herself with her napkin.
He rewarded her with a conspiratorial smile. “A special wine for a special night.”
Gad.
Darin’s smile sent the spreading heat rapidly downward, toward
there
, the spot he’d reached just by talking to her on the phone. Barbie moved in her chair, repositioning to stop that particular
feeling, determined to keep herself in control.
“How old is the wine?” she asked. The words
brilliant conversationalist
came to mind in relation to her lack of skills in a time of need.
“A hundred years,” Darin replied.
“Really?” Barbie swirled the dark red liquid in her glass before taking a third sip. Her teeth were now numb. She coughed
and let out a spurt of laughter before admitting, “I like it! I
really
like it.”
Darin chuckled. “Good. I’ve ordered a light supper. Of course, for this place, light means a feast.”
“A feast is no problem,” Barbie said. Or it wouldn’t have been, except for all those calories consumed the night before.
She looked up to find Darin staring. Squirming beneath his scrutiny she said, “
I’m
not on the menu, am I?” Man!Had those words come out of her mouth? Barbie touched her fingertips to her lips and applied a little pressure. Both of Darin’s
eyebrows arched in question.
“You’re staring,” Barbie explained, marveling over how she could speak when she couldn’t feel her tongue and realizing Darin
was likely taking a silent inventory of his own. A good-sized drink of wine was the only way to go. She needed to show him
she was no lightweight, and that she wasn’t concerned about what he might be thinking.
Rats! Mistake about the large ingestion of wine. Her fourth sip—a gulp, really—went right to her calves. Her knees appeared
to be stuck together.
Giving up on the leg position, Barbie was startled to find Darin sitting beside her when she again glanced up. Right beside
her. Truly faster than a speeding bullet. Maybe he had slipped through a ripple in the space-time continuum?
He offered her a bite of something he held in his fingers. She hadn’t even noticed that some of the food had arrived! Not
knowing what else to do, she took the offered food between her teeth, nibbled, swallowed. Yum. Nice, chewy, phyllo-covered
thing. Artichoke? Spinach? How was she to decide when her heart was hammering? When her legs were glued together? When the
handsomest man she had ever seen was feeding her finger food with his own fingers—and she had an urge to lick those fingers
clean?
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat or two. Heat singed the air. Darin slid her glass toward her.
“Not hoping to get me drunk, are you?” she asked.
“The thought crossed my mind,” Darin confessed, reaching up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Although I’m
afraid I prefer my women conscious enough to participate fully in what ever we’re doing.”
“Ah. Then I’d better not have any more of this,” Barbie said, glancing toward the glass.
“You do like it?”
“Very much. Maybe even better in a snowy climate.”
Another grin crossed Darin’s extraordinary face—a reward of sorts. He was quick to smile, quick to laugh, and his green eyes
flickered becomingly. Fine as Darin Russell was, he didn’t really seem vain. No glancing at himself in the shiny metal tray.
No ticks of any kind that Barbie could see. His posture seemed loose, relaxed. His smile was easy.
Barbie found herself envious, while still aware of those clanging sounds inside of her skull. She had to be careful. Not used
to wine or dedicated male attention, enough of her body buzzed to make her want to leap into some male-female lip exploration.
In public. It was, she decided, the wine working its magic. And hormones. She failed again to uncross her knees.
Possibly it was too late to worry about the wine. She was already alcohol silly. A real lightweight. And Darin was so darned
close. So damned fine.
“Do you think—?” she
He rewarded her with a conspiratorial smile. “A special wine for a special night.”
Gad.
Darin’s smile sent the spreading heat rapidly downward, toward
there
, the spot he’d reached just by talking to her on the phone. Barbie moved in her chair, repositioning to stop that particular
feeling, determined to keep herself in control.
“How old is the wine?” she asked. The words
brilliant conversationalist
came to mind in relation to her lack of skills in a time of need.
“A hundred years,” Darin replied.
“Really?” Barbie swirled the dark red liquid in her glass before taking a third sip. Her teeth were now numb. She coughed
and let out a spurt of laughter before admitting, “I like it! I
really
like it.”
Darin chuckled. “Good. I’ve ordered a light supper. Of course, for this place, light means a feast.”
“A feast is no problem,” Barbie said. Or it wouldn’t have been, except for all those calories consumed the night before.
She looked up to find Darin staring. Squirming beneath his scrutiny she said, “
I’m
not on the menu, am I?” Man!Had those words come out of her mouth? Barbie touched her fingertips to her lips and applied a little pressure. Both of Darin’s
eyebrows arched in question.
“You’re staring,” Barbie explained, marveling over how she could speak when she couldn’t feel her tongue and realizing Darin
was likely taking a silent inventory of his own. A good-sized drink of wine was the only way to go. She needed to show him
she was no lightweight, and that she wasn’t concerned about what he might be thinking.
Rats! Mistake about the large ingestion of wine. Her fourth sip—a gulp, really—went right to her calves. Her knees appeared
to be stuck together.
Giving up on the leg position, Barbie was startled to find Darin sitting beside her when she again glanced up. Right beside
her. Truly faster than a speeding bullet. Maybe he had slipped through a ripple in the space-time continuum?
He offered her a bite of something he held in his fingers. She hadn’t even noticed that some of the food had arrived! Not
knowing what else to do, she took the offered food between her teeth, nibbled, swallowed. Yum. Nice, chewy, phyllo-covered
thing. Artichoke? Spinach? How was she to decide when her heart was hammering? When her legs were glued together? When the
handsomest man she had ever seen was feeding her finger food with his own fingers—and she had an urge to lick those fingers
clean?
Their eyes locked for a heartbeat or two. Heat singed the air. Darin slid her glass toward her.
“Not hoping to get me drunk, are you?” she asked.
“The thought crossed my mind,” Darin confessed, reaching up to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Although I’m
afraid I prefer my women conscious enough to participate fully in what ever we’re doing.”
“Ah. Then I’d better not have any more of this,” Barbie said, glancing toward the glass.
“You do like it?”
“Very much. Maybe even better in a snowy climate.”
Another grin crossed Darin’s extraordinary face—a reward of sorts. He was quick to smile, quick to laugh, and his green eyes
flickered becomingly. Fine as Darin Russell was, he didn’t really seem vain. No glancing at himself in the shiny metal tray.
No ticks of any kind that Barbie could see. His posture seemed loose, relaxed. His smile was easy.
Barbie found herself envious, while still aware of those clanging sounds inside of her skull. She had to be careful. Not used
to wine or dedicated male attention, enough of her body buzzed to make her want to leap into some male-female lip exploration.
In public. It was, she decided, the wine working its magic. And hormones. She failed again to uncross her knees.
Possibly it was too late to worry about the wine. She was already alcohol silly. A real lightweight. And Darin was so darned
close. So damned fine.
“Do you think—?” she
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