Femme fatale[RocLobster & Somikat]

Street lamps and neon signs glittered in the distance as Francesca D'Alessandro stepped out of the cab and onto 21st Street, the heels of her knee-high, black leather boots clicking softly on the side walk. Above her, the city's lights bled into the night sky and hid from view the myriad stars which would have otherwise hung upon the pitch canvas. Even at close to 9pm the city was alive with noise too, but here on 21st—in one of the more lavish and wealthy parts of the metropolis—that clamorous hustle and bustle seemed distant, little more than background noise disturbing otherwise peaceful surroundings.

The cab peeled away and the tall brunette stepped beneath a street light directly in front of the O'Neill building, its glow showing her to be wearing a comfortable, flowing black mini-skirt and a white blouse crocheted with intricate, miniature flowers. A sliver of its fabric could be seen just above her waist, where it was tucked into her skirt and where her short jacket ended, the latter wrought of the same black leather as her boots, and the gold-chained purse which hung from her right shoulder. Even at 5'9", her silken brown hair reached halfway down her back; only her breasts—a voluptuous 42D—kept her long locks from being her most striking feature.

Born in Italy to an Italian mother and an Argentine father, Francesca earned her living in the United States by working as an escort. Tonight she was meeting with a new client, and—judging from his place of residence—a rich one at that. She paused when she reached the large double doors of a grand, high-rise complex of apartments, checked the number by the door, and stepped inside. It would not have been the first time a cab driver took her to the wrong door, but this one had been spot on.

Within the lobby was spacious, and its tiled floors gleamed beneath soft overhead lights. A hundred mailboxes or so were set into the walls, and each one was lined with varnished wood. This is a nice place.... Ahead of her lay a second doorway, and to the right of the clear, glass door was an intercom and a list of apartment numbers. Reaching into her inside pocket, she produced a small piece of paper upon which was written the address of the apartment block, the name Richard, and the number 94. Replacing the paper, she retrieved a small pocket mirror from her purse and its glass saw her own reflection, her lips painted the same dark shade of red as her fingernails. Replacing the mirror she strode confidently towards the silver grill and—having found the button for 94—she rang Richard's apartment. A man's voice answered, and was met by Francesca's soft, Italian accent.

"Hi, Richard? It's Francesca. Can I come up?"

Richard had felt himself to be in quite the rush this evening. An unforeseen event had left him stuck at his office much longer than he had hoped. A whole three hours longer. It was as if his boss had known Richard had plans that evening, actively trying to sabotage the mans efforts to find some entertainment in his life. Richard knew better of course, he'd earned the company a lot of money lately. The big bonuses had kept his pockets lined with silk, and his wallet filled with cash of course.
"Can you get there any faster, please?" he'd asked the cabbie as politely as he could manage. Now wasn't the time to irritate his driver, he didn't want to be any later than he was all thanks to a lack of manners. "I'm on a deadline here, if you can skip a few lights or take a detour past the traffic I'll throw in a bonus!" Yes. Bribery would get him there faster. Or at least he hoped. The cab driver took his money regardless, an extra $50 on top of his fare. It was a small price to pay as far as he was concerned. Losing his date would have proven far more costly.

Whether it was down to the intervention of money, or the divine, Richard somehow made it home in time. Just as his cab was coming to the high rise building, he spied a particularly alluring sight just ahead of him in another cab. A brunette with hair as long as her exposed legs was just climbing out of a taxi, her skin kissed with a light olive tone seen mostly amongst those of Mediterranean descent. The colour of her eyes disguised by the shadows cast down from the near by street lamp. But he was sure that no matter their colour, they would be a beautiful hue that he could get lost in for hours.

As the cabbie read out Richards toll he stealthily made his way out of the car and stopped by the drivers door. He leant down to peer at the wingside mirror, a crack in its glass making the image distorted but providing enough clarity for Richard to quickly adjust his hair.
"Eeyyy! When yer done peacockin', ya mind givin' me my fare?" barked the angry little man at the window, forcing Richard to almost throw himself onto the curb to avoid any hearing damage. Offering the man a stunned look, Richard resumed his search for his wallet to pay the man before standing upright and carefully priming his blue pinstriped suit. He may not have been able to get a change of clothes, but his work suit still looked sharp. And there was just enough cologne left on his skin to keep him smelling fresh for a little longer.

Making his way up the marbled steps, Richard followed just a few paces behind Francesca as to not spook her. He'd seen pictures of her, but since he was only looking at her from behind now he didn't want to confuse someone else for her right now. That would make things very awkward. So he sleuthed his way into the building, moving as discretely as his 6'4" frame would allow and trying to watch the gorgeous brunette at a distance. He didn't need to wait much longer to confirm his suspicions though, soon her angelic, sweetly accent voice evoking his name to the intercom and the confusingly masculine voice that replied.

"Richard? Mr. Norton isn't here. Who is this?" replied a slightly more feminine voice now, Richard himself knowing that his cleaner Angela had answered the com for him. The lady was a heavy smoker, and as a result she had quite a rough voice. Often joking herself that she sounded like more of a man than Richard did! The thought produced a smile on his lips, a subtle shake of his head being his last action before stepping over towards the steel plate on the wall.

"It's alright, Angela. I just got back, had to work late. This is a friend of mine, Francesca. We'll be going out for a meal. I just need to come up and get changed." As he removed his hand from the intercom's buzzer, he cast a warm smile down to the exotic looking escort at his side. Carefully taking her left hand into his right and bringing it up to his lips, gifting her a gentlemanly kiss. "Hello Francesca. I'm Richard."

Unpleasant surprise giving way to one much more pleasing, the escort smiled a smile which was as warm as it was genuine, though with Francesca it was often difficult to tell where servile acting ceased and the real woman beneath began. On this occasion she really was pleased—gentlemen were her preference, and Richard was strikingly handsome and—evidently—as dignified as she had hoped from a man who kept residence in such a stately abode. The surprise had also slightly elevated her heart rate, making his appearance all the more agreeable.

"Hi," she replied, her accent made all the more obvious by a drawing out of the single syllable. "It's my pleasure to meet you, Richard. I didn't see you come in—were you late? Working late, perhaps? I hope nobody was trying to keep you from me." She smiled warmly, an elegant playfulness evident in the corners of her lips and in her big, brown eyes. Facing him, she had the opportunity to take a good look at the man who would be paying so handsomely for her company tonight, and whose features ensured that her fee was not to be the only handsome detail of the night. Well-dressed, well-groomed, just the right amount of stubble and enough hair to get her fingers through: he was certainly one the more attractive clients she'd had of late, and he had already given her reason to suspect that his demeanour would elevate him beyond all others. While her employ bore the title of escort, those she escorted were not always of a high calibre, and at times she felt every bit the $250 dollar an hour hooker which the term escort served all too often to conceal. Tonight, however, she felt that she was in line for an experience more befitting of the title, and it had been too long since she had been treated to the company of such a gentleman.

Of course, she had had an inkling—or at least a hope—that this would be the case when Richard had contacted her. His address and his desire to book her out for a whole night suggested that he was wealthy, and that had a kindled a desire of her own: that he would prove to be a gentleman—a man of distinction—and that she would be treated to a night of sophistication to put the baser satisfaction-seekers she more usually tended to to shame. Standing in his presence now, that hope did not seem ill-begotten.

"Would you like me to wait for you?" she asked when her new client had replied to her playful questioning, "or will I come up?"

"Please, please. Come on up and make yourself at home! I'd like to take a shower and make a change of clothes, so I'd rather not leave you waiting in the lobby." he replied with a smile. Tugging on the ladies hand gently Richard drew her across the room slowly, approaching the elevator which coincidentally had just arrived at the ground floor. A short Asian man disembarked from the pine furnished cart and hurriedly spoke in what one would assume was Mandarin, or some other tongue of the orient, into his cell phone. Richard was no expert linguist, at least with eastern languages. He'd mastered French and some German, but his dealings and social experiences had to date lead him clear of Asia. Once the elevator was clear, Richard turned to Francesca with another disarming smile and ushered her inside, jabbing a button on the side labelled as the '50th' floor.

"I'm glad I caught you, I had a late day at the office... The boss wanted me to stay behind for a conference call, then to close an old account... And then open a new one. Before I knew it, three hours had passed and I was waiting on a cab!" he let out a small ripple of laughter, some nerves showing at the end as it breaks but he still seemed quite relaxed and dignified. Mingling with strangers was a large part of Richards job, so he'd became quite adept at maintaining his poker face. Truth be told, he was very nervous about meeting Francesca. She was more beautiful in person than any of her promotional pictures could do justice for. And even before meeting her, Richard was wrestling with the uncomfortable sensation of butterflies fluttering about in his stomach. His work had kept him from dating for so long. Even though he knew he was paying Francesca for her time, he felt the need to treat it as a date. He wanted the comfort of company as much as he did a body to cuddle for an evening.

As the carriage came to a halt with an audible "ding", Richard escorted his companion out into the marble floored corridor. It's surface beaming with a mirror like sheen that allows the pair to view their own reflections as the walk down the hall.
"I'm really sorry about this by the way, making you have to wait... This was totally unforeseen on my part. I should have arranged to use one of my vacation days really." He felt as though he couldn't apologise enough to her, fishing inside his left pocket to retrieve a small white card with a black band stretching horizontally across its surface. The card reader on his door let out a light jingle, accompanied by a green flashing light to confirm the right key had been used.

Inside the brightly lit apartment, if you could call such an expansive place an apartment, was a lavishly decorated sight. Comfortable, plush looking leather seats were positioned next to a wall of windows, all looking out into the night sky. A landscape of towering skyscrapers, apartment complexes and numerous other buildings stood out amongst the blackness like concrete Christmas trees. Illuminated windows acting as golden lights wrapped around each structure. The moon filling the place of a star atop one of the commercial tower buildings as it passed a radio tower. Back inside the penthouse Richard made his way over to the open plot kitchen area, a glass and mahogany table only a few feet away from the cream coloured island counter, enough seats circling it to accommodate a whole family gathering.

"Please, feel free to make yourself comfortable while you wait Francesca. I'll try to be as quick as I can. Help yourself to drinks from the fridge, you can watch some TV if you like or sleuth around the place. And don't worry about Angela if you bump into her. She should be leaving soon." Richard bowed his head lightly to the voluptuous figure that brightened his home with her beauty, his smile being pierced momentarily as he bit down on his lower lip. He was quickly made aware of his own involuntary action and turned away from his guest, making his way out of the room and into his bedroom to get ready. Francesca was a enticing looking girl, he couldn't believe his luck in securing a booking for this evening. He'd pinned for some company for such a long time now, a very particular kind of company if he was being honest to himself. But he never considered himself to be a perverse man, despite his cravings. He still had every intention of treating the girl right in his eyes, as a princess.

Each and every one of Richard's apologies were met with the same grace and dignity from the escort. His being kept late was understandable—after all, he seemed quite important, and though Francesca had no idea what he did, she was sure she would find out that and more over the coming hours.

"Really, it's ok," she cooed in her soft, accented voice. "I'm sure our time together will be sweeter for the wait. We have many hours together..." She gave him a knowing look, though on this occasion she toned down the playfulness just a touch. She didn't want to be too lascivious—at least not yet—and they did have the night and the small hours of the morning to themselves after all. For the time being, she felt it more appropriate to play the part of a date, even if Richard knew full well that he would not need to sweet talk her to get her between the sheets. All the same, it would be nice, and she would play her part willingly in that.

She was pleased too that her words weren't met with anything that implied she'd erred—she knew the right things to say, and her English was very good, but the finer points of the language still eluded her. She liked to use phrases she picked up here and there, but something still sounded wrong to her when she said things like "sweeter for the wait." An idiom—she knew—but she'd be damned if that for didn't sound out of place.

All notion of idiomatic oddities left her pretty brunette head as soon as the door opened and she stepped inside Richard's abode. Her own apartment had seemed quite lavish when she moved into it 8 months ago, but it looked like a poorly decorated shoebox in comparison to Richard's expansive 50th floor apartment. This was the kind of place she'd dreamed about living in when she came to the big city—only it took wealth and success to attain, or the love of a wealthy and successful man. Nothing seemed out of place and everything was spotless; neither did anything seem cheap, and the large windows presented her with a view which showed her a beautiful side of the city she'd scarcely seen before. Of course she'd known it would be nice, but still the sight of his home took her breath away—far, far away to a land of dreams and lofty aspirations—and for just a moment her visage of elegance and grace was broken by surprise. She managed not to break her countenance so much as to utter a self-belittling "wow", but when she turned her eyes back to Richard her smile was noticeably wider. She thanked him for his hospitality, told him there was no need to hurry, and as he left she turned her eyes back around the apartment again, wondering what it would be like to live in such a place.

By the time he returned, she was seated upon one of the plush, leather seats, a simple glass of water in her hand. She'd eyed bottles of wine and liquor while he showered and dressed, but felt it would have been unbecoming of her to take so much as a glass of juice, let alone the finer drinks he had in his apartment.

"Oh, wow," she purred when he entered, standing to greet him. "You look great—so handsome. I feel under-dressed," she laughed, looking down at her short, flowing skirt and simple, elegantly decorated blouse. "I would have worn a dress if I knew I was going out with such a... dignified man," she finished, smiling as her brain hit upon the word she wanted, albeit after a brief pause.

When he finally returned after a quick shower and ten minutes of pampering, Richard looked considerably less formal but no less dashing. He'd traded his pinstriped three piece for a grey sports jacket and slacks, a crisp white shirt with the top buttons left loose and a pair of dress shoes so clean you could see your reflection in them. His hair was subtly gelled to drape over his left side and his cologne quickly filled the air on his arrival. It was a subtle and pleasant scent, not overpowering or flowery, but noticeable and pleasing to the senses.

"Thank you, Francesca..." He graciously accepted her compliment with a small nod of his head, still adjusting the cuffs of his jacket as he made his way over to her in the lounge. When he finally reached her Richard extended a hand down to the luscious looking brunette, taking the opportunity to closely examine her figure. Subconsciously undressing her with his eyes while delivering a genuinely pleased smile. "And I happen to think you look wonderful. Trust me, I'm sure people have visited restaurants with a date in tow, dressed far more revealingly than you." He added a playful little wink at the end of what he hoped would be a reassuring compliment. When Francesca finally took his hand he helped her raise to her feet, taking the glass from her and setting it down on the white topped coffee table, a discrete centre piece to the living area. "Now, if you've not gotten too comfortable, would you like for us to head out? Our cab should be arriving soon."

"Well... revealing can be nice sometimes," she replied with a gentle laugh, playfully arching an eyebrow and drawing her shoulders inwards, an action which squeezed her breasts just a little tighter together and accentuated her already prodigious cleavage. She had a way of making such gestures seem humorous and alluring, without crossing the line to lewdness. While it was apparent that she was a woman of class and sophistication—no matter what some may make of her occupation—she was also playful, and she loved little more than having a good time. Being the sexual person that she was, having a good time often involved an element of sexiness, be it a simple allusion or a raunchy night between the sheets. She also enjoyed giving Richard food for thought as regards what was to come later on, but that was hours from now, and she had a different part to play first—one which she hoped would segue seamlessly into what preceded it, but also one which she wanted to enjoy. She tried to enjoy all of her encounters, but it was the out-calls and dinner dates from which she drew most pleasure. They were rarer, and—of course—more sophisticated.

"Oh, your home is definitely very comfortable. I really love it," she smiled, "but yes, I am ready and happy to go." Not a single word was a lie—she had already spent minutes imagining herself living in an apartment like Richard's, and she was quite looking forward to his company for the night. Dignified, successful, and gentlemanly: this man was certainly her type. She had the feeling that by tomorrow morning she would almost feel bad for taking his money, but take it she would. For her part, she would ensure that it was money well-spent. Hand-in-hand, the pair left the apartment, Francesca seemingly reluctant to let go.

The drive to the restaurant was a short but pleasant one. Though Richard tried to make the trip as entertaining as possible, sharing a few short anecdotes and stories with Francesca as the passed several noticeable buildings. The local library where he used to study before leaving for college, a small dive bar in the middle of town that he used to visit with an old girlfriend. He was trying to fill the air more than anything, ensure that nothing became uncomfortably silent even if only for a few moments. By the fourth or fifth story Richard was starting to feel as though he may be boring the poor girl, or at least getting on her nerves with his rambling.
"I'm sorry, I'm rambling on here... Taking a trip down Nostalgia Lane I suppose. Not often I get to share stories of my college days, before I put on a suit and started brushing shoulders with people who probably shared a class with my grandparents. They're just such a bore at times! Can't stop discussing their business, their church contributions and charities..." he let out a heavy sigh before he could continue the list. And how long that list would be. In his early days at Pharmutech he had been able to get away with cutting loose and indulging in a wilder side. Sharing jokes with his co-workers at the expense of his superiors. Now however, if any such scandalous comment were to be tracked back to him...

Before those depressing thoughts could fester any further, their cab driver suddenly barked back at the pair to announce their arrival. Richard quickly shaking his head to clear his mind and then graciously share a smile with Francesca. "I shouldn't let work trouble me right now." he thought to himself, offering the lady his hand after paying off their driver. Stepping out into the brisk night air, the gentleman escorted his lady across the side walk and up a set of black stone stairs. A top the inclined path were two large glass doors surrounded by a dark wooden frame. A gentle light warming their faces as they enter the vestibule. A tall slender man with greased hair and a clean shaven face waiting by a second door leading inside the building.

"Ahh, Mr. Norton! We've been awaiting your arrival sir. Your table is ready, if you would like to follow me with your guest." The waiter didn't seem to even raise his eyes from the clipboard at his chest, as though having seen the two through some other extrasensory perception. When he finally did rise to greet them he forced a polite smile, perhaps an instinctive reaction now after having worked at the restaurant for a time. Richard always knew that the majority of these smiles and graces given by the staff were faux, but he gladly accepted a false smile over an envious scowl when trying to enjoy a relaxing meal with guests. Maybe a handsome tip would change the man's mind, if only for that evening.

Once they arrived at their table, Richard interrupted the duteous waiter as he went to help Francesca to her seat.
"Thank you, we'll be alright from here. Would you go bring us some menu's please?" Richard softly requested, nodding to the waiter and taking hold of the fine carved seat nearest to the centrefold escort. As she slipped past to take her seat, Richard couldn't help but admire her curvaceous rear. Her short skirt just barely hiding the alluring curves before revealing her fine inviting thighs. Oh how he looked forward to getting to touch those...
"Well, Francesca... I've been talking to you about myself for the past twenty minutes. Why don't you let me know a little about you now?" Once she was comfortably seated, Richard moved to take his own seat next to her. The table he'd chosen for them being quite small and intimate, only just enough room for them each to manoeuvre their arms and legs without obstructing one another. A tactile choice made by him, wanting for the evening to feel close and romantic.

"It's fine," Francesca assured him with a warm pat on the hand, and a gentle laugh at his distaste for the apparent blandness of his co-workers. "I know what it is like to have a past, and have nothing left of it but memories. If we were driving through Milan I would be the one telling you stories. Besides, it is nice to get to know you—I think we will know a lot more about each other by the end of tonight."

She smiled warmly at him again, and the way she looked up at him from beneath her long lashes made it difficult to tell if she was leaving something unsaid—if strongly hinted at—regarding their endeavours later on, or if the titillating exchange was merely a product of the woman's sultry sensuality. She did enjoy listening to him speak though; he spoke so well, and while she did not mind silence, it was nice to know that Richard was talkative. Conversation would stave off any boredom which might have crept in with a more reticent man, or indeed with one as talkative, but who lacked the self-awareness to ensure that he didn't talk too much.

"I will make sure that you forget about work," she promised as they walked from the cab, the provocative smile which was quickly becoming her signature playing on her red lips once again. There was a warmth in her deep brown eyes though, and she was not shy about holding eye contact with her distinguished client.

She found both his choice of restaurant and their seating arrangement to be to her liking—the small table was indeed intimate, and as much as that choice had been made to provide Richard with the experience of a romantic date, it was also an experience which she would enjoy. She enjoyed being treated well—and treated to fine wining and dining too—and certainly that seemed to be the order of the night. Though this was the rarer side of her work—and partlybecause it was just that—it was the side that brought her most pleasure, and cast a striking contrast to the high-class hooker many treated her as. Even if the majority of those clients still treated her with a degree of respect, it felt little in comparison to the sophistication of such a glamorous dinner date.

"Well," she began, "as you know, I was born in Italy—in Milan—and I moved here three years ago. I wanted to be a model..." Here she waved a hand in the air, indicating that all had not quite gone according to plan. "I did get some work, but I mostly make my money in... well, these ways. It is really not so bad, though some people are better than others." She smiled again, and if Richard thought that she was displeased in any way with how her life had turned out to date, she was sure that her glance and her demeanour would show no dissatisfaction with the client across the table from her. As she went on, her accent lent the English language a more exotic flair than he was used to hearing day-to-day, particularly coming from the lips of such an elegant creature.

"I do hope to stop some day, but first I need to save more money... or to meet a nice, rich man," she joked, the corners of her mouth curling sweetly to dimple her cheeks.

"I'm sure a lovely creature like yourself will be able to find that special someone. So don't you ever despair, Francesca. Mr. Right could be just around the corner." Richard replied with a conspiratorial wink, sharing another bout of laughter with the exotic girl and reaching across the table to take her slender hand into his. His fingers wrapped around hers delicately while his thumb rested against the back of her hand, gently stroking her smooth tanned skin while a small sigh escaped his lips. "I scarcely have the time of late to run my own search for Mrs. Right. As evidenced this evening, my work hours are unpredictable. So it's dreadfully difficult for me to make social arrangements outside of work."

A moment later their water returned, brandishing two leather clad menus for the pair to scrutinize over. It's contents filled in elegant penmanship with expensive dishes from the world over. The cuisine venturing from the western reaches of Europe to the island countries of south east Asia. Quite the international spread was on offer and not a single dish seemed to cost any less than a double digit number. It was truly a place where the rich and famous came to dine. Were you to glance around the room, chances are that one could easily catch sight of a celebrity or CEO eating with their own company. While Richard may have become accustomed to such surroundings, he wondered privately whether Francesca's sultry demeanour would dissolve at any time. Suddenly blown away by the sight of a familiar face from the silver screen.

"I'll have the sliced grilled lamb with the fig and stilton salad I think. What do you prefer Francesca? Red, white, rose perhaps?" He smiled warmly to her as she completed their order, the young blond waiter carefully recovering the menu's before rushing off to have their meals prepared. Richards right hand crept to his neck to adjust his collar, fiddling with one of the unfastened buttons as his eyes fell on the beautiful brown hues that made her face so agreeable. He could get lost in those wonderful earthen pools, and already after just a few moments he could feel himself drifting. "Sorry... I'm staring." Came his apology, tinted with a slight blush on his cheeks. "So you're a native of Milan? I hear that it's a beautiful city. Do you miss your home often?"

Francesca's red lips requested a red wine; not only was it her preference, but it would go well with her order of duck—Cantonese style—with pak choi, asparagus and rice. The tenderness of duck flesh was something she could rarely turn down, though she had deliberated over various seafood dishes for a minute or two before the imminent presence of red wine swayed her in favour of the duck. With the waiter departed and Richard losing himself in her eyes, the Italian woman let a coy smile gently stretch her lips, and she leant over the table, one hand delicately tucking her hair behind her ear.

"I'll take it as a compliment," she smirked, letting her left hand rest comfortingly on his right. "Milan is beautiful, though. The people, the fashion, the buildings... maybe not so much outside the city"—more specifically, the word outskirts escaped her—"but then you reach the countryside, and it is very nice, too. We have many lakes in Italy, and mountains. Do you like the countryside?" When next the conversation allowed her too, Francesca dutifully and attentively returned to the question she had left unanswered, and there was no sign of a lull in their exchange.

"I do miss Milan sometimes... at Christmas especially, but America is nice. I can find Italian things—like panettone," she interjected on herself, with a look that indicated she held quite a liking for the sweet cake Italians so often eat around Christmas, "but then I miss my family. I think you have heard that Italians love their family? This is not always true, haha. But at Christmas... maybe I do."

In truth, relations with her family had been strained for quite some time, and Francesca's father had still not fully come to terms with the fact that his little Marco had become a daughter and not a son. Though he had never—and would never—professed this to anyone, it was made all the more difficult by the fact that Marco had become a beautiful woman, and one who his brain lacked memories of raising as a daughter. At times he found it difficult not to be aroused by the sight of her, and that more than anything disgusted him.

The wine arrived shortly, and it was to Francesca that the waiter offered a sample. By glance she sought Richard's consent—a courteous gesture more than anything—and then her lips were upon the rim of the glass, and she was imbibing the dark fluid with a measured grace which befit her whole personage.

"It's delicious. Thank you," she nodded to the waiter, who—after returning the nod—poured them each a glass before departing. Francesca took hers delicately by the stem and swirled the wine for a moment before raising eyes to Richard, raising her glass to his, a smile on her lips once more. "To good company?"