Wickedly Wicked

Chapter Three

When Thomas stepped inside the swanky restaurant at the Waldorf Astoria, the maitre'd hurried to his side. "Mr. Sullivan, it's a pleasure to see you again."

Not much for pleasantries, Thomas turned his sharp eyes on him. "I've a reservation for two for seven-thirty." He glanced at his wristwatch. He was early. It gave him plenty of time to ponder the turn of events.

There he was being mothered by Noah this Saturday morning when the phone call had come. It had felt as if someone had pushed him off a cliff, and he was still falling, looking for purchase to break the momentum. He felt like a bloody Alice down the rabbit hole.

"Ah, yes. Your date is here," the silvered-haired man apprised him. 

Thomas' eyebrows raised a notch.

His dates always arrived late to give an air of mystery. Usually, he picked them from their homes while they hoped to be whisked away to his place for a modern-day ever after: a round of steamy lovemaking. Although, if he remembered correctly, Lilliana wasn't into playing games. 

He was led to a secluded sitting area, which afforded him privacy from the prying eyes, especially with the elections coming up. It wouldn't do good to give people something to speculate about this dinner meeting. And rightly so, considering the maitre'd had assumed Lilliana to be his date.

She was his buddy, like Noah. Someone that he had counted on, but he was no longer sure anymore, and it made him suspicious of her. Agitation burned through him. Damn Lilliana! She had thrown him off-kilter. He didn't like the feeling.

"Here we are." The maitre'd swept his hand towards his table.

He faltered when his gaze landed on the woman sitting there. There she was in a royal blue dress, which revealed a bit of cleavage that promised more, but it was her sultry lips that snagged his attention.                                                                    

The woman before him was gorgeous, who simmered with sensuality. His pulse quickened, and he swallowed hard. Where was the girl who wore jeans and sweatshirts? 

As if sensing his presence, Lilliana looked in his direction. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and then a big smile appeared on her face. It tugged at him, forcing Thomas forward as if she had a magnetic pull on him.

"Thomas!" She got up and took a step towards him. 

His gaze roamed over the short dress, which skimmed her tanned legs that appeared endless in the killer stilettoes. She was a sight for sore eyes. 

The bright smile still played on her lips. Oh, how he had missed that smile of hers. It was like he was back in the suburbs when life had been simple. Thomas paused as, before today, he had never thought of his old home in years. Hardly ever.

Then her eyes flickered surreptitiously over the length of him. Now, that was unlike Oh-So-Perfect-Lilliana. 

Realizing that he was staring, Thomas pressed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Her breath hitched. Still an open book, he thought shrewdly. He looked into her eyes, which reminded him of molten lava of emerald heat.

"How have you been?" she murmured. 

"As good as the last time we saw each other." Resting his hand on her back, he guided her to the chair. His touch lingered longer than it was appropriate for an old acquaintance.

No woman upended his world with just a glance or a beautiful dress. His ex-wife had learned the hard way. Thomas didn't dance to any woman's tune. He had only tried to salvage his marriage, as she had been his wife and shared his last name. He had owed Carol that much.