“Then you’d better be quick so your drink doesn’t get watered down.”
“You could wait and order it when I get there.”
He turned to look at me, walking backwards toward the elevator. “Nope. Make it quick, Cara Spenser, or you’ll be drinking watery tequila.”
“All right. I’ll be right there.” I closed the door and hurried to the bathroom to turn on the shower to warm it. I pulled out my toiletry bag and grabbed my razor for a quick legs shave, just in case.
Nick Roman might not realize it yet, but we were going to make this a real live, bona fide date.
CHAPTER 15
NICK
When Cara walked into the restaurant, my heart lodged itself firmly in my throat and stayed there. I stood as she approached me at the bar and pulled out a stool for her. She was dressed in black jeans and a silky red blouse. She wore make-up, at least eyeshadow, liner, and lipstick, and whatever other magical potions women used to make themselves look naturally flawless. Her scent, whether from her body wash or perfume, was soft and subtly citrusy.
“You clean up nice,” I said as she slid onto the barstool beside me.
“So do you.” She ran her fingertips over my smooth jaw.
Yes, I’d shaved again, and no, it wasn’t because Pasco had recommended it. But when Cara’s hand lingered on my face appreciatively, I thought I might make a new habit of two shaves a day.
“You didn’t order my margarita.”
“I didn’t really want you to have watery tequila.” I signaled to the bartender, who nodded, then quickly mixed her drink and poured it over ice.
“Be careful, Nick Roman, or you might make me think you’re a gentleman.”
“If that happens, I’m sure I can disabuse you of the notion in no time.” I held her gaze and sipped my whiskey, wondering if I was losing my ever-loving mind because I couldn’t stop flirting with her.
The bartender set her margarita in front of her. She lifted her glass and we silently toasted.
“Whew, that’s strong. Did you slip him a twenty to make sure I get drunk?” she asked.
I smiled and fought back the urge to tease her back. This time, I succeeded. I inclined my head toward the dining room. “They’re crowded tonight and won’t have an open table for another hour, so I took the liberty of ordering for us so we can eat here at the bar.”
“How did you know I’m starving?”
“I heard your stomach growling when we were talking back at your room.”
“And how did you know what to order for me?”
“I texted Mason and asked him what things you like to order off his menu.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Resourceful. I’m impressed.”
I was saved from the flirt/no flirt decision by the bartender bringing our dinners, a mushroom and linguini dish for her and chicken marsala for me. I purposefully kept our conversation light but not flirtatious during dinner. I wanted to save the serious conversation for after. While I would have preferred looking at Cara across a table while asking her about her art and her plans for next year, there was something to be said for the way our knees occasionally bumped against each other and the ease with which she could touch my arm while she spoke.
After dinner, Cara ordered a Sherry and I asked for another whiskey. The restaurant was quieter now as the dinner crowd dissipated. With the dim lighting, candles on the tables and the ends of the bar, and the gentle jazz in the background, the place was ridiculously romantic. I wished we were here for a different, more romantic conversation. But I’d stalled long enough and I still owed her an explanation.
“Cara, I’m sorry for the way I overreacted when I found out you’d changed our route.”
“You didn’t. I should have discussed it with you.”
“I wish you had, but there’s more to it than that.” I downed the rest of my drink, then instinctively laid my hand over hers. She didn’t pull away and I didn’t, either. “I want to tell you about my parents.”
“I’d like that.”
“About their death,” I added so she wouldn’t be caught off-guard.
