously. The pressure between my legs mounted—I wanted to scream! I bit down on my lips—
Oh, please let me come!
—and finally an explosion gave me the relief I’d been craving.

Shudders spread through me. My heart was beating madly. And then I jolted again. He pressed the cold spoon back onto my hot pulsing sex, gliding it up and down along the folds. The shock of the cold sensation intensified the fire between my legs.
Oh! Oh! Oh!

He re-emerged from under the table, with the spoon dangling from his luscious mouth. Slowly, he removed it, sucking on it as if he were savoring the last bit of sweet creamy frosting. He languidly rolled his tongue over his moist upper lip and murmured, “Saarah, I hope you enjoyed dessert as much as I did.”

“It was amazing,” I gasped, still vibrating below.

His lips curved into a dimpled, satisfied smile.

I stared at his beautiful face, realizing that I still knew so little about this man who had robbed me of my virginity and made me explode with ecstasy now more than once.

“What do you do?” I asked, finding the courage to interrogate him.

“I’m a businessman.”

“So, you were on a business trip to Philadelphia today?”

“No, my company is based there. I commute back and forth every day.”

That was a big distance to travel twice a day, but obviously his employer made the trip worthwhile.

“And what do you do?” he asked, his voice flirtatious.

“I work for—”

Before I could finish my sentence, Trainman leaped up from his seat.

My eyes followed him as his long legs strode to the front of the restaurant. And then my heart leapt into my throat.

The gorgeous redhead! And she was in Trainman’s arms.

My emotions skipped over jealousy and sprinted straight to rage. How could he do this to me? And so shamelessly right in front of me?

Without putting on my other Jimmy, I jumped up from the table and hobbled over to them. If people were staring at me, I was oblivious. The redhead regarded me suspiciously. As if I were in a league below her and didn’t belong here.

His face, however, brightened. “Saarah—”

“Don’t ‘Saarah’ me.” In a single smooth move, I yanked off my other Jimmy and flung it at him. “You can keep your damn shoes,” I shouted. I stormed out the front door, pretty sure I would not be returning to The Palm any time soon. Make that ever.

With tears pouring down my face, I headed west on Forty-Fifth Street. I hadn’t brought along my messenger bag with my wallet, so I was going to have to walk home barefoot. Fortunately, the night was still warm.

Tears kept coming. Past Third. Past Lexington. Past Park. Happy, laughing young couples, taking advantage of the fine weather, passed me by, but they were just a blur.

I wanted to get him out of my mind. Erase him forever. But I couldn’t. The intense throbbing just would not go away. I hated him. I hated her. And hated myself most of all. How could I be so stupid to fall for this callous man? To give him my body, pure and unadulterated? To trust him? My mother had always told me to wait for someone who really loved you. She made the mistake of not—and had to raise me as a single parent. I should have listened to her words of wisdom. And right now, there was nothing more that I wanted than to talk to my mother. To tell her everything. To hear her consoling words. And feel her loving embrace.