Danielle Steel - Dating Game

“That's perfect. Would you like to see my apartment? I could cook you dinner.”

“You don't have to do that. Or I can help you.”

“I'd love it,” he said, sounding happy, and promised to call her in the morning.

And the next day, at work, Bix was waiting for her like a stern father, and wanted a report.

“So how was it?”

“Terrific. Better than I expected. And he was a perfect gentleman.”

“That's what I was afraid of,” Bix said grimly.

“Why? Did you want him to rape me?” She was in frighteningly good spirits.

“No. But real men aren't perfect gentlemen. They get grumpy and tired. They don't take women shopping. Which reminds me, did he?”

“Yes,” she said, laughing at him, “and he bought me a Chanel handbag.”

“Worse yet. When was the last time a man took you shopping and bought you a Chanel handbag? Did Peter?”

“No. He loathed shopping. He preferred root canal to shopping with me.”

“Precisely. This guy is too smooth, Paris. He scares me. And real guys rip off your clothes. They're klutzes. They don't know all the right moves unless they've done that routine a lot, with a lot of women.”

“I don't think he's a virgin.”

“I hope not. But he sounds like a playboy to me.”

“He says he hasn't met the right woman. He's been dating.”

“I don't buy that. There are a lot of good women out there, dying to meet straight guys. If he wanted to, he could have found one by now.”

“Maybe. From what everyone says, it's not that easy.”

“For a guy like him it is. He's got a Ferrari and a plane, and a lot of money. How hard do you think it would be to find the right woman?”

“Good women don't necessarily want all those things. He's cooking me dinner tomorrow.”

“I'm getting nauseous,” Bix said, sitting back in his chair with a worried look.

“What's wrong with cooking me dinner?”

“Did Peter?” he asked bluntly.

“Not if he could help it.” And then she looked serious for a moment. “Peter left me for another woman. How good was he in the end? Not very.” It was the first time she had said that. “Chandler was in the same boat as I am. I think he's been cautious,” she said fairly. It was beginning to annoy her that Bix was so suspicious of him. Chandler didn't deserve that.

“I think he's been busy. I went out with a guy like that once. He spoiled the hell out of me, and I couldn't understand it. Watches, bracelets, cashmere jackets, trips. I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven, until I figured out that he was sleeping with three other guys, and was the most promiscuous sonofabitch on the planet. He had no soul, no heart, and when he got bored with me, he wouldn't even take my phone calls. I was heartbroken until I figured it out. There was no there there. He was a player. I'm afraid that might be Chandler. Same guy, this one just likes women. Try not to sleep with him too quickly,” he said, and she nodded. In a short time, she and Bixby had become amazingly close, and she loved him. Bix was smart, sensible, and he cared about her. All he wanted to do was protect her, and she appreciated it, but she thought he was wrong about Chandler.

They worked as late that night as she had expected, and the following day she left the office at six o'clock, and Chandler picked her up at seven-thirty. She didn't recognize him at first when he drove up, he was driving an old Bentley instead of the Ferrari.

“What a lovely car,” she said, admiring it, and he said he almost never used it, but hated to sell it. He had thought she'd like to see it.

But his apartment, when she saw it, was even better. It was a penthouse on Russian Hill with a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view, and a terrace that nearly made her dizzy. And everything in the apartment was either white marble, black granite, or black leather. It was very striking, and very masculine. The kitchen was a state-of-the-art wonder. And he had everything ready. Oysters on the half shell, cold lobster, and he made a delicious capellini pasta with caviar. There was nothing for her to do, as they sat down to eat at a long granite table in his kitchen. He dimmed the lights and lit candles, and played CDs by some of the artists they had seen perform at Walter Frye's party. And he poured an excellent French white Bordeaux for her. The dinner was far more elegant than anything she would have cooked for him, and she thoroughly enjoyed it.

Afterward they sat in his living room in front of the fire, admiring the view. It was chilly outside, and nice being next to him by the fire. And in a little while, they were kissing. She had only known him for three weeks, but in spite of all her reservations, and Bix's warnings, she knew she was falling for him. She could no longer remember why this was supposed to be such a bad idea, or why she had felt such eternal loyalty to Peter. What difference did it make? He was married to Rachel. She owed him nothing, she told herself, as Chandler continued to kiss her, and ran a hand slowly up her leg, but he was cautious, and didn't want to upset her. He stopped and looked at her, and she melted into his arms, and it seemed like hours later, but suddenly she was lying next to him in bed, and she had her clothes off.

“Paris, I don't want to do this unless you want to,” he said gently.

“I want to,” she whispered, as he nestled his head against her, where he found her breasts and caressed them. Their bodies seemed to mesh and blend, and he took her expertly and carefully. He gave her pleasures that even Peter had never thought of. She spent the night with him, and they made love again in the morning. Peter had never done that. She felt an odd disloyalty when she got up, but when she sat across the breakfast table from Chandler, she felt better. He looked happy and at peace, and he was smiling at her. This wasn't a dream, it was real.

“That was incredible,” he said, and then teased her when she blushed. It was better than she had ever expected.

“Yes, it was,” she said, drinking the orange juice he gave her.

He took her home in time to change for work, and promised to call her later. Which he did, and then took her for lunch at their favorite Italian restaurant with the garden. She felt completely under his spell, and this time she didn't say anything to Bix. It was none of his business. The night she had spent with Chandler had changed things. Her loyalty was to him now. They had a relationship.

And she felt awkward with him at lunch, as she struggled to ask him an unfamiliar question, but this was her first venture into new waters. And she wanted to act responsibly. “I… should we…are we supposed to get an AIDS test before we go any further?” She was grateful that he had used protection, but she knew that if they were going to stop using it, at least some of the time, they should probably get tested. That seemed to be what people did, according to Meg at least.

“As long as we use protection, we don't need to,” he said, smiling at her, and she nodded. She didn't want to press the matter further. It was too awkward. And his answer seemed reasonable to her. Besides, it solved the issue of birth control for her.

He picked her up at her house that night after work, and she spent the night in his apartment again, and the next day Meg called her at the office, sounding worried.

“Mom, are you okay? I called you last night and the night before, really late, and you were out. Were you

working?”

“No…I…I was out with Chandler.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, of course not. Everything's fine, sweetheart. We were just out late, talking.”

“Well, be careful. Don't fall for him too quickly.” She sounded like Bix, but Paris thanked her and went back to her office. Poor thing, everyone was so suspicious of him, and he was so good to her. She couldn't remember being this happy. She wanted to call Anne and tell her about it, but she didn't have time until the weekend. They had two weddings on Saturday, and with the time difference, she never called her. And Paris worked so late, she didn't see Chandler all weekend. One wedding went until two-thirty, and the other till after four in the morning, and she didn't want to call and wake him. Weddings were different than dinner parties, a lot more could go wrong. They needed to keep track of each minute detail, and they always stayed to supervise till the bitter end. Chandler said he understood, and she saw him Sunday night for dinner. She wanted him to meet Wim, but when she called him in the dorm, he said he was busy. So she and Chandler ate alone.