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“Your wine,” he announces, setting the glasses on the table. He uncorks the bottle, pours us each a glass, then places the bottle on the table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Not at this moment,” Knight replies, glancing back at me. “I’ll send for you if I need anything more.”
The waiter bows and leaves us once more. I watch him make his way down the path to where the other booths are, and I think of how far away we are from everyone else.
Knight picks up my wine glass and holds it out for me to take.
“Thank you.” I take it and sip at the same time he drinks his. The wine tastes sweet and flavorful. The combination is intense, but so good I could drink the entire bottle. “This is delicious.”
“It’s one of my favorites.” Knight places a finger on the label on the bottle. “This one always has a great mixture of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot.”
God, his accent.It’s so sexy when he speaks French words, I’m tempted to ask him to say more.
“You sound like you know your wine.” I grin.
“I know a good thing when I see it.” The tone of his voice and the glint of desire in his eyes suggest he’s not exactly talking about the wine.
He sets his glass down, and that desire in his eyes I previously witnessed deepens. “So, other than the fact that you’re beautiful and you want to be a writer, what else should I know about Aurora Wright?”
The mixture of calling me beautiful and the sensual way he said my name has me flushing like a shy schoolgirl talking to the most popular guy.
“I’m sure… there are other interesting things about you.” His voice dips to a hypnotic timbre that makes my pulse gallop.
My cheeks burning, I ask, “What do you want to know?” I sound as if I’m an open book aching to be read. But I’m so far from that. Even if I were, there are many things I can’t talk about. It’s just nice to flirt and pretend I can.
Knight’s gaze drops to my mouth and lingers there for far too long. Longer than what’s socially acceptable, if you can call looking at someone’s mouth acceptable. But I have a feeling the general rules of society don’t apply to this man.
When his eyes move from my lips, and down to my breasts, my nipples tighten and pucker as if he caressed them with lust-filled invisible fingers.
My entire body is electrified from the sight of him assessing me, and my heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
When his gaze eventually climbs back up to meet mine, he places a finger at his temple.
“Tell me about your writing. How did you get into it?”
The question surprises me. From the salacious way he looked at me, I expected a different question. It seems he decided to go with a safer topic than whatever was on his mind as he checked me out.
“I did a piece for the school paper in my sophomore year of high school,” I answer. My heart expands at the memory of the opportunity that changed my life. “I was filling in for one of the other writers who came down with chicken pox. The piece I did was so good, the head decided to keep me. Everything sort of took off from there.” The longing in my voice makes me sad that I haven’t accomplished my dream yet.
“Tell me more.” He looks genuinely fascinated to hear more.
I smile back at him, proud to talk about my accomplishments. “I did my first internship atTime Magazine. It was only a summer placement, but I loved it.”
I continue telling him about my writing journey while we drink, then our conversation switches to traveling, where I listen to him regale me with stories about all the countries he’s visited.
Soon, I loosen up completely, and it gets to a point where we stop pouring glasses and start passing the bottle between us as casually as if we do this all the time.
Quite possibly, the wine could be the reason I’ve mellowed out. I’m not over my limit, but the wine was stronger than I’m used to. Thank goodness I’d already decided I was going to take a taxi home.
Time fades into the ether while we captivate each other. It’s not until the lights go out in one of the buildings across the street that I glance at my bracelet watch and nearly jump out of my skin when I see it’s a few minutes before midnight. We’ve been talking for a little over three hours.
I can’t remember the last time I did that with anyone. The closest time I can think of is staying up late with Madison at summer camp. But that was eons ago. Neither of us has time like that now. Even when we take a girls’ trip where it’s just the two of us or with our other friends, we never talk for as long as we used to.
And here I am, talking it up with a man I’ve only known for over three hours.
Knight looks at his watch, too, and straightens.
“Late?” He quirks a brow.
