He was hot, and not just in the traditional sense. I mean, when she stood next to him, she could feel the heat move off of his body--not so much bouncing off or through her, but the kind of heat that strokes the skin, makes a person want to rip off her clothes so more of that caress could be felt. And let's be clear, that person she was talking about was herself.
She had no right to desire him as she did. He was many, cough, many years her junior. Such a surprise that he got her going like he did because she'd never considered herself a cougar. Yet here she was.
You could not have spelled his name any other way than "Dangerous." This cub, now sitting literally in hot water, was as close as he could be to a hungry cougar. Maybe if she blindfolded her inner critic... because she was pretty sure he was into her as well. She'd felt it when the group of them entered the hot tub, and he'd sat too close. Too close seemed the perfect distance, actually. Sitting any closer and his friend group may have started to ask questions. She imagined they would have asked a lot of questions if he'd actually sat on her lap in that hot tub. But he was close enough...
He was close enough for their knees to touch, close enough for her to feel that in this hot tub, the space between them was even hotter than the 102 degrees noted on the temperature gauge. Sweet thing, Mr. Forbidden, Mr. Red Flag Lover. What surprises she had in mind for him. If only.
***
The conference they were attending, such a boring business. Of course, it sounded good in theory, looked great on the conference website: How to target a global demographic of investors and woo entrepreneurs to your company. Breakout sessions about tapping one's potential. Lunch mixers to network with other professionals who "share a passion for creating bright futures." She was good at the schmooze, great at rubbing shoulders with the big boys. She entertained dinner dates in expensive restaurants to "explore collaboration possibilities," which every businesswoman knows is code for something else. She let these men write off their flirting on exec-level expense accounts. No problem. Win-Win. For her, conferences like this one were a means to an end: they got her out of the office.
But this time, the boss wanted her to take an intern.
"Let him see you in action," he had said. "This will be a good experience."
***
In her defense, she had been at the hot tub first. He had come in with a group of his fellow interns, juniors at the companies for which they all worked. They were a lean, bright-eyed bunch, young men and women ready to learn the ropes and take on the world as future titans of industry. They had their own intern program, which was geared to guerrilla ladder-climbing and tactics to reduce corporate red tape for tracks on early promotion. Her sessions talked about retirement investment and workplace wellness.
Before lunch, she had enjoyed a "Meditative Moments" session aimed at reducing workplace stress. The speaker suggested taking mini mindful trips during the day as a way to calm the mind, a practice, he promised, would lead to increased clarity and focus. It was when the speaker started talking about manifestation that she decided to tape record the session. She didn't want to miss a word.
"Stress clutters the mind," he had said. "Visualization, if even for a moment or two, is a powerful technique. Clear mental imagery can bring about a more relaxed state of mind, which can improve productivity and an overall sense of wellbeing at work. Some believe, and scientific studies are beginning to confirm, that visualization can even help to manifest a given outcome. Some trainers of professional athletes use visualization to improve performance. And it works!"
So, when they practiced and the speaker told his audience to "go to their happy place," she imagined the hot young intern and her too-big-for-just-one-person king-size bed. She visualized the chocolate kisses, which were placed on the pillows each night with the hotel's turndown service. She'd be ever so happy to share those with him. She pictured both of them naked, stepping into her room's gigantic jacuzzi tub--good, clean fun after delightful debauchery. Oh! she thought. I could get into so much trouble with this one.
He met up with her at the lunch break. They met in the ballroom for the catered lunch.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
"Not at all," she said.
She felt her face flush, warm with the memory of him in her bedroom visualization.
He put his plate down in the spot next to hers, leaving six other open chairs at the table.
"Good sessions?" he asked.
"Very," she answered. She took a drink of water, willing her face to cool.
"What was your favorite?" he asked, then took a bite of pasta salad.
"Probably the last one. The guy showed us how to use mental imagery, kinda like daydreaming but for stress relief." She paused. "And to get what we want."
"Oh really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She didn't think he had meant to stir up her guts, right as she was about to eat lunch, but that's exactly what he had done. She felt herself flush again, lower this time.
More breakout sessions, followed by a roundtable panel of presenters, dinner, and a conference cocktail mixer. She had a glass of wine at the hosted bar and stood chatting with a group of women when he approached her. He had a rocks glass of amber-colored booze in his right hand. No ice.
"I thought that was you," he said.
"Oh?"
"Recognized you from behind," he said, tipping the glass to his lips.
Casual conversation. A second drink for them both. Him leaning in to to ask a question when one of the other women was speaking. The woodsy smell of him, and the thought of electric sex. The music winding down and him walking her to her room. The way her pulse quickened when he ran a casual hand through his hair, lowered his eyes, and said goodnight.
Goodnight? she thought. Goodnight?
She watched him walk down the hall, away from her manifested vision of their naked, sweaty bodies. Disappointed, she slid her key, green light for go, and opened the door to an empty room. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Instead, she walked right up to the minibar and snagged a tiny bottle of gin. The housekeeper had filled her ice bucket, as she had requested when leaving the daily $10 tip. Some olives and brine would have been a nice touch for her martini, but since her dirty mind needed a reset, she figured her martini shouldn't be dirty either.
It was only 8:30pm, and she was still antsy. She'd laid out her clothes for the next day and tidied an already tidy room. She decided to put on her suit and take a soak, maybe practice her visualization for something more productive than sex. A promotion? A new client? She had three more days to manifest.
Eyes closed, feeling the jets work the knots in her back, she heard them wade into the water, a dude group of chatty Cathys. She smiled when she saw him, and he made his way over to her. The tub was big, even for a resort. There was a large indoor part and an outdoor section that could be reached by parting a hanging plastic curtain. There were open spots most everywhere, and yet, he sat right next to her. Dear God, she thought. Are you testing me?
The other interns sat together, but close enough for shared conversation. After several minutes, one of the interns, a ginger-haired 20-something, whose name she could not remember, spoke up.
"Too hot," he said. "I'm gonna hit the pool."
The others stood with him and made their way to the steps.
"You coming?" they asked the warm body beside her.
"Nah. You guys go ahead."
Mr. Ginger gave him the cool guy nod with a upward tip of his chin. As he did, she felt a calf move next to hers. They were now fully touching from the knee down, bubbles hiding anything below the surface. Now what? she thought. And then she had her answer when she felt his hand on her thigh.
It was hesitant, his hand, but it was there. She looked at him.
"Did you imagine this?" he asked. "From your session today?"
"Maybe," she said.
They sat in the hot tub without speaking, his eyes looking into hers. She had fantasized the bed and the bubble bath interlude. It was a coincidence--the two of them here, together in the water, touching--or the signals from her newly discovered manifesting abilities had crossed. Either way, she set her mind to practice.
"I'm getting a little warm," he said. His voice was deeper than she remembered. He stood, drops of water trailing down his sculpted abdomen. "Wanna get out of here?"
She stood without answering.
"I can walk you back to your room, if you want," he said, and hopped out of the tub. She watched him walk to a poolside table and pick up two towels.
Oh, she wanted, all right. Let's go, Mr. Hotness. Let's go. Her mind was racing, a full ten steps ahead.
He walked to the stairs and extended a hand to her, then a towel. As she exited, she followed his eyes, which were fixed firmly on her breasts. His eyebrows were raised, whether he meant them to be or not. She hadn't missed his unspoken social cue.
She dried quickly and grabbed her things. Walking back, they talked about the conference, the schedule for the next few days, minor chitchat.
When they reached her door, he did it again. His hair was wet this time, but he ran a hand through it and lowered his eyes. She waited for words that didn't come.
She slid her key and felt his warm hand on her shoulder. Green light for go, she thought, and they walked inside. Together.
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