I remained poised, speaking when spoken to, letting my hand brush Clyde's arm during brief moments of conversation, feeling his desire growing with every touch. Yoric, oblivious, continued his praise of me as an invaluable employee, but Clyde was not here for small talk. He wanted more.
As the night wore on, Clyde's demeanor shifted. His eyes darkened, his body tense with barely restrained anticipation. I let the strap of my shawl slip from my shoulder, revealing a sliver of skin. His reaction was immediate; his breath hitched, his gaze locked onto me with a hunger that was impossible to ignore.
Under the table, I felt his foot graze mine. I responded with a subtle, knowing smile, pulling back just enough to keep him wanting. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes burning into mine, his intentions clear. Yoric, still lost in the conversation, was utterly blind to the unspoken tension rising between us.
"Mr. Moran," he began, clearly trying to impress, but Clyde cut him off with a charming smile. "Mr. Lawrence, would you mind fetching a bottle of wine from my car? The plate number is five sevens. My driver will assist you."