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Kaz shook his head. “Never gonna happen.”
The light in Katie’s eyes died. “No,” she said softly, “but—but can you imagine if it did?”
* * * *
They spent the day lazily, having fun, not ever mentioning the reality that lay ahead.
They built a snowman. A snow fort. They had a snowball fight. Katie won, because when Kaz tumbled her onto the ground, she managed to dump a handful of snow inside his collar and down his back.
“A dastardly deed,” Kaz said, and punished her with a kiss that left her aching for more—so he took her to his penthouse, undressed her with a slowness that left her pleading, and made love to her in his big bed.
When they got hungry, he tugged Katie into his lap and sifted through the hundred and one take-out menus a Manhattan bachelor was certain to collect.
“Mexican?” he said. “Steak frites? Lobster?”
Katie hung her arms loosely around his neck and rubbed her nose against his.
“A hamburger. No, a cheeseburger. Fries. Onion rings. And a vanilla malted.”
Kaz gave a deep sigh.
“A girl after my own heart,” he said dramatically.
Forget the drama.
What he’d just said was, without question, the absolute truth
* * * *
When evening fell, Kaz announced that they were going out.
She asked where; he said it was a surprise.
“You have to tell me,” Katie insisted. “So I’ll know what to wear.”
Jeans or sweats or a Chanel gown, he wanted to say. What she wore wouldn’t matter to him, but he knew enough about women to know how they were when it came to things like that.
“Something special,” he said.
“You mean, dressy?”
“Yes.”
But it was all he’d tell her.
Kaz had had his driver transfer Katie’s luggage to his penthouse. To the master suite. A little before seven, she commandeered his bathroom and his bedroom.
“No peeking,” she said.
He paced the living room, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark trousers. He was wearing an open-necked blue shirt. No tie. His suit jacket was tossed over a leather chair.
He’d made a reservation for eight o’clock at a place that had opened a couple of months before. It was the kind of restaurant he’d figured you could find only in cities like New York or Paris: elegant and luxurious, with great food, and service that was neither over-reaching or over-bearing.
Michelin had given it three stars…
“Kaz?”
He spun around, looked up the staircase. Katie stood at the top, one hand on the railing, and he knew, in an instant, that tonight the restaurant would have more stars than even Michelin could imagine.
