AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ve never been,” Roarke commented. “Caviar?” he said to Peabody.
“Well . . . I guess.”
Eve fixed what she hoped was a pleasant expression on her face, and thought about the nice little chat she’d be having with her personnel, including her expert consultant, civilian.
Then the view opened; she saw Kevin. Everything else was set aside.
He saw her as well. A slow, boyish smile crossed his face, just a little shy at the edges. He got to his feet, hesitated, then walked to her.
“Make my dreams come true and tell me you’re Stefanie.”
“I’m Stefanie. And you’re . . .”
“Wordsworth.” He took her hand, lifted it to his lips. “You’re even lovelier than I imagined. Than I hoped.”
“And you’re everything I thought you’d be.” She left her hand in his. Dating had never been one of her strong suits, but she’d planned carefully how she would behave, what she would say. “I hope I’m not late.”
“Not at all. I was early. I wanted . . .” He gestured toward the picnic. “I wanted everything to be perfect.”
“Oh. It looks wonderful. You’ve gone to so much trouble.”
“I’ve looked forward to this for a long time.” He led her to the blanket. She passed within a foot of Roarke. “Caviar!” she said as she sat. “You certainly know how to throw a picnic.”
She leaned over, turned the bottle of wine around so she could see the label. The same he’d used with Bryna Bankhead. “My favorite.” She made her lips curve. “It’s as if you could read my mind.”
“I’ve felt that way, ever since we first corresponded. Getting to know you online, I felt as if I knew you. Had always known you. Was somehow meant to.”
“This guy is good,” McNab breathed in her ear.
“I felt the connection, too,” Eve said, using Stefanie’s words to her as a guide. “The letters, the poetry we shared. All the fabulous stories about your travels.”
“I think . . . it’s fate. ‘It is he that saith not Kismet.’ ”
Oh, shit, Eve thought. Mind scrambling, she opened her mouth. And Roarke whispered the rest of the quote in her ear. “ ‘It is he who knows not fate,’ ” she repeated. “What do you think fate has in store for us, Wordsworth?”
“Who can say? But I can’t wait to find out.”
Give me the damn wine, you worthless, murdering bastard. But instead, he handed her the roses.
“They’re lovely.” She made herself sniff them.
“Somehow I knew they’d suit you best. Pink rosebuds. Soft, warm. Romantic.” He lifted his own glass, toyed with the stem. “I’ve looked forward to giving them to you, to having this time with you. Shall we have a toast?”
“Yes.” She continued to look into his eyes, while she willed him to pick up the glass, to put it into her hand. Trying for flirtatious, she brushed the rosebuds against her cheek.
And he picked up the glass. He put it into her hand.
“To fateful beginnings.”
“And even better,” she said, “to destined endings.” She brought the glass to her lips, saw his gaze greedily follow it. And the shadow of irritation smoke over them as she lowered it again without drinking.
“Oh, just one second.” She let out a quick laugh, set the wine aside, and opened her purse. “There’s just one thing I want to do first.”
With her free hand, she took his, then pulling out the restraints, snapped them on. “Kevin Morano, you’re under arrest—”
“What? What the hell is this?” When he tried to yan
k away she had the pleasure of knocking him flat, rolling him, and with her knee in the small of his back, securing the restraints.
