Nightshade: A Novella by Fiona Zedde

Author:Fiona Zedde [Zedde, Fiona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zedde Productions
Published: 2012-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

Seven

At eight o’clock on date night, Wynne sat at a cozy corner table at Barracuda’s, watching the door. The restaurant was nearly full, mostly with tourists, and hushed voices hummed from nearly every corner. If anyone asked Wynne, she was definitely not nervous. But she couldn’t deny the butterflies making a playground of her stomach. And there was just the tiniest tremor to her hand lifting the glass of barely touched pineapple juice to her lips. Ice shifted inside the glass as she put the juice back on the table.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Nic walked in. Wynne drew a quick, appreciative breath. The young woman was elegant and lusciously brown in a vibrant orange dress, spaghetti strapped and asymmetrical at the calf-length hem. Pausing in the archway of the restaurant’s main room, she looked around until she saw Wynne. She smiled.

“Hello.” Wynne stood up and kissed her cheek before pulling out a chair for her. “I like a prompt woman.”

The waiter materialized instantly, making inquiries about their drinks. She ordered pineapple juice and told him to keep the water coming. Nic asked for the same. Apparently, they both wanted to be alert for whatever was going to unfold this evening.

“You look nice,” Nic said with a smile.

“Thank you.”

The cream, sleeveless dress she wore barely touched the tops of her knees, a pretty complement to her copper bangles and gladiator sandals. The dress came from the better part of the limited warm-weather wardrobe she’d managed to put together before coming to La Isla. If they continued seeing each other, Wynne might have to go shopping. She almost laughed at the thought.

“And you don’t smell half bad either.” Nic leaned across the table and wiped something from Wynne’s bottom lip with her thumb. “Amber oil?”

Her fresh-from-the-shower scent immediately seized Wynne’s imagination. She thought of Nic with soap on her skin, white bubbles against the brown flesh, a spray of water cascading down her shoulders, back, and buttocks.

Wynne rested her hands on the table, fingers loosely clasped together around her glass of pineapple juice. She cleared her throat. “Yes, it is amber.”

The glass was cold and damp with condensation from the ice. But she knew Nic’s skin would be hot. A heavy pulse began to beat between her legs. Suddenly, she wanted. She wanted very much.

“What would you ladies like this evening?”

She looked up at the waiter’s untimely arrival and smiled despite wanting to snarl at him to go away. Wynne cleared her throat and nodded at her companion.

“Go ahead and order first,” she said.

They shared conversation over scallops in a chipotle cream sauce and grilled lobster tails. Their lips turned over words of shared culinary pleasure, about their mutual adoration of Montreal, and other things; but their eyes spoke on entirely different matters. Of a hunger that could not be satisfied by food. Nic’s gaze followed the movement of Wynne’s fingers and lips, expressing a desire to be the succulent bits of meat being sucked into a moist mouth. Or at

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