He suddenly realised he'd been droning on. Well, to be precise, he suddenly felt the shudder that comes with hearing your own voice and felt the flush of self-consciousness that follows. He wondered whether Alan Rickman with his rich baritone ever got that, or James Mason. Every so often he wondered what it would be like to have a "come to bed" voice. But voice or no, he could, when the moment was right, and the woman was right, make them come to bed. It was his eyes he thought, not his voice. His eyes, hazel, showed his gentleness, his meandering mind, his playful passions. His eyes that took in so much and gave out so much more.
She was right. He knew she was right. His reverie only minutes earlier confirmed that. And she hadn't backed away when she caught his darting eyes. Quite the opposite in fact. She was now returning his glances, investigating, prying, imagining what lay beneath.
She sensed his discomfiture and moved the conversation to less distant topics, to areas closer to the here and now.
"You meeting someone here?"
"No, just taking some time to myself before heading back home"
"Where's that? Home I mean"
"Leeds. What about you?"
"Meeting or home?"
"Both. Either."
"No and by the sea. I mean I was intending to meet someone, but he cancelled, no I mean I cancelled him, oh whatever, you know what I mean." She laughed the rambling sentence off.
"So, footloose and fancy free for the rest of the day." It came out as a statement, but she instictively recognised it as an enquiry.
"Yes, we are."
That was assertive he thought. The use of "we". He leant towards her and in a lower voice said, "Well, we should make the most of our freedom. Our hours off the radar, so to speak."
Was there anything in life more affirming, more exciting, more energising than the flirt? Well, yes, maybe, but right now, no.
"Do you have a suggestion, Martin?" She'd used his name. It doesn't get more overt than that.
There are some things about getting older that are not to be recommended; aching limbs, falling asleep in the afternoon, forgetting what you entered a room for, but there are some things that are worth every ache, snore or absent mind. The insight, the understanding, the wisdom of all those accumulated years. As a teenager, he needed a girl to have her tongue in his mouth to be completely sure she fancied him (and even then he might tell himself she was just being friendly), but as a man past the Big Four O, he recognised the look or the subtle emphasis of a word. But use of your name, that was way past subtle these days.
"Erm, well, what about..." he paused, took a breath, his heart was racing...