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‘I was afraid you’d only agreed to see me this evening because you felt you owed me something—or because I didn’t give you much choice.’
Her eyes met his. ‘Well, that’s true, isn’t it? You ’
Laughter glinted in his eyes. ‘Still, you have to admit my technique’s unusual. First I badgered you into having dinner with me and then I made an entrance guaranteed to catch your attention. I mean, you probably expected me to say “You look lovely,” or something equally banal when you opened the door.’
She thought of how he’d come forcefully through the door and a faint smile twitched on her lips. He was right, of course. She’d half expected him to show up with the six dozen roses he’d ordered clutched in his arms.
‘Something like that,’ she admitted
‘Well, you were wrong. Even if I hadn’t launched into the big city cynic’s lecture on household safety, you’d have been disappointed.’ His smile was for her alone. ‘I could never simply say “you look lovely” to you.’
Gabrielle felt a soft warmth suffuse her skin. She knew what he was doing: he was flirting with her as he had that afternoon. She wanted to say something clever in return, but her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth.
He drew closer. ‘Don’t you want to hear what I’d have said instead?’
She hadn’t bargained for this. He was supposed to take her to dinner, that was all, and then they could shake hands and she’d wish him a happy vacation and…
He smiled into her eyes. ‘I’d have said I was going to have dinner with the most beautiful woman in New Orleans.’
She felt her heartbeat quicken. Say something, you fool, she thought, and finally she did.
‘You’re right,’ she said, striving for a lightness she didn’t feel, ‘that’s certainly not in the same category as the standard “you look lovely” opening.’
His teeth flashed in a smile. ‘We aim to please,’ he said. ‘I like that dress you’re wearing.’
Which dress was that? she thought in surprise, glancing down at herself. In the end, she had dressed so quickly that she had no idea what she was wearing.
It was the pink dress, after all. She smiled as she looked up and met James’s eyes.
‘Thank you. I wasn’t sure where we were going.’
‘I thought we’d dine chez Gabrielle.’ He turned away and stepped out the door. When he turned toward her again, he held an overflowing shopping bag in his arms. ‘My mother taught me to always bring a lady flowers or chocolates,’ he said, elbowing the door shut behind him. ‘Well, I tried the flowers, but I think I went overboard.’. Which way’s the kitchen?’ Gabrielle pointed, then hurried after him. ‘And I knew better than to bring chocolates to a woman who jogs.” He set the bag on the counter. ‘So I gave up trying and brought dinner instead.’
“Dinner,’ she said, watching as he began unloading groceries from the bag. ‘But I thought…’
‘You thought we were going out. Well, I thought so, too. And then I said to myself, come on, Forrester, don’t be so pedestrian. Making a reservation at a restaurant is no way to impress a woman.’ He slapped a thick package of steaks down beside a head of red-leafed lettuce. ‘Cooking her a meal is.’
He began taking things from the bag. Wine. Idaho potatoes. Two porterhouse steaks. A container of sour cream. Chives.
‘Incredible,’ she said, and then she laughed. ‘It’s almost as if you know all about me.’
There was a silence, and then James laughed, too.
‘Yes,’ he said finally, ‘it is, isn’t it?’
She shook her head as she stared at the small mountain of groceries. ‘There’s enough there to feed an army.’
James looked at her. ‘You don’t mind, then?’
Gabrielle hesitated. She should mind, she thought. This man she barely knew had tricked her into this dinner engagement; she’d only moments before been assuring herself it would be a quick, impersonal evening, and now here they were, about to have a cozy dinner for two in her own home.
But his smile was engaging. And the feast spread before her was enough to make her mouth water. In this city with its worldwide reputation for world-famous chefs and exotic food, she’d been existing on frozen dinners supplemented by the occasional hamburger.
Somehow, the thought of cooking a whole meal just for herself only made her remember all the more clearly how much she missed her father and the quiet life they’d shared together.
And the one time she’d gone out to dinner alone, she’d grudgingly decided that women who felt comfortable dining alone were far braver and more liberated than she,
There was nothing to do but shake her head and give the devil his due.
‘No, I don’t mind. But if you wanted a home-cooked meal, you should have said so. I’d have been happy to oblige.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought women like you would even know how to cook.’
The sudden harshness in his voice startled her. She frowned as she looked at him. ‘Women like me? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘From what I know of you, I wouldn’t think you’d have spent much time in the kitchen.’
Gabrielle shook her head. ‘Because I run a business, you mean?’
James drew in his breath. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘Because of that. I hope you have a corkscrew—it’s the one thing I forgot to buy.’
‘There’s one here somewhere,’ she said, opening a
drawer and poking through it. ‘Ah, here it is.’ She handed it over and then took two wine goblets from the cabinet. ‘I’ve been looking for an excuse to use these.’
James extracted the cork and tossed it aside. ‘Let the wine breathe a while,’ he said. ‘Hand me that skillet, will you?’
Gabrielle did as he’d asked. She watched as he unwrapped the steaks and seasoned them. ‘Are you a good cook?’ she said after a few minutes.
He looked up at her and smiled. ‘The best. Are you a good assistant?’ ^
She nodded. ‘I know my wa
y around a kitchen.’ A shadow flitted across her face. ‘Of course, I’m out of practice. I—I don’t like cooking for myself. And there’s no one to make meals for now…’
‘What a pity.’ His voice was suddenly callous and she looked up, surprised, but his back was to her. ‘What happened?’
Gabrielle pushed aside the spectre of her father’s ghost. Tonight was not a night for remembering the bad times, she thought, it was a night for happier things.
‘My life changed,’ she said with a little shrug.
‘I’ll bet.’ James turned towards her. He was smiling, but there was an unexpected coolness in his eyes. ‘It must by very different for you now. Working all day…’
Gabrielle turned on the water and began rinsing lettuce leaves. ‘I worked then, too,’ she said. ‘I’ve always worked, ever since I finished school.’ She glanced at him and smiled. ‘Guess what I did?’
His eyes met hers. ‘I’d rather not,’ he said flatly. ‘Suppose you tell me, Gabrielle.’
There was that harsh tone again. Did he think she’d led a pampered life or something?
‘I was a PA,’ she said.
‘A Personal Assistant..’
‘
‘Yes. Is there something wrong with that?’
James shrugged. ‘Nothing, if that’s what you wanted.’ He stabbed a knife into a tomato and slashed through the red flesh. ‘So,’ he said finally, ‘you worked for this guy by day and cooked for him by night. Sounds like a pretty good deal.’
She looked up sharply. ‘I never said that. Where’d you get that idea?’
He looked at her, his face unreadable. ‘I just put two and two together,’ he said. ‘You told me you used to cook for someone and I thought…’
Gabrielle slid from the stool and walked across the kitchen. ‘Well, you thought wrong. The man I cooked for was my father.’
