feeling that
the restaurant was expensive was proved correct when she opened the oversized
menu and saw that most of the entrées cost more than she spent on food in a
week.
All her dates had been
as broke as she was. Eating out with a date meant choosing the cheapest
possible restaurant and scrutinizing the menu for the least expensive items.
She smiled to herself.
Well, that part of her life was over. Maybe. With a little bit of luck.
Alex pinned her with his
dark gaze. “You haven’t even eaten yet and you’re already smiling.”
Caitlin thought briefly
of telling him that she’d been awarded the Frederiksson fellowship. But she
hadn’t yet, actually. She only had Sam’s word on it. No, she would tell him if
and when the announcement was made. But in the meantime, she could hug the
prospect of good news to herself and feel uplifted.
“Everything looks so
good,” she said.
“Everything is good.” Alex looked up at the server slipping a tray of warm bruschetta in front
of them and nodded his thanks. The server, a pretty, tall, well-built brunette,
grinned. She held the grin for just a second longer than was necessary, stood
just inside his personal space and took a deep breath, showcasing an amazing
set of assets. Her body language was very clear.
Ditch the wishy-washy
blonde, buddy, and I’m yours. Let’s go out back and get it on.
Alex was much too astute
not to catch that, but he handled it well, breaking off eye contact at exactly
the right moment, leaning forward to push Caitlin’s plate closer, eyes
connecting with hers.
The message to the
waitress was clear. Sorry, not tonight.
The smoothness with
which he did it showed it was an automatic reflex. It was something he’d
probably practiced every day of his life. He was a very handsome man, and she
could tell he’d been a good-looking boy. He’d probably had to fend off
dozens—hundreds!—of advances from women. Some subtle, some not-so-subtle. He’d
perfected the art of the brush-off, and it had probably become so innate he
hardly noticed it anymore.
Being sexually reticent
herself, an observer by nature and training and not a doer, Caitlin had
observed some amazing scenes from sexually adventurous women over the years.
Just last week, she’d been in a bar with another TA drinking a beer when she’d
seen a man walk up to a woman, introduce himself, then offer to buy her a
drink. Within five minutes, the woman was fondling his crotch. Within six, they
were gone.
Alex probably dealt with
those kinds of situations daily, though not at work. She’d observed, and heard,
that work for him was a very strict no-sex zone. Not that much was happening
right now in his life outside work. Thanks to his colleagues at the station house,
she got the impression that he didn’t have a private life, and
considering his looks, his charisma, his overpowering maleness , that was
entirely voluntary.
If she were a company,
she’d send a memo to herself. Note—no way.
She had to remember all
of this, even though he seemed to have some kind of magical sex key where she
was concerned and had managed to give her an explosive orgasm she could almost
still feel on her skin, in her bones. And he’d done it with his mouth and hand.
She shuddered to think of other body parts coming into play. She’d fall into a
billion pieces.
In every way there was,
an affair with Alex Cruz was a no-no.
Wanting Alex Cruz was
perfectly pointless. Like wanting a Mercedes Benz or wanting to be taller. Not
going to happen.
She had to enjoy the
evening for what it was and keep her eye on the main goal, her dissertation.
Alex poured her a glass
of wine from the bottle of Merlot the server had uncorked. He hadn’t asked for
either the wine or the bruschetta, so Caitlin could only assume that he came
here often enough for his tastes to be known to the staff.
“I can recommend the
tuna steak on a bed of pappardelle,” he said, confirming her thoughts.
It was the most
expensive
the restaurant was expensive was proved correct when she opened the oversized
menu and saw that most of the entrées cost more than she spent on food in a
week.
All her dates had been
as broke as she was. Eating out with a date meant choosing the cheapest
possible restaurant and scrutinizing the menu for the least expensive items.
She smiled to herself.
Well, that part of her life was over. Maybe. With a little bit of luck.
Alex pinned her with his
dark gaze. “You haven’t even eaten yet and you’re already smiling.”
Caitlin thought briefly
of telling him that she’d been awarded the Frederiksson fellowship. But she
hadn’t yet, actually. She only had Sam’s word on it. No, she would tell him if
and when the announcement was made. But in the meantime, she could hug the
prospect of good news to herself and feel uplifted.
“Everything looks so
good,” she said.
“Everything is good.” Alex looked up at the server slipping a tray of warm bruschetta in front
of them and nodded his thanks. The server, a pretty, tall, well-built brunette,
grinned. She held the grin for just a second longer than was necessary, stood
just inside his personal space and took a deep breath, showcasing an amazing
set of assets. Her body language was very clear.
Ditch the wishy-washy
blonde, buddy, and I’m yours. Let’s go out back and get it on.
Alex was much too astute
not to catch that, but he handled it well, breaking off eye contact at exactly
the right moment, leaning forward to push Caitlin’s plate closer, eyes
connecting with hers.
The message to the
waitress was clear. Sorry, not tonight.
The smoothness with
which he did it showed it was an automatic reflex. It was something he’d
probably practiced every day of his life. He was a very handsome man, and she
could tell he’d been a good-looking boy. He’d probably had to fend off
dozens—hundreds!—of advances from women. Some subtle, some not-so-subtle. He’d
perfected the art of the brush-off, and it had probably become so innate he
hardly noticed it anymore.
Being sexually reticent
herself, an observer by nature and training and not a doer, Caitlin had
observed some amazing scenes from sexually adventurous women over the years.
Just last week, she’d been in a bar with another TA drinking a beer when she’d
seen a man walk up to a woman, introduce himself, then offer to buy her a
drink. Within five minutes, the woman was fondling his crotch. Within six, they
were gone.
Alex probably dealt with
those kinds of situations daily, though not at work. She’d observed, and heard,
that work for him was a very strict no-sex zone. Not that much was happening
right now in his life outside work. Thanks to his colleagues at the station house,
she got the impression that he didn’t have a private life, and
considering his looks, his charisma, his overpowering maleness , that was
entirely voluntary.
If she were a company,
she’d send a memo to herself. Note—no way.
She had to remember all
of this, even though he seemed to have some kind of magical sex key where she
was concerned and had managed to give her an explosive orgasm she could almost
still feel on her skin, in her bones. And he’d done it with his mouth and hand.
She shuddered to think of other body parts coming into play. She’d fall into a
billion pieces.
In every way there was,
an affair with Alex Cruz was a no-no.
Wanting Alex Cruz was
perfectly pointless. Like wanting a Mercedes Benz or wanting to be taller. Not
going to happen.
She had to enjoy the
evening for what it was and keep her eye on the main goal, her dissertation.
Alex poured her a glass
of wine from the bottle of Merlot the server had uncorked. He hadn’t asked for
either the wine or the bruschetta, so Caitlin could only assume that he came
here often enough for his tastes to be known to the staff.
“I can recommend the
tuna steak on a bed of pappardelle,” he said, confirming her thoughts.
It was the most
expensive
Similar Books
