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“You did?” He wore that boyish look, the one that made her think of Trev.
“Yes. I thought how you couldn’t be looking at me. And then I thought how familiar you looked, that I must have met you before….”
“Of course I was looking at you,” he said it with a definite note of reproach. “But you were very busy reminding yourself that you were through with men.”
“I was. I admit it. How dumb was that?”
“It’s all right. Now that you’ve told me why you gave up men, I thoroughly understand. And I’m not complaining. If you hadn’t decided to stay away from the male sex, you might have found someone else by now and I wouldn’t have a chance with you.”
“And that would have been a tragedy,” she teased.
“Yes, it would. A true catastrophe. But you did give up men. Now all I have to do is convince you to give one more man a chance.” He raised his glass again. She clinked hers against it. “Are you ready for the first course?”
Suddenly, she was starving. “I am, yes.”
He cast a glance beyond the open curtain. That was all. Just a glance. The waiter appeared again and made straight for their table.
Two hours later, Rule walked her out to the valet stand and had her car brought around. He tipped the valet generously and then took her hand and led her away from her waiting Mercedes. “Just for a moment …”
She went with him, down the sloping front entrance, to a shadowed area next to a large brick planter thick with greenery, beneath a beautiful old oak. The spring night felt warm and close around them.
He turned to face her. His eyes gleamed like polished stones through the darkness and his fingers trailed up her bare arm, a long, slow, dancing caress that left her strangely weak and slightly breathless. “Sydney …” He clasped her shoulders, and then framed her face between both wonderful hands. “Sydney O’Shea. I was becoming frightened.”
His words confused her. She scanned his shadowed features. “But why?”
“That I would never find you. Never meet you …”
“Oh. That.” She felt a glad smile curve her lips.
“Yes. That.” His sweet breath stirred the loose curls at her temples as he bent his head closer to her.
A kiss. His kiss. Their first kiss. She tipped her face up to him, offering her mouth.
He held her eyes as he lowered his lips to hers.
Warm. Soft. Easy …
Her eyes drifted shut as his mouth touched hers, lightly, cherishingly. And she trembled, the moment was so exactly as she’d imagined it might be during their lunch that afternoon, during the long, glorious meal just past.
“Sydney …” He whispered her name against her mouth and she opened for him.
Instantly, she wanted more, wanted to be closer. Had to be closer.
Surging up, she wrapped her arms around him. A tiny, hungry cry escaped her at the sheer glory of such a perfect moment.
He took her cue and deepened the kiss, gathering her into him, cradling her against his body, so that she felt his warmth and solidness all along the length of her. He tasted of coffee and the heavenly pistachio mascarpone cake they’d shared for dessert. And the way he kissed her, the way his warm, rough-tender tongue caressed her … oh, there was nothing, ever, in her experience, to compare to it.
Nothing to compare.
To his kiss …
She wished it would never end.
But of course, it had to end. He took her shoulders again and reluctantly lifted his mouth from hers.
“Tomorrow,” he said, gazing down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, holding her a willing captive with his light touch at her shoulders, with his tender glance.
“Yes,” she vowed, though she didn’t even know yet what he planned for tomorrow.
