He looks my way...

He looks my way. Caught, I freeze, tense, tighten. My heart forgets to beat, then stutters, ticking over. I tear my gaze away, as though shot by a projectile as mean as Cupid's arrow, or maybe I have that wrong and a piercing, killing bullet would be merciful. There's no reason he can know why I was looking at him. I tell myself that in a moment, I'll gaze back and his attention will have wandered to his friends. Even as I tell myself
this lie, I feel his stare boring into places no one has ever penetrated. Unable to bear this heat and with no way to retreat, I lift my eyes.

I was right. He is looking directly at me. I should put on a bored expression, pretend indifference. I keep my mouth closed though suddenly I want to pant. I'm taking slow, even breaths in order to maintain some semblance of control, of my heaving chest. I grow dizzy and finally break the connection. I nod at the woman who has shared my time over dinner as she gets up to leave and I almost reach for her hand, almost beg her to stay with me, my sanctuary. Dark gaze calls to me. Look. See. Somehow, I resist, balling my hand into a fist that I hope looks relaxed even though every part of my being screams tension. My friend hesitates and I struggle to open my hand, and place it softly, palm down, on the arm of my chair. I stare into eternity. I'm aware she asks if I'm all right and I know I give some sort of non-committal answer, reassuring her. I almost flinch when she leans forward to kiss my cheek, not because I share a romantic relationship with her -- which I don't -- but because I fear she'll hear the pounding, pulsating cadence of my heart. How can she not? My erratic heartbeat competes with other things that throb in an arrhythmic race. I barely notice her depart. My brain starves of oxygen, blood rushing to other places, though not my face.

Don't let me blush. I don't know whether to feel uncomfortable with my erection or grateful for it. I know I've grown pale, resolute in my struggle not to look at him. I wonder if his voice is as dark, as deep as his eyes, yet he needs no words to speak to me. Dark gaze beckons. I tremble. I try not to swallow, knowing it will be painful. My mouth floods with saliva. A drop of sweat slips from my brow. I might faint; yet, how then, is it possible that I feel feverish? I turn my head to look, knowing that there's no way he can mistake such a deliberate movement. I expect his expression to turn cynical, his mouth to twist, to sneer, his gaze to narrow, but all he does is stare, shoot me through, plough and furrow, burrow into all too willing flesh.

Can no one here sense what is happening between us? It feels impossible that this need fails to perfume the air. It feels as though everyone should stop, the restaurant fall silent, and everyone turn their heads to look at us. It's wrong, somehow, that I can feel this restless while everyone around remains oblivious. Is he as calm as he seems? Or is that smouldering look an indication of his inner turmoil?

My imagination soars. I sense this would be no fumble in the gloom. This man doesn't know how to grope; he grasps. He lasts. He'll tear each gasp, moan and groan out of me, turning me raw in exuberance. This man makes love in light not shadows. I see him leaning over me, blinding illumination, with that one point of darkness: his gaze coming closer. I flounder, forget to swim, and sink. I feel twisted sheets entangling us. By morning, we'll be tied together.

Do I see the hard, knowing years of experience in his dark eyes? The grin of sin I think would set me free but not this unyielding gaze carrying the weight of knowledge, not of the world but of the effect he has on me. He would not be my first in every way, and yet it would be as if he were.

Conversation turns his head to his companions and I feel devastated, but his gaze quickly returns as he waves away their questions, sits still, accepts their share of the bill, and parries their goodbyes. I've never felt so alive; every particle of my being screams in rapture. Dark gaze waits for me. His gaze passes over me as sure as his touch will brush my body. Everywhere that his sight alights, my skin tingles. I suppress a shiver as I undergo this exploration. Unseen muscles clinch, release. He won't come to me. I must give myself to him. I sit frozen in indecision even though I already know I've lost the battle. He waits while I sit yearning to find the strength that will carry me to his table.

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