You smile at him and take him up on his offer.

Maybe the conversation will indeed be good, but as handsome as he is it would be irresponsible not to find out. You take your drink to a private table in a little alcove with him and take a seat. As your lips part to sip your drink you smile at him over the rim, making seductive eye contact as the salty cold drink floods your mouth. It's easy to get lost in those bright eyes that seem to draw in the dim light from around the room. You start talking and getting to know each other. He's a sophisticated man, and clearly successful. You can tell just from the way he talks and carries himself. And you can tell he's used to being in a position of power. He's actually more interested in you though, and while he's confident, he's not given to bragging. As you talk you see him raise an eyebrow at the rings you're wearing on your left hand. You decide to clear the air and say, 'I'm happily married,' but give him a sexy little smile as you say it. You almost wink, but think it would be a little too much.

After your first drink he flags down a waiter and orders two waters, before asking if you'd like anything else. You note this, he's not trying to liquor me up, you think. This is much better than your memories of dating back in college. You learn his father is Haitian and his mother French. He has just a hint of a French Caribbean accent that comes out when he tells you he has his mother's eyes. He tells you about a jazz club his cousin owns that's actually just upstairs, and asks if you'd like to go dancing. You happily agree, embracing where this night could take you.

The place is hot, loud, crowded, but so alive. Bodies are pressed together dancing to the rhythmic music, and Pierre, as you now know him, takes you by the hand and guides you to the floor. You don't know the steps or the songs, but he's an expert at guiding you lightly in just the right way. Your body keeps finding its way to rub and bump against him. You're sure he's brushed his arms across your breasts several times, and he's had plenty of glimpses of your stocking tops. One moment he twirls you, your dark brown hair fanning out behind you, the next you're embracing tightly, his hands resting on your hips, just on the edge of decency. Currently, the luscious curve of your backside is pressed against a suspiciously large lump in his pants and you dance slowly, bodies pressed together and his arms wrapped around you. You haven't had this much fun or been able to just cut loose this much in ages, and it feels great.

You turn to face him and look up into his eyes in the suddenly quiet space between the two of you in the noisy room, and he bends down and kisses you fully on the mouth. It's soft at first, but grows with intensity. He's quite a skillful kisser. You break away after several long seconds and find you need to catch your breath. You feel a tingle of excitement deep beneath your stomach as you look at him, finger tips idly intertwining with his.