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The bar erupted with applause—they’d had quite the audience.
Staci was not one to blush. And yet she felt heat flood her face and neck.
Evan gave her a playfully arrogant look—smug bastard—and reached for his wine. He took a deep sip.
Staci had to get her breathing under control before she could douse the flames inside with a drink from her own glass.
A good five minutes had to have passed before she was finally able to speak. “You realize you could make a woman come with just a kiss, don’t you?”
“You’re the only woman I kiss like that,” Evan said with all seriousness, not an ounce of arrogance this time. “I don’t know women like you.”
Staci’s heart fluttered. Things moved inside her. Emotions she was wholly unfamiliar with bubbled to the surface. The crowd melted away again.
She said, “I felt a bit of relief that Tanya interrupted us earlier. Now I’m totally regretting it.”
He stared intently at her. “Why were you relieved?”
“Because I wanted to rip your shirt open. The kiss wouldn’t have been enough.”
He grinned. “I would have neither complained nor resisted.”
“Evan.”
Okay, this was getting crazy. Like crazy deep in that we’re-starting-something-dangerous-here sort of way. Hadn’t she considered earlier that getting involved with him was a bad idea?
“Staci,” he countered. “We got off to an explosive start in Baltimore. Spent more than a week pissed off at each other. Had a rocky reunion today. At first. And I apologize for that. But you have to admit—”
“I’m sorry.” Jean’s front-house manager stepped toward Staci and Evan and said, “Your table is ready, Miss Kay. If you’ll please follow me.”
Staci bristled a little at the bad timing on the manager’s part, but knew she was only doing her job. And Staci could definitely use some food. Maybe she was just buzzing from the wine and not really feeling all of these wicked zings and emotional zaps of lightning because of Evan. An excellent Bordeaux could do that to a woman.
Though in her soul, Staci knew the truth.
It was all Evan.
Because it was exactly what she’d felt with him in Baltimore. And in his office earlier.
They were escorted to an intimate table for two tucked into a cozy nook with a fireplace and a window that looked out on Central Park. The antique sconces on the outer brick wall illuminated the snow falling on passersby, as well as the trees and horse-drawn carriages across the street in the park.
“I don’t have menus,” the manager said, “if that’s all right with you. Chef Marquis has a five-course meal planned, starting with a charcuterie board. And, of course, wine pairings personally selected from his cellar.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Evan told her.
Staci nodded.
The manager gently placed linen napkins in their laps and then left them alone. A server immediately swooped in with a meat and cheese board and pointed out the black truffle ravioli, gourmet pâtés, and terrines.
Staci loaded up a torn chunk of baguette with a pâté as the sommelier brought in a bottle of Syrah, explaining the vintage and bouquet before pouring a sample for Evan. He nodded his approval, and the sommelier served.
When they were alone, Staci prompted Evan to finish his sentiment from the bar. “You were saying…?”
“That you’re irresistible.” He tipped the rim of his glass to hers again.
She laughed softly. “I’m not sure that was the direction in which you were headed, but…okay.” They sipped and nibbled. Staci admitted, “I’m ravenous, so don’t judge. I basically existed off of Cheese Nips and Milk D
uds today.”
“It’s not worth starving yourself in order to stalk me.”
