Flowers for Jill Ch. 06

"Oh heck, I gotta see this guy, he's coming to pick you up, right?"

Choking on air, Jillian coughed, "Um...no, it's not serious; we just went out a few times."

Pointing a messy figure-eight in the air, Tamara enquired "So who's this for? I know it's not for the lamo's from work."

Jillian's eyes turned slowly to read her companion, before a smile tugged at her lips, and she proceeded to put on her earrings, "Would you be open to taking a lie for an answer?"

"Nope," she plunked her butt on the lone chair in Jillian's closet, "I'm a hairstylist, honey, I live for juicy deets." She then added hastily, "I won't tell anyone, though, you're not famous so it wouldn't get me anywhere!"

She chuckled again shaking her head, "You're something else!"

"Tell meeeee!!" Tamara screeched, and Jillian laughed again, "Okay, okay it's...uh, God...it's this guy from the New York office..." this was the first time she ever tells anyone about Marc, it felt odd, almost liberating, to talk about it with a third party "He's...well, it's sort of complicated-"

"How?" she interrupted, and Jillian grimaced, "He's kind of...well, he's...he's the boss, as in the president of the company, boss."

Leaning forward, Tamara placed her elbows on her knees, "So, like...why did you transfer? You told me that you requested to be moved, right?"

Inhaling, Jillian explained, "Yeah, we ahh...we got...entangled together right before he started, and I didn't think it would be wise for me to stay in that office after my um...involvement with him."

"You had sex with him." Blunt, on point.

She winced, "It's complicated."

"Not really," Tamara shrugged repeating, "You had sex with him. It's quite simple; you have a woman like soooo," she touched her index finger and thumb forming a circle, "then you get a guy, like soooo," she put her other hand's index and middle fingers together and pushed them into the circle, "and you go like this until-"

"You're being facetious," Jillian interrupted, "And it's not cute, believe me. When I say complicated, I mean complicated. I didn't know who he was the first time I met him. I'm not proud of it, but I thought he was just going to be a one night stand that I'm never going to see again, so I didn't really care who he was. Again, I understand how stupid that sounds, but I was going through a strange phase, and I just wanted to...vent...sexually."

A minute of silence ticked as Jillian took her eyes off of her new friend and selected a choker made out of thin gold strings that looked almost like a natural adornment on her neck.

"You know I've been there before." The other woman in the room finally murmured, "I had just started my own business, and I didn't know jack shit about owning a salon. I was up to my knees in dept, and I just wanted an outlet so I gave myself the green light to have fun. It's not unusual."

Nodding, Jillian confessed, "I know that, but I've never really had a conventional relationship. Oddly enough, what I had with Marc -that's his name by the way- is probably the closest thing to a steady relationship if you don't count my ex boyfriend from college who...well, we broke up then decided to see each other every now and again a few times after, but he didn't want a booty-call; he wanted a relationship, and I didn't." she then added, "We're on good terms though; we're close friends now."

"I wish I can say that about past boyfriends." Tamara snorted.

"How about past booty-calls?" Jillian grinned.

"Honey, there are no past booty-calls, you just rotate the list to keep it fresh."

At that, Jillian burst out laughing. Her mind, though, was in a jumble and it was fast working on making decisions her common sense didn't necessarily condone.

"So...how do you feel about that guy?" her neighbor enquired throwing gasoline at the fire her brain had started.

"I feel..." she swallowed and paused, "that's it...I feel. A lot of things, everything, all at once...I feel..." she moved her hands searching for a way to express herself, "I feel myself with him. I feel him, all of him...he makes me mad, and happy, and confused, and aroused, and frustrated, and then...I don't know, it all comes together and I want to smack him on the head so bad, but he makes it all go away. It's like there's this button inside me that turns on all my emotions at the same time, and he's the only one who knows where it is, and how to operate it. It pisses me off, but it's so exciting, so...thrilling." She ran out of breath, "I still want to slap the living daylights out of him most of the time though, even when I'm not mad at him."

A peculiar light changed the other woman's green gaze as she perused Jillian, "I'm a little scared of you right now, so I'll have to ask for permission, do you want me to tell you what I think this is?"

Guessing what the analysis would be, Jillian shook her head, "Nope. And give me some of this." She pinched a small piece of cookie dough from the bag and chewed it before sputtering, "Gosh, ew! It tastes like plastic, and it's sticking to my teeth. What did you do to it?"

"I popped it in the microwave for 35 seconds to melt the chocolate."

Throwing her a disdained look, Jillian joked, "You, my dear, need a keeper."

"Yeah whatever, go turn your boss's guts inside out with that body, girl."

*****

On the ride to the venue, her ever busy mind was noisy with an array of thoughts. They ranged from questioning her decision to jeopardize the beads on her dress by driving her Jaguar to the party and whether she should've called a taxi, to wondering what her creative staff would say when they see her wearing the gold gown. She purposefully filed all Marc-related thoughts to the side knowing that getting herself pre-worked up and prepared to see him would do no good for three reasons. One, he might not even be there, which was the pessimistic way of looking at it. Two, being prepared wouldn't work, because she always veered off plans around him. And three, chewing on it for a long time would only make her nervous; hence she would be all edgy and mechanic-like the entire time.

"Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rocks! Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring," she started to sing as she turned on the radio and flipped through the stations positive that one of them was playing her favorite Christmas tune. And sure enough, the radio answered, and she spent the last few minutes of her snowy drive singing along with the radio.

It was freezing outside, the snowfall lessened considerably, but the wind made the chill fierce emphasizing Chicago's overused nickname. Thankful for the valet parking, she checked her coat and smoothed her dress at the entrance, before crossing the corridor to the already-full hall.

The reception room looked outstanding, a band played jazz renditions of Christmas carols at the end of the hall, and her presence and glamorous raiment drew people around her as if she were a lighthouse of fashion for their lost ships.

"If I'd known you can model this dress like this, I'd have put you on the cover of the catalogue," one of her creative team members observed, and she smiled at the shorter woman kidding, "You can still put me on January's edition!"

"Don't tempt me, or I'll do it!"

In a flurry of motion, people surrounded her talking and laughing with each other, they filled the large room in the same manner that the falling snowflakes outside filled the ground. But her eyes only wanted to land on a specific person, moving from man to woman to another man, she threw her gaze around the room seeking him out. Helga must've noticed her interest, because she gave her the double thumbs up, but Jillian wondered if those were meant to compliment the look or confirm that Marc was at the party.

The band started playing a version of Jingle Bell Rocks, and she used the opportunity to step away from the crowd and find her way to Helga and Stella. She twirled around herself, and swayed her hips dividing her gaze between the two women whom she missed so much, and singing along. Her infectious energy drove them both to clap and sing with her, but she was the star of the show by the way she danced, uninhibited, and spry in her movements.

In a moment of pure serendipity, she turned around, her finger curls fanning around her then landing on her shoulders and back, and her eyes fell on Marc.

The world stilled around her falling away as her heart galloped and raced sending hot blood all over her body. He stood out, taller than the ensemble of people around him, and was staring steadily at her. Those cerulean blue eyes darkened to a deeper shade of indigo from a distance, and blazing a perfect, fervid blue flame. Her heart jumped again in her chest, too wild for her ribcage to contain, and she swallowed curling her fingers inwardly as they slightly trembled.

His cocky smirk drew itself on his lips again, and he lifted his champagne flute toasting her in silence. In his matte black tuxedo, he looked dashing, yet the growth of beard on his face that indicated that he hadn't shaved in while, made him look roguish, the combination making him look like a raffish rake.

She knew the effect seeing her had on him, for he was visibly trying to stay composed and seem nonchalant. The way he fidgeted and stuck his left hand in his pants pocket, told her that he was hooked in the same trammel that she was tangled in. Common sense took a rain check, and she sashayed over to him, her approach prompting him to excuse himself and walk over to her.

"I think I saw you pet rock Walker in one of those table centers." He opened, gesturing to a centerpiece that was composed of a thick flute of glass, with rocks, large turquoise marbles, and live aquamarine fish.

She lifted one of her shoulders, "Yeah, I had to give him up, he pooped a lot."

His smile twitched as if he was fighting it, "Yeah, he looked like a messy fella."

She blinked, and couldn't find anything to say...neither a single joke nor one witty remark; just the smile that stretched her lips as she looked up at him drinking in his masculine beauty. That golden blond hair that was darker on his head, then faded a few shades on his eyebrows, and blended light and dark shades in his beard, and was darkest -she knew- under his belt.

"Hello Jill." he broke the ice, his tone intimate that it washed over her making her flex her fingers glad that she wasn't holding a drink that would relay her restlessness, "Marc." She answered.

"You look like you should be the center of a snow-globe," he murmured, "I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you."

"Is that good or bad?" she whispered wanting so badly to graze her hands with his beard.

"Both." He elaborated, "Bad for myself control, good for my..." he shuffled his feet deliberately and took a long sip from his glass never taking his eyes from her, then licked his lips.

"Oh..." was all she could mutter feeling her insides turn into molten lava that seeped lower and lower and making her pussy clench in need and ooze a drop of wetness into the crotch of her thong.

"You look very handsome yourself." She held herself together, "Hugo Boss?"

"Why yes," he took his hand out of his pocket, fidgeted with the jacket's lone button, then smoothed his hand on it, "you're a Fashionista. Is that how you say that word?"

"Yes," she chuckled, "and I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant to be." He reassured and canted his head to the side, "You were putting on quite a show, don't stop on my account." He winked, "Let's get you some champagne."

She fluttered her eyelashes, feeling like Jill again; that wild girl inside her that only he knew how to bring out, "Are you trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me?"

"I don't need you drunk to do that, sweet cakes!" He grazed her upper arm with his fingertips in a fleeting caress "Let me grab that champagne for you."

Her blood boiled heating every inch on her skin. She wasn't a prude by any means, wasn't a shy girl as she had her fair share of encounters with men, but no one else had that galvanizing effect on her. That awareness that blazed through her confusing, yet stimulating her.

"Or I can just take yours." She suggested cheekily slipping her fingers over his, and pressing down until his fingers parted leaving hers to slip between them and clasp the flute.

He watched her intently as she raised the glass to her lips pressing them right where his were, flattening her fleshy red lower lip against the glass. She only took a taste, more interested in putting on a performance than drinking the sweet bubbly wine. The glass was handed back to him then swapped between them as they both sipped and drained the remainder of the champagne.

"You're a wicked little girl, Jillian," he murmured after placing the empty glass on a table. Taking her hand in his, he went on, "You have me like this." Holding her pinky finger in one hand, he circled it with his other hand's forefinger indicating being wrapped around her little finger, "Making me pursue you when you won't even consider seeking me out."

"Do I really?" she blinked.

He nodded, "Utterly and completely."

"I don't mean to," her voice broke, "God, you must hate me for it."

"Sometimes I do," he replied honestly, "when you're running away from me, and I have no way to catch you. When you drive me insane, and don't seem to think of what it feels like for me. But most of the time, I'm just busy thinking of what I'd rather do to you -and with you- instead."

With her. Her fingers curled around his, "I'm sorry."

"Don't say you're sorry; offer to make it up to me." A silverfish glint lighted his eyes reassuring her that collecting a verbal apology was the last thing he wanted.

She licked her lips deliberately turning around and taking a few steps away, before looking over her shoulder at him crooning, "I also have to give you your Christmas gift." and didn't wait for him as she strolled over to the buffet table grabbing a glass of champagne from a waiter then plucking a big strawberry from a fruit plate. The minute she felt him walk up behind her, she faced him and bit into the juicy red fruit.

"When do I collect?" he asked, and she opened her mouth to answer, but Howie Stanford, the senior accounting manager joined them with a plate he'd loaded with hors d'oeuvres, and started sticking fruit slices at one of the edges.

"I don't know what these little nest thingies are, but they're damn good!"

"Tater tots." Jillian explained with a smile, but the guy shook his head.

"I get that, but what's inside them?"

"Shaved truffles and Taleggio cheese." She declared, "I bullied the caterers into trying out a recipe of mine, it was the only thing I got to plan in this party."

"That's your recipe?" Marc asked, and she nodded, but he enquired stealing a golden thick disk from Howie's plate and biting into it, "You came up with this?"

"I just adjusted the spices, and added truffles and parsley to the mix," she explained, "sometimes I make it with ground meat and shallots."

He chewed thoughtfully and turned to the other guy muttering, "This woman. I swear to God..." he glared at her shaking his head as he finished the tater tot, "You just..." then he turned to Howie, "Do you have another one?"

It was so hard for her not to smile watching him pick out food from his subordinate's plate daring him to object. Shooting two birds with one stone, he ate the food, and prompted the man to go on another trip to fill his dish leaving them alone again. But he wasn't spectacularly successful, as the strategic position by the food got them a lot of company for a good twenty minutes.

To Jillian, he seemed a little tense but patient with their company. He obliged the people, and socialized with old and new acquaintances, but threw discreet glances at her every now and again communicating his wish to get her alone in private. They all posed for group photographs, and he stood at her side in all of them, and she noticed Helga smiling at her while eying her with a peculiar, knowing look.

Choosing to ignore the older woman, Jillian made a comment about the band, and Marc laughed prompting Howie -who was back with more food- to ask, "How do you get him to relax like this, Zahra? I didn't think he was capable of smiling, not to mention -God forbid- laughing!"

"Hey, hey, watch it, eh?" Marc warned with a grin, and Jillian was genuinely surprised at the earlier comment.

"Marc laughs all the time." She clarified, slipping and calling him by his first name for the first time in front of company that evening.

Almost unanimously, the few New York office attendants shook their heads as a chorus of "No's" and "Never's" harmonized.

"You guys are no fun, that's why." Marc teased patting off his tux jacket in several places, "And you should be scared of me, I'm the big mean boss."

Several voices rose with a joke here and there, and Jillian used the opportunity to excuse herself growing anxious of the assembly of people that kept her from getting her hands on the big blond Canadian.

She pleaded going to the ladies' room, but just wandered off in a hallway looking for a porch or a veranda to seek some cooling refuge in the chilly night air.

"Don't lose your shoe, Cinderella." The masculine voice echoed slightly in the empty corridor, and she swiveled around watching Marc approach.

"Where are you going?"

"You told me to follow you."

"Oh I did? To the ladies' room?" she grinned, but he pointed at a closed door in the corner and said, "In there." and looped his arm around her waist shuffling her into a janitor's room.

"God, I missed you." He breathed kicking the door shut, and circling her waist with his big hands, "I was going out of my mind out there."

She reached blindly for the light string she saw before he closed the door and pulled it. A prosaic yellow light came from the single naked bulb, and the string hit Marc on the face making him swat it away.

Her back hit a map of the venue's interior on the wall, and she parted her lips to tell him that the feeling was mutual, but he swooped down for a kiss making her words morph into a muffled moan.

He tasted like Christmas and champagne and spices and man all at the same time...like the need that scraped her bones bare and made her ache for him. They kissed soundly for a few minutes, aggressively attacking each other's mouth and drinking each other's taste. He made her so angry in her passion, goading her into fighting to gain an upper hand on him.

"I wanna rip that dress off of you," he ground out licking her lower lip then nipped it with his lips, "mess you up like you messed me up."

"I wore it just for you," she countered taking his lip between hers and sucking it sharply, "I wanted to look sexy for you," she released his mouth with a wet slurp, "to show you how much I miss you every day."

"You'll show me by taking it off," his hand sneaked into the long slash to the right of her dress's front, and he cupped her crotch possessively, "you're wet for me already," he remarked with a smirk, "Did you have your mind in the gutter the whole time you were out there talking to those good people from work?"

She closed her thighs trapping his hand between them, and rolled them onto it knowing exactly how to bite back with him, "If you don't want this pussy, I'll go play with it by myself."

"Are you daring me? 'Cause I'll fuck you right here, you tart, and make you walk out with a load of cum dripping down your thighs."

That was the Marc she knew, the Marc from the diamond suite in that hotel, the Marc who barged into her office, fucked her silly and wasn't satisfied until she came several times. Just Marc. Just a man who emerged from nowhere to make her live her darkest carnal fantasy of being an uninhibited nymph, then left after she slaked her thirst.