amazing. He couldn’t let this butterfly crawl back into her shapeless cocoon.
“Come have a drink with me.” He jerked his head toward the unlit lounge.
“What? No. Why? I’ll be feeding Lucy later. I can’t.”
How many shades of refusal was that, he wondered with a twinge between amusement and exasperation.
“We’ll stick to the plan,” he countered. “Have the glass of wine you were planning to have with your friend and I’ll feed Lucy a bottle when she needs it. Going out was obviously something you were anticipating.”
“It wasn’t the wine.” She rolled her eyes. “I wanted to see my friend.”
“So come tell me why she’s so special to you.” He herded her toward the lounge and suspected she only let him because she was trying to pull away from contact with his palm against the small of her back.
“I don’t understand why you’d want me to.” She scuffed her spiky heels as he crowded her into the room with the sunken conversation area and the wet bar in the corner. He gave up trying to steer her and walked ahead of her, turning on a lamp on the end table before he brought the track lighting over the bar up to half power, keeping the mood soothing and intimate.
“You keep accusing me of not taking time to ask about your life. And...” He gestured at where her leg peeked from the slit in her skirt to the ruffles that framed her cleavage. “I can’t stand the idea of this going to waste. I’d take you out, but unlike you I haven’t arranged a sitter. Here. Have a seat and tell the bartender about your day.”
He held one of the high stools and she hesitated before warily scooting her hip onto it. He let his gaze linger on the curve of her pert backside as it flowed into the slope of her lower back. Damn, but he wanted to stroke and claim.
Thief, he reminded himself, but it didn’t do much to quell his hunger. Rounding the bar, he looked for a suitably light white wine in the small cooler.
“I should tell David he’s off for the night,” she said in a tone that put him back a year. Efficient, forward with responsibility and attention to detail, lilting just enough to invite a correction if she was off course. She rarely ever had been, except—
As she placed the call, he gestured for the phone.
She handed it across, brows lifted with inquiry.
He enlightened her as he made his request of David. “We’ve had a change of plans. Can you run to Angelo’s and ask them to make us a couple of plates? Whatever they have on special, but no mushrooms for Sirena. You can go home after that.”
“Are we working late?” she mused facetiously.
“I don’t feel like cooking. Do you?”
“ Can you cook? I’ve never seen you try.”
“I can grill a steak.” He was currently polishing glasses like a pro, having picked up both skills working in restaurants for much-needed cash a long time ago.
“But a man in your position never has to do anything, does he?” Her lips curved in a deprecating smile, niggling him into a serious response.
“I’m always irritated by the suggestion I haven’t worked for what I have. I might have been born into a life of privilege, but that bottomed out thanks to my stepfather. Everything I have I built myself, and it comes with obligations and responsibilities that take up time. If I can delegate the small things, like cooking a steak, so I can negotiate a union contract to keep myself and a few hundred people working and fed, I will.” He poured two glasses and pushed one toward her.
She looked at her wine, then gave him a glance of reassessment. Lifting her glass, she awaited the soft clink of his.
“To pleasant conversations between old friends,” she said with gentle mockery.
He leaned back on the far side of the space behind the bar, eyeing her through slitted lids. “I can’t get used to this.”
“Used to what?” She set down her glass and rotated her knees forward so she faced him, elbows braced on the bar’s marble
“Come have a drink with me.” He jerked his head toward the unlit lounge.
“What? No. Why? I’ll be feeding Lucy later. I can’t.”
How many shades of refusal was that, he wondered with a twinge between amusement and exasperation.
“We’ll stick to the plan,” he countered. “Have the glass of wine you were planning to have with your friend and I’ll feed Lucy a bottle when she needs it. Going out was obviously something you were anticipating.”
“It wasn’t the wine.” She rolled her eyes. “I wanted to see my friend.”
“So come tell me why she’s so special to you.” He herded her toward the lounge and suspected she only let him because she was trying to pull away from contact with his palm against the small of her back.
“I don’t understand why you’d want me to.” She scuffed her spiky heels as he crowded her into the room with the sunken conversation area and the wet bar in the corner. He gave up trying to steer her and walked ahead of her, turning on a lamp on the end table before he brought the track lighting over the bar up to half power, keeping the mood soothing and intimate.
“You keep accusing me of not taking time to ask about your life. And...” He gestured at where her leg peeked from the slit in her skirt to the ruffles that framed her cleavage. “I can’t stand the idea of this going to waste. I’d take you out, but unlike you I haven’t arranged a sitter. Here. Have a seat and tell the bartender about your day.”
He held one of the high stools and she hesitated before warily scooting her hip onto it. He let his gaze linger on the curve of her pert backside as it flowed into the slope of her lower back. Damn, but he wanted to stroke and claim.
Thief, he reminded himself, but it didn’t do much to quell his hunger. Rounding the bar, he looked for a suitably light white wine in the small cooler.
“I should tell David he’s off for the night,” she said in a tone that put him back a year. Efficient, forward with responsibility and attention to detail, lilting just enough to invite a correction if she was off course. She rarely ever had been, except—
As she placed the call, he gestured for the phone.
She handed it across, brows lifted with inquiry.
He enlightened her as he made his request of David. “We’ve had a change of plans. Can you run to Angelo’s and ask them to make us a couple of plates? Whatever they have on special, but no mushrooms for Sirena. You can go home after that.”
“Are we working late?” she mused facetiously.
“I don’t feel like cooking. Do you?”
“ Can you cook? I’ve never seen you try.”
“I can grill a steak.” He was currently polishing glasses like a pro, having picked up both skills working in restaurants for much-needed cash a long time ago.
“But a man in your position never has to do anything, does he?” Her lips curved in a deprecating smile, niggling him into a serious response.
“I’m always irritated by the suggestion I haven’t worked for what I have. I might have been born into a life of privilege, but that bottomed out thanks to my stepfather. Everything I have I built myself, and it comes with obligations and responsibilities that take up time. If I can delegate the small things, like cooking a steak, so I can negotiate a union contract to keep myself and a few hundred people working and fed, I will.” He poured two glasses and pushed one toward her.
She looked at her wine, then gave him a glance of reassessment. Lifting her glass, she awaited the soft clink of his.
“To pleasant conversations between old friends,” she said with gentle mockery.
He leaned back on the far side of the space behind the bar, eyeing her through slitted lids. “I can’t get used to this.”
“Used to what?” She set down her glass and rotated her knees forward so she faced him, elbows braced on the bar’s marble
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