One thing she knew—she was looking forward to seeing how Theo lived in the quiet of her own home, away from the staff that ran interference for her and the hostesses who gave her private space in their crowded bars. Did she have a softer side? A vulnerability? The jury was still out on that one.
“What’s funny?” Theo asked as she navigated her way through the parking garage of a towering condominium building.
It was only then Celia realized she’d laughed aloud at her inadvertent jury metaphor. “Sorry, I was just imagining if we’d ended up at my place. We’d be calling out for Chinese. I don’t cook. Not well enough for company, anyway.”
They parked in a wide, well-lit space only steps from a sign directing them to the elevator.
“Anyone can cook. All it takes is a little imagination and practice.” Theo swiped the small transponder attached to her key fob over a panel, opening a door that led to an elevator lobby. Inside, she punched in a four-digit code and pressed the button for the top floor.
“The penthouse? Seriously?”
“I know, it’s a cliché. But it has an open terrace. Once I saw it, I couldn’t be satisfied with anything else.”
The appeal was obvious the moment they stepped inside. Her spacious living area had full-length glass walls that afforded a spectacular view of the city beyond the terrace. The floors were dark, glossy wood, and the low profile furnishings blended into taupe walls and rugs.
“Want the nickel tour?” Theo asked. “My cleaning lady was here today.”
“This is amazing. If I lived in a place like this, I’d never leave.”
“I say that too, and then I remember somebody has to work to pay for it.” They crossed the living area to a hallway. “Guest room and office on this side.”
The guest room was notably larger than Celia’s master bedroom. And better appointed too, with a king-sized bed, chaise lounge and walk-in closet. The office had built-in bookcases dotted with photos and plaques. On a credenza behind the desk was a small statuette of a blind Lady Justice.
They crossed back through the living area, which included a dining table for eight.
“And this is the kitchen…obviously.”
The top-of-the-line appliances suggested a cook who knew what she was doing. Black granite counters. Glass cabinets revealing white dinnerware and crystal, all lined up like soldiers.
“The master suite’s on this side,” Theo said with a hint of pride.
And no wonder—it was the stuff of decorating magazines. As in the living room, the wall that bordered the terrace was mostly glass. Near the double French doors was a sitting area with a love seat and an antique trunk that served as a coffee table.
“Let me rephrase that, Theo. If I lived here, I’d never leave this room.”
“I spend a lot of time in here. I get home late sometimes and don’t even bother to turn the lights on anywhere else. Everything I need is right here.”
Celia noted the padded headboard of the king-sized bed. “I take it you read a lot in bed.”
“You think?” Theo opened the door of the bedside table to reveal a stack of law journals. She led the way through a spacious bathroom—Jacuzzi tub, glass shower, toilet compartment, double sinks. At the far end was a pocket door that opened to another section. “My morning ritual.”
It was a fitness room. On one side was a weight bench with a rack of dumbbells. On the other, a fit ball and yoga mat. In the center was a treadmill with an elaborate instrument panel, angled to face an enormous wall-mounted TV.
That explained why Theo looked so good, why her arms and legs were firm and her figure trim. “I’d have guessed a building this fancy had a fitness room.”
Theo snorted. “I don’t like to share. Besides, you haven’t seen me when I’ve just rolled out of bed.”
Not yet, anyway. That hadn’t stopped her from trying to imagine it. There had been no one in her life since Gina, leaving her with pent-up sexual frustration she’d hardly noticed until Theo showed an interest in her.
“I promised you dinner. Let’s go see what’s in the kitchen.”
Ten minutes later, Celia found herself stirring pasta into a pot of boiling water while Theo assembled the makings for what she called Greek spaghetti. Everything that went into the dish was high-end—Campari tomatoes, imported olives and feta, fresh parsley—all prepared using specialty cookware.
“You’re pretty serious about your culinary habits,” Celia observed.
“It’s in my genes. My parents own a Greek restaurant in Cherry Hill, outside Philly. It’s a busy place for lunch and dinner. We all worked in the kitchen growing up. My brothers and I, that is.” She held up a dark bottle of olive oil, its entire label written in Greek. “This, by the way, is perfection in a bottle. My father imports it for the restaurant and keeps me supplied.”
“How come you didn’t end up in the restaurant business?”
Theo visibly shuddered. “No, thanks. This is as close as I want to get. My brother Gus is the only one who still cooks for a living.”
“What about your other brothers? There were four of you, right?” It occurred to her Theo had never told her that, and she explained, “I peeked at the photo on your desk.”
“That’s right. George is the oldest. He’s a trader on Wall Street…takes a train into the city every day so his daughters can grow up in Connecticut. Stefan plays saxophone in a jazz band. He’s touring somewhere in Asia right now.”
“And your parents…they’re happy with the restaurant?”
“If you can call it that,” she answered with a huff. “My father isn’t exactly what anyone would call a happy man. Nothing’s ever good enough, you know? And my mom just goes along with it. All of us were dying to leave home the day we turned eighteen. We love him to death but he made us all neurotic.”
“I wouldn’t call you neurotic. Fastidious maybe…but not neurotic.”
After mixing the drained pasta in a skillet with olive oil and garlic, Theo tossed it with the other ingredients and served it up on dinner plates, which they carried outside to the terrace. While the pasta was cooking, she’d dressed the table with linens, flameless candles and flatware. A bottle of cabernet sat open and ready to pour.
“Theo, I hate traffic as much as the next person, but no restaurant in Atlanta could beat this table. It’s divine.”
“True, but we didn’t get to order the New York strip, did we?”
The first taste of tomatoes and pasta exploded onto Celia’s tastebuds. To her surprise, she noticed immediately the distinctive flavor of the imported Greek olive oil. “Oh, my gosh. This is wonderful.”
Theo smiled, clearly pleased with the praise. “I guess all those hours slaving away in Papa’s kitchen paid off.”
“I’ll say. Do you go back for cooking lessons?”
“Once a year, maybe. But just for a day or so. I try to meet up with George whenever I’m in New York, and we all try to see Stefan if he’s playing nearby. By all, I mean Gus too. My folks don’t really care much for jazz.”
On the surface, it was a more conventional upbringing than the one Celia had, but there clearly was an undercurrent to Theo’s glum description that suggested an emotional distance from her parents. “I bet they’re proud of you. Who wouldn’t be? Look at all you’ve done.”
Theo shrugged. “It’s fair to say they had something more traditional in mind. Definitely not a lesbian. More like a housewife with a bunch of blue-eyed progeny. They never planned for me to go to college. I did that on my own with loans and scholarships,” she added cynically.
Not just to college, Celia noted. Barnard and Columbia.
The brothers had pushed back against expectations as well, Theo said. While the family had appeared privileged from the outside, they were as dysfunctional as anyone else. The result was all four siblings now leading their own lives, bound to one another through their shared upbringing, but with only a perfunctory closeness to their parents.
It wasn’t at all surprising to learn Theo was a self-made woman. The interesting aspect was that she’d been driven in large part by her defiance of expectations. Little wonder she’d ended up in a career filled with battles against the status quo.
Celia raised her glass in a toast. “I’m glad you ended up here.”
Theo smiled, her eyes twinkling from the glow of the candles. “And I’m glad you ended up
here
…as in right here, tonight. I don’t usually have women over on the first date. Seems a bit presumptuous.”
It was the third time she’d voiced concern about taking certain assumptions for granted. “For whom?”
“Ah, good question. Both of us, I guess.” Theo stared back unflinchingly, the corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. “As you know, I have a knack for expecting you to say yes to whatever I suggest. I didn’t actually plan tonight with an ulterior motive. In fact, I didn’t plan it this way at all.”
Celia studied her through narrowed eyes before folding her napkin and laying it neatly on the table. “I can’t decide about you, Theo.”
“How so?”
“You talk like you aren’t sure what’s going on here. Either you honestly don’t have a clue—but it can’t be that because you’re too smart not to be perceptive—or you like to play it cool.”
“Or there’s a third possibility,” Theo said, the softness in her voice giving away a hint of uncertainty. Her fingers walked across the table like a spider and grasped Celia’s hand. “A good attorney never asks a question unless she’s sure of the answer.”
How could someone so daring in other arenas be anything but confident in her love life?
“Theo, I’m forty-one years old and I’ve been around the block a time or two. I agreed to come to your apartment. No hesitation, no apprehension.” And no doubt about what she was getting herself into, or how she wanted their night to end. “I don’t know how much clearer I can be.”
“I know, I’m not as daft as I might look sometimes.” Her look turned serious. “It’s just that it’s not often I find myself attracted to someone involved in one of my cases. You caught me off guard and it’s taken me a while to figure out how to handle it—or if I should handle it at all, since there’s the complication with you being a witness. Everything I know about you so far tells me you’re worth the effort. If you feel the same way, I’ll have to be more careful than ever. That’s why I’m double-checking all the boxes.”
It was a stunning admission for what had, until now, been a lighthearted first date. With a shift in tenor, Celia had no choice but to answer Theo’s honesty with the same. “Then let me take some of the mystery out of this. I’m not feeling ambushed or manipulated. I’m here because you’re the most interesting woman I’ve met in a very long time. Maybe ever…okay, definitely ever. Not only will I likely say yes to whatever you ask, I already have ideas of my own. So we can stop dancing in circles, walking on eggshells…whatever metaphor applies here.”
Their eyes froze in a rapt gaze, all questions answered, all doubts erased.
“Speaking of dancing…” Theo glanced at her watch and tipped her head thoughtfully. “I’d planned on hitting Compound after dinner. But if it’s all the same to you…I’d just as soon stay here and see what happens next.”
With a gentle squeeze, Theo tugged her to the center of the table, where their lips met in a soft, motionless kiss that lasted no more than a few seconds.
“More of that,” Celia whispered. “I want more of that to happen next.”
Theo’s designer couch, with its narrow seat and firm leather cushions, left something to be desired as a necking spot. After a minute or two of trying to get comfortably situated, she’d sent Celia to the love seat in the sitting area of her bedroom while she brought in their dishes and gave the kitchen a once-over.
“Stop stalling,” she mumbled to herself, recognizing she was more nervous than usual. She’d entertained women like this before…women who ran their course through her life before she admitted there had to be more. Tonight was different—because Celia was shaping up to be the “more” she’d been waiting for.
After pouring two small snifters of Frangelico, she returned to the bedroom to find Celia sitting with her feet tucked beneath her, her shoes on the floor. If her dress rose one more inch, it might as well not be there at all.
“I was starting to wonder what happened to you,” Celia said as she accepted the offered drink.
“Does it surprise you I like to keep things neat?”
After a noticeable pause, Celia asked, “Does that include me?”
“Not sure if I know what you mean. If it’s your shoes on my floor…I can live with that.” She gently pushed a strand of Celia’s hair over her shoulder. “If it’s your hair blocking my view of your lovely face, then no.”
“You are a smooth one, Theo Constantine.” Leaning forward, her lips parted to invite another kiss.
Theo took her time closing the distance. All the while, her eyes darted between Celia’s hooded gaze and shimmering lips. Once they came together this time, there was no chance they would stop.
Training all of her focus onto their kiss, she separated the senses. The faint nutty aroma of the Frangelico, its sweet remnants still on Celia’s lips. The warmth of her tongue and smoothness of her teeth. The barely audible clicks as they touched and parted.
When Celia pulled away long enough to set her glass on the side table, Theo did the same. Though it freed their hands for discovery, she wasn’t finished savoring their kiss. With a strong hand, she guided Celia onto her lap, face to face. Celia’s dress rose to her hips.
“You’re a delight, Dr. Perone,” she murmured.
Celia answered with a fierce kiss, her breasts crushing against Theo’s.
Theo’s hips began a slow, steady roll as her excitement grew. She cupped Celia’s bottom, finding it bare but for the scratchy lace of her thong. How long could she last before she had to tear it off?
The decision wasn’t hers. Celia leaned back and tugged the zipper of Theo’s dress to her navel. With her hands snaking inside, she panted, “Enough of this. Take me to bed.”
As they stood, Theo peeled the black spandex upward, bringing Celia’s figure into view. With a shrug, she pushed her own dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Her bra and bikini panties followed.
Celia eyed her with obvious lust. “I could eat you up.”