__Eyes Like Those__
By Donna Lang
"The Mediterranean Cruise Cafe presents a special belly dancing show
tonight only. 10 dancers confirmed, and up to 16 dancers are expected
to perform."
You look over your menu at all the Greek and Middle Eastern dishes
listed, regular and vegetarian alike. So much to choose from... Your
friends are still choosing their dinners, so there's no pressure... well, not
much, at least.
You look at your watch for the umpteenth time since you got to the
Cruise.
"Where *is* he?" Still muttering sourly under your breath, you take a
long sip on your glass of water. It isn't like Rick to be late. "He'd better
have a good explanation. This is VALENTINE'S Day, for Pete's sake..."
That's when a little Greek man approaches your table and made a bee-
line for you.
"You have a phone call," he whispers then leads the way to the phone
by the cash register.
You pick up the receiver and are greeted soon after by the voice of your
date.
"Sorry, I'm not going to be able to make it," he explained feebly. "I've
got to work." Then he hangs up without even giving you a chance to get
a word in.
*Fine...* you think, thoroughly pissed off. *You work late. I'm going to
have a good time without you.* Then you think... *Who works late on
Valentine's Day??* Before your mind moves onto that track, you set the
notion aside and ordered the dinner you'll be eating with your friends.
"He stood me up, that little dork." You snort. "Just as well I found out
what an air-head he is now."
"That really sucks," one friend mutters. "Here.. your glass is defective.
You're almost out of wine."
"Thanks," you murmur, holding your glass over to her. And that's when
you see him. He's tall -- at least 6' , his powerful frame complemented
by a perfect pale green Armani suit -- and handsome, his lips slightly
pursed as he smiles in appreciation. Then you realize with a start that
he's not watching the waitress approaching to take your order; he's
watching *you*, his hazel eyes drinking you in as he does his shot of
Uzo.
*Oh God, he's hot,* you think. *Who is he? With my luck, he's probably
married or gay. But, if he's not.... daddy, buy me that.*
The little Greek man approaches the table again.
"I have a favor to ask of you," he begins solemnly. "A friend of mine is
has come for dinner and the show, and needs a seat. Your table is the
only one with an opening."
"Uncle," you smile to your trusted friend, "of course he can join us. If
he's a friend of yours, he's welcome... you know that."
"But it is your boyfriend's seat he will be taking," Uncle reminds. "Are
you sure?"
"I have no boyfriend," you reply. "He's welcome to sit here."
He smiles widely, his eyes bright.
"Thank you.. I will go tell him."
You see Uncle go to the bar where he approaches *him*... the hazel-
eyed man... and converses with him briefly before leading him back to
your table. The closer he gets, the sexier he looks; by the time he's
looming over you, you feel like you're about to faint from estrogen shock.
"This is my good friend Oliver Sampson," Uncle announces, patting
Oliver on the arm. "He is like family to me... as you are. I hope you will
enjoy each others company."
Oliver sits across from you, smiling with a veiled seductiveness which
reminds you of the ocean; tranquil on the surface, but powerful and
potentially dangerous. He accepts a menu from the waitress graciously,
then turns to you and speaks to you for the first time.
"Have you any recommendations?" A cultured baritone... with an English
accent. Your pulse quickens as you lean closer to Oliver.
"The Chicken Kiev's very good," you smile under the pull of his
eyes. "So's the Lamb Shank; but the Casablanca Best with chicken or
shrimp is truly amazing."
"Then I shall have the Casablanca Best, please... with chicken."
After a Greek salad, three Shish Kabobs on a bed of rice, some pita
bread, and a glass of red wine, the world is looking kinder. Oliver and
your friends have lifted your spirits to a point where you are very happy
with things as they are, thank you very much! You thoughtfully take a sip
or two of your second glass of red wine between belly dance numbers
and flirt with Oliver.
"I'm considering desert," Oliver purrs. "Care to join me?"
*Oh, WOULD I,* you think, your mind wandering to the thought of
making love to Oliver... But you pull your thoughts back to desert.
"What are you having?"
"Baklava with walnuts," he whispers thoughtfully. "And a cup of Meliona."
"What's Meliona?"
"A variation of Irish coffee." His eyes caress you as his gaze strays from
your face to your cleavage. Now, most men would have received a firm
slap in the face for that... but not Oliver. Your hand moves to rest on his
instead, caressing it as you look into his eyes.
Two Baklava and two Melionas are served as Margo, the MC of this
show prepares to introduce the next dancer.
"I'm not sure what the original Spanish title is," Margo confided to the
audience, " but it translates as 'Eyes Like Those'."
"'Ojos Asi'," someone calls out.
You take a sip of your Meliona; you haven't tried it before, but that's not
going to stop you. This is a night of many firsts... including the first
really romantic Valentine's Day you've ever had.
The dancer enters from near the bar, passing the very same seat Oliver
had been sitting in just over an hour before.
You clap and give the belly dancers' cheer to encourage the dancer, a
sound that reminds you vaguely of Xena's battle cry. Oliver watches all
the while, his eyes filled with fascination and desire.
You could drown in eyes like those... forget your troubles and in the
passion of the moment with a man you only met this evening. His hand
closes around yours, concealing it completely, as he leans forward to
whisper in your ear.
"May I give you a ride home?"
"Yes." You lift his hand to your lips and kiss his fingertips. "I'd like that,
Oliver."
There is hunger in his eyes... He wants to kiss you then and there, but
thinks better of it because you're in public. So you lean forward and
allow your lips to just barely brush his, fighting to maintain control and
just barely managing keep yourself from going back for seconds right
then and there.
"Something to look forward to after the ride home," you breathe.
Oliver's hand cups your face, his thumb's pad lightly tracing the contours
of your lips before whispering three words:
"Where's the check?"
* * *