At six thirty on Saturday Bobbie was still trying to decide if she was going to go out with him or run home to Mama and let him pound on the door to an empty apartment.  She debated the pros and cons as she filled the tub with water and added her favorite oil, the first layer in the scent she used when she dressed to kill.  She lay in the tub and shaved her legs twice to make sure they were smooth enough, arguing it out again with herself.  Then she used a body lotion and a body powder that matched the oil, telling herself she was going to just get dressed and leave before he got there.  She was still furious with him.  She couldn't trust him.  He was probably just going to stand her up in revenge.

She took extra care with her make up, making sure her brows were perfectly plucked, her teeth a shining white, the line and shadow applied in that way that made her eyes seem enormous and mysterious.  She applied two coats of mascara and curled her lashes.  Then she put on a pair of midnight blue satin and lace panties and a matching push up bra (brand new) that deepened her cleavage to impossible depths.  She added the garter belt that went with them, and opened a package (bought yesterday) of sheer silk stockings (black) with a seam up the back and smoothed them carefully over her legs.  She told herself, as she checked the seams in the mirror that she could go to a movie and then stop and get something to eat on the way home.  She was just wearing the stockings to make herself feel better.

Satisfied with the seams, she pulled on a figured raw silk dress in the same midnight blue (bought yesterday) that came to just above her knees, with a kick pleat that broke just below her butt and a deeply vee'ed neckline that showed the cleavage, every inch of it, enhanced by the bra.  Then she swept her hair up into a braided chignon that trailed curls at her temples, highlighting her eyes.  She added a sterling teardrop on a flat chain around her neck (in case he missed the cleavage) and heavy discs in her ears.  Then it was back to the bathroom, with a quick glance at the clock, to line her lips and then add lipstick that matched her toes and nails (she'd gotten them done this morning) and to dust glitter powder on her shoulders, across her back and into her cleavage.  Finally she dabbed perfume in the appropriate places, the final layer of scent that had begun with the bath oil.  Then she slipped on her heels, ankle-strapped and as sexy as she'd ever seen (bought yesterday).

She gave herself a final check in the mirror.   She'd be polite, she decided and just tell him calmly at the door that she couldn't go out with him tonight.  That was the best thing to do.  Then she took a deep breath and went and checked the wine and the glasses chilling in the fridge in case he wanted a glass before they left.  Yes, indeed.  She was ready to stand him up, she thought, as she opened the door, a smile (dazzling) on her face to be polite.

He zapped in just a hair behind when she opened the door. He wore a tux, his tie perfect. He smiled and noticed the cleavage when he ran his eyes over the entire package. "You look wonderful," he said.

"Thank you," she said, stepping back to let him in.  "So do you."  

He followed her in and waited until she closed the door, then he swept her up into his arms, his lips finding hers.

And it happened again.  She went up in flames, wanting only to get as close to him as she could, hoping the kiss never ended, and no thought of standing him up in her head.  If he'd've tried to leave she'd've barred the door with her body.

The kiss finally ended but he still held her in his arms and looked down at her. "Everything okay at work? You didn't get into trouble?"

It took her a minute  to make sense of the words he spoke.  "Yes, it's fine," she said.

"I didn't think you'd be here."

"I didn't think I would be either.  It makes no sense to me that I am."

"You're nothing but trouble," he whispered as his fingers traced her lips.

"No I'm not," she whispered back, her eyes drifting closed  She ran her tongue over the tip of his finger, the taste of him making her drunk.  "You're the one who's trouble."

"That's true. I should just leave."  He pulled her closer.

"Yes, " she agreed, her arms locking around his neck.  She pulled his lips down to hers.  "You should," she whispered against his mouth before she kissed him.

He picked her up in his arms and headed toward the bedroom, never disrupting the kiss.  When he set her down she pulled back a little, just far enough to see his face.  "Don't ever lie to me again," she said.

He blinked. "Don't ever threaten to arrest me again," he rejoined as his hand found its way into the slit of her dress that was barely below her butt. Then he was kissing the side of her neck and working his way southward as his hand found something tantalizing to massage.

"Next time I won't threaten," she managed, her head falling back to ease his access while she found and destroyed the perfect tie on her way to the buttons on his shirt.

He backed her up to the bed and dropped her onto it. Then rested a knee beside her as he lowered himself down to kiss the valley between her breasts. "Shall I zap the dress off so it isn't ruined? It is quite perfect."

"And your tux," she said, pushing the sides of his shirt apart.  She sighed with pleasure, molding her hands to his chest, reveling in the heat coming off of him, drinking in the sight of him.  "You're beautiful, she said softly, awed, hypnotized by him.

He zapped her dress off of her and laid it aside carefully, then zapped off his tux. "Not nearly as beautiful as you," he said, his hands exploring the garter and then heading up her thigh. "Now stop talking and stop thinking. It's time for something else entirely."

"I know.  I don't know how I waited this long for it."  And those were the last words she spoke for a long time, though not the last sounds.

Several hours later they were wrapped in each others arms, spent, content. His hand toyed with her back, moving constantly against her skin.

She sighed, a note of pleasure breathed onto his skin.  "Are you hungry?" she asked, tracing each rib one at a time with her fingers.

"For you," he said.

"Served how?" she asked on a gurgle of laughter.

"On the half shell," he replied. "I'll never get reservations at that restaurant again," he said with a sigh. "But you are so worth it."

"Thank you," she said.  "Even if I am nothing but trouble?"

"I'm ready to learn to like trouble. Shall we order a pizza?"

She laughed. "I can cook, if you'd rather.  You don't really strike me as a Domino's kind of guy."

"Cooking sounds good. I'll help.  I'll even wear a chintz apron."

"If I only had one."  She lifted her head from his shoulder, smiling at him.  "You're so worth it too," she said and kissed him.

They cooked, and ate, and then made love and he left her at dawn.