Calculated Risk by Elaine Raco Chase

out.”
    She pressed a kiss into the hollow of
his throat. “Quintin Ward, you are a wonderfully understanding
man.”
    He lifted her chin, his eyes darkening
under tempered emotions. “That’s because you, Stephanie Brandt, are
such a rare find.”

Chapter 6
     
    Quintin decided to prolong the moment.
He lagged farther and farther behind Stevie and the white-jacketed
waiter who was leading them to a private corner booth. Once her
coat had been checked, he was able to savor the soft architecture
of sapphire-blue silk that flowed and defined her womanly
contours.
    Morning, noon and especially at night,
he found his imagination captured by her. Just thinking about
Stevie enlivened an otherwise dull day. He discovered how easy it
was for his mind to recall visual souvenirs of their evenings
together.
    His ears rang with the echo of her
smoky voice and low, vibrant laugh; his eyes quickly imaged the
rich molten fire that was her hair; his nose remembered the potent
scent of her perfume that had, from their first meeting, seared his
senses. His tongue suddenly circled dry lips, but he found it was
her he tasted. He had given up trying to control his hardening
response to her.
    Stephanie Brandt reminded him of a
diamond: her many facets attracted and tantalized. Quintin quickly
realized that he wanted full possession of this woman. In so short
a time, she had succeeded in filling a void in his life that he had
thought would always remain empty. He had been involved with a few
women over the years and they had been wonderful. But nothing had
been for the long term. But long term is what he wanted
now.
    “What a charming place!” Stevie smiled
at Quintin, sliding across the red leather banquette seat. “How did
you ever find it?”
    “I did the remodeling,” he explained.
“While it was a restaurant in its previous life, it needed to be
gutted and totally rebuilt, especially to the new
codes.”
    “Well, it’s fabulous.” Her gaze toured
the Ming Terrace. The restaurant’s black grass-cloth walls were
decorated with delicate silk fabric paintings, brass object d’art,
and rice paper fans. Tables were strategically arranged for cozy
tete-a-tetes, and booths like theirs were cloaked in red-curtained
intimacy. The atmosphere was mysterious, secretive, and decidedly
erotic. Stevie felt unfamiliar warmth steal over her face and
quickly shielded her blushing features behind the monstrous
menu.
    Dithering . Her subconscious fairly
screamed the accusation If you were here
with a client, you would be grumbling at the lack of adequate
lighting and the overdone décor. But you’ve been a nervous,
indecisive creature since you rolled out of bed.
    Column A merged with Column B and
blurred into Column C. Stevie furiously tried to blink more than
the menu into focus. She was president of a company, for heaven’s
sake, a brisk, bright, down-to-earth overachiever. She had never
dithered over anything or anyone in her thirty years – not even
Paul, the man she was once engaged to marry.
    She took a quick peek around the menu
and breathed a sigh of relief upon noting that her companion was
diligently perusing three pages of delectable Chinese entrees.
Quintin Ward. He was the man causing all the silliness.
    Wasn’t she going home tonight to a bed
covered by seventy-five percent of her closet? That morning she had
tried on every suit, skirt and blouse combination and every dress
she owned just to find something that was just…just…just so. Her
fingers fluffed out the full sleeves that were anchored at her
elbows with wide buttoned cuffs before moving to straighten the
braided strands of silver and lapis chains that highlighted the
dress’s bateau neckline.
    She frowned at her fingernails, still
not liking the bisque-colored polish. Of course, she’d only painted
them six different times last night. Her cuticles would never be
the same1
    Crossing her long legs, Stevie
fleetingly wondered what Quintin thought about her final