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mortification at feeling his erection, I found myself slowly lifting my hip and rubbing my butt cheek against him.  He held me tighter and kissed me with an intensity I’d never felt in all my short lifetime.
    “Female, you are my undoing.  No other –Anna, I need you to look at me –no other has ever affected me this way.  You are a temptress and a goddess and I must know more of you.”
    I leaned into his chest and nodded.  “Yes Omar, me too.”
    “Tonight you will dine with me.” He announces, and then adds, “I will hear no arguments from you.  I have decided that tonight is ours and ours alone.” He waves his hand in the air and I see one of his guards take out a blackberry and immediately make a call.  I hear him request reservations, there is a pause and then he says for whom he is making them.  He nods once and tells them it’s for two at eight.  I don’t know where he’s arranged this instant dinner.  Getting reservations in New York is darn impossible on the spot. 
    I scowl at Omar and he nods knowingly, “None of your concern.  I will pick you up at seven thirty.  Wear a dress, do your hair, only eye makeup, I love your freckles, and high heels.” He stands and lifts me, righting me on my feet.  I sway as his hand glides across the swell of my hip.  His men gather around him in a semi-circle.  He gives me a final nod and they leave Starbucks in formation.    

CHAPTER TEN
     
    I plop down alone at my little table that now seems enormous and empty.  I look to where he’d just been sitting, and I once again mourn his loss as if it is substantial.  Why am I so drawn to him? What is wrong with me and why does he affect me the way he does? My mind is still gone, as if it evaporated at the mere thought of him, then being in his company, feeling his lips, feeling his arousal, just feeling him, and I’ve suddenly forgotten my own name.
    I sip at my mocha and then at the thought of our dinner, I panic.  I don’t have the right dress, or shoes.  I need to get my hair straightened; I am hopeless at styling my own hair.  I hastily call a friend that has a salon and he agrees to come in on his day off and do me up.  Thank God for Steven! He and I have known each other for years and he’s helped me with my long hair on occasion.  Although I rarely do anything with it, he can always make me look fabulous.  I think he can help me with my eyes too.  Maybe even my dress and shoes.  I really need a gay friend for this kind of thing.
    I rushed home and called a car so I could go downtown and find an appropriate dress and shoes.  I used my dad’s black Am Ex card, and hoped he wouldn’t care.  He was out of town till Monday anyway, so I figured he wouldn’t notice till then.  Even though we had, or rather, he had a lot of money, he was not as generous with it as one would think.  He was happy to pay for my Ivy League education, but aside from that, he expected me to make my own way.  I knew he would balk about a dress and shoes costing more than a grand, but I was desperate, and right now my mindset was; easier to ask forgiveness than permission. 
    I’d decided Omar was my dream man, and I wanted to please him and follow his instructions the best I could.  Now I was going to try, but hopefully not look as if I were. Steven worked his magic that afternoon and by the time I was heading out of the salon I looked the part to a tee.  My hair was trimmed and highlighted and straight.  It draped around my face and tickled at the tops of my breasts, which where shoved into a push up bra so my creamy skin fluttered with each breath.
    “Oh honey! You could have your own TV show! Look at you!” Steven said as he leaned on his heel and put his hand under his chin. 
    I smiled and tried to walk in the heels, something that always gave me trouble.  Steven to the rescue again.  He pretended the salon was a catwalk and he showed me how to really flaunt my assets without looking like a