After an hour of listening to the highlights of the types of wines, I did not want to even look at the glass of half-drunk red wine, much less finish it.
"So, tell me about this club you want to take me to?" I asked him as I took a sip of my water.
I was dying to change the topic of the conversation. Especially since Jean-Pierre was rolling on now that I had brought up the wine. He poured more wine into my cup and handed it back to me as his dark eyes turned devilishly wicked.
"Soon enough, ma belle. I will tell you all that you wish to hear," he replied, his voice growing quieter and thicker.
Whatever thought was going through his head must have deepened his desire if his new attitude were an indication. It was intriguing to me to see his attitude change. Once my curiosity peaked, it was hard for me to let the mystery go.
"Surely, you can tell me something," I pressed, giving him my most practiced seductive smile.
Jean-Pierre chuckled. "Not yet, ma chérie. Drink your wine! It is a most excellent vintage from a most excellent year."
I couldn't tell if the wine was delicious or horrible. Even after our conversation, I still couldn't find the subtle notes of the wine; it all tasted the same to me. But to please my date, I took a few more sips and tried to keep the look of disgust off my face.
Jean-Pierre gazed around the room as if he was looking for someone specific or maybe just cataloging who was there. Occasionally, he would wave to someone he knew and seemed to hope that they would stop by to speak with us. He seemed to recognize a lot of people in the restaurant.
During our first meeting, he spoke briefly about a business venture he was interested in and all the contacts he had that could help him do that.
Apparently, Jean-Pierre DuPont came from old money. A wealth that had been passed down through countless generations. Though he had thrown the DuPont name around, I had to admit I had never heard of it. Jean-Pierre was particularly shocked to hear me say that.
I took another slow sip of my wine then finally gave up. I pushed it to the side and grabbed the water goblet.
"Jean-Pierre," I called his attention to me once more.
His gaze returned to mine, and I couldn't help but notice the look of irritation that seemed to vanish when I frowned at him.
"Yes, ma belle?" he answered, the charm back in his voice.
"Please, will you tell me where you wish to take me next?" I pleaded once.
Jean-Pierre stared at me for several long moments until I started awkwardly wiggling in my chair. Then he signed and put his cup down.
"It is called: Manilles et Fouets," he finally replied.
The name sounded vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn't place where I had heard it before.
"I don't think I know it," I admitted thoughtfully.
"It is a special... very exclusive club," Jean-Pierre boasted.
"If it's so exclusive, why are you so certain they will allow me in?" I pointed out.
His lips curled up in a cocky grin. "'Because you'll be with me, of course."
I wondered if this was another example of his wealth and influence. I couldn't help but wonder why he left the need to flaunt those things to me. I wanted to remind him who my mother had married, but that felt like playing into his game. Instead, I changed my line of questioning.
"So, what makes it so special and exclusive?"
He looked thoughtful again."Hmmm, I wonder if I should warn you or let you find out for yourself."
I looked away from him, trying not to let him see my frustration again. There was no reason to make me wait and see unless it would be shocking. Did he like to do this on purpose? Did he enjoy seeing me slightly embarrassed and awkward? I almost pointed out that there was no quicker way to anger me than to mess with my head. But I kept my calm composure… barely.
Allowing my lips to turn up in a tight smile, I pinned him with a stare. "I would prefer no more surprises if you don't mind."
Jean-Pierre threw his head back and let out a loud, echoing laugh. The sound startled some of the other customers as well as myself. Awkwardly, we became the center of attention for a moment. I felt a bright red blush stain my cheeks, and I looked down at my hands to try to keep calm.
He spoke rapidly in French, but it was much too fast for me to try and translate.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, grinding my teeth slightly.
"You are so anxious to be with me, ma belle. I suppose I should not leave you guessing any longer. Let us carry on," he said, suddenly standing and holding his hand out.
"But you have not answered my questions, Jean-Pierre," I pointed out.
"Come with me, Molly," he demanded.
I almost said "No" in the same firm tone, but I pressed my lips together and took his hand. I worried that he might try to kiss me again and braced myself for a quick step out of the way.
Instead, he quickly pulled me through the room towards the entrance. As we zipped by, he said something to the maitre d', and the man gave another appreciative chuckle.
This time I did manage to catch what Jean-Pierre rattled off in French, and I truly did not care for it.
Jean-Pierre told the maitre d' that I was anxious to go to bed. It left no question about why we were leaving the restaurant in such a hurry. As soon as we stepped outside, I jerked away from him.
"Jean-Pierre, I appreciate dinner, and the last week of talking has been almost like a dream. But I am not going to just hop into bed with you. So, if that is what's happening, I'll just head home," I told him point-blank.
I thought I would insult him, and he would finally just walk away. But he laughed softly and put his hand on my cheek.
"Sweet Molly, shhh. I would never be so ungentlemanly," he insisted.
"Then explain why we left that restaurant with them all thinking I am dragging you to my bed?" I demanded, trying to be swayed by his sweet words.
Jean-Pierre shrugged as if it was nothing. "What man does not wish for the world to think a beautiful young woman, such as yourself, is eager for his…?"
He said a word in French that I had never heard before, but his gesture down his body translated for me.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Well, that is not going to happen tonight."
"That is good, though. It would not leave us much time for Manilles et Fouets," he replied in a jovial tone.
He walked out into the road and flagged down a cab. He opened the door for me and waved me in.
I looked inside suspiciously as if I thought the person driving would scream-"Got her! Let's go!"- But nothing happened.
"What is up with this club?" I asked one last time.
Jean-Pierre gave a groan but finally relented. "You like men that are very… how did you put it? Confident and sure of what they want? Yes?"
"Yeesss," I replied cautiously.
"Well, I am both, and I am sure that I want you in that club with me tonight so that I may have a chance to show you exactly how… take-charge I can be. So be a good girl, stop these questions, and get in the taxi."
There was a note in his voice that I had only heard from one other person. Scott... when he told me what he wanted to be done and how I was to do it. It had always sent a weird thrill through me, and secretly I loved it.
This was the man I remembered Jean-Pierre to be when we had met. Strong, confident, take charge, and not give me an inch.
Without another word, I stepped into the cab.