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She doesn’t reply but silently walks up the hill next to me.
“Am I right? I know they say you shouldn’t ever ask a woman her age, but you’re young. I’m forty-two, if you were wondering.”
Her eyes enlarge like saucers.
I grin. “Why does your reaction make me feel old?”
Her face turns mottled red. “I’m sorry. You don’t look it.”
I release a pretend gasp, grinning. “You don’t say.”
She laughs. “You’re not far off about my age, though. I’m twenty-seven.”
“Hmm. You don’t look a day above twenty-three.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Will you also take calling you a gorgeous woman as a compliment?”
My heart is slamming in my chest like a chained beast. I want to grab her and pull her in, find out how she tastes.
She averts her eyes, reddening. “Sure, I will. Thank you.”
Giselle isn’t impressed by the small castle, but she enjoys observing the peaceful lake. We talk about Shakespeare’s plays and our favorite ones.
We settle down at a bench and watch people taking pictures, playing guitar, and throwing frisbees. Without warning, it becomes windy, dark clouds gathering in the sky. It’s time to call it a day. But I’m not willing to let her go. Not before I see this gorgeous girl come undone for me.
“Thanks for a lovely afternoon. It was a pleasure meeting you.” Giselle rises and pulls her sweater closer as she places the strap of her purse on her shoulder.
“Don’t leave yet. Have dinner with me.” Our eyes alight on one another as she looks up at me in surprise. I swallow her with my stare as I will her to agree.
It’s unusual for me to be this forward. I haven’t been in a relationship since I lost my wife five years ago, always making sure that my liaisons are noncommittal and easy. But there’s something about Giselle that makes me throw caution to the wind. And it’s not just because I have been itching to claim her lips with mine. My body hardens as she pulls a loose strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. The image of her flaming tresses spread across my pillows is almost my undoing. But taking her home is out of the question, and not only because I have a feeling she would never agree to it.
“Do you make it a habit to approach women in the museum and talk them into having dinner with you?”
“What women?”
She laughs and shrugs. “All right then, why not.”
With a jubilant grin I place my hand at the small of her back, and we leave the park.
As we enter the vast lobby of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, her eyes widen.
“This is amazing,” she whispers in awe, taking in the grand modern lobby and the floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of Central Park.
When we approach the host of the restaurant, we realize it’s booked solid.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, gauging her reaction as she cautiously tries to figure out my intentions. “We could look for another restaurant, but the rain is falling hard already, and I’d rather we don’t get soaked.” I pause, waiting for my words to sink in. “Let’s just take a room here and have dinner delivered to it.”
A shadow crosses her eyes. Her gaze holds a touch of uncertainty when it lands on me. She looks away at the glass doors and watches the rain pouring steadily.
“We’re stuck here.”
Do I detect a note of wariness?
“For the time being, yes.”
With a look that suggests a snap decision, she breaks into a smile. “Then I guess we should make the most of it.”
