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“The fractious brat, or the delightful young woman I’m sure you can be.”
“How can you ask me something like that with a straight face?”
“I don’t have a straight face, I’m smiling,” he retorted, “but we can talk about something else. What kind of music do you like?”
“I’d prefer not to answer that question” she replied, dropping her eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Then I’ll go first. I’m an eighties junkie.”
“Seriously? Me too,” she exclaimed, lifting her gaze.
They began comparing notes about their favorite bands, and by the time the waiter returned with a Black Orchid cocktail, she could feel her nervousness easing.
“Wow, that’s excellent,” she exclaimed, taking a sip.
“I’m glad, Madam, though I’m not surprised,” the waiter said with a smile. “We have an excellent mixologist.”
Watching Zach accept the wine list and order a glass of cabernet, Emma sensed he was relaxing too. Delighted they were hitting it off, but still feeling a tad anxious, she polished off her cocktail, and asked for a second when the waiter brought Zach his glass of wine.
A few minutes later they placed their dinner orders. She had intended for the second drink to last through the meal, but Zach had started talking about the pros and cons of living at the beach in Malibu. It was a subject dear to her heart, and she was so engrossed in the conversation she didn’t realize she was finishing her drink. When their appetizers were set in front of them and she found her glass empty, she ordered a third.
“Excuse me, Emma, I’ll be right back,” he said abruptly, then rising to his feet, he unexpectedly pecked her lightly on the cheek and walked away.
The soft kiss sent goosebumps popping across her skin.
He was a dream come true.
The twinkle in his eye made her blush.
He was funny, really funny.
And sexy as hell.
He soon returned, and they continued their delicious dinner, but when their plates were cleared, and her drink had failed to appear, she began darting her eyes around the room searching for their server.
“Are you looking for someone?” Zach asked.
“The waiter. He still hasn’t brought my drink.”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“That’s so annoying, and speaking of annoying, Kurt Fielding is as irritating as an insect bite. And his clothes! Where can you even buy clothes like that?”
“I believe we agreed we wouldn’t talk about Kurt Fielding, or anything to do with Continental.”
“You may not want to talk about—” she began, suddenly feeling defiant, but the waiter arrived at the table cutting her short.
“Have you decided on dessert? Would you care for coffee?”
“Coffee with a shot of whiskey,” Emma said quickly, “and a bowl of whipped cream on the side.”
“Yes, madam. For you, sir?”
“I’d like a cup of coffee as well, and your fabulous bread pudding with custard.”
“Of course, sir.”
As the waiter moved away, Zach scooted around the table and sat close to her. Though she felt her heart skip, she tried to remain nonchalant.
