Fearless by Brynley Bush Page B

somewhere exotic, but he’s on assignment in Houston for a few months. I have no doubt he will adore you.” Beckett takes a bite of the lasagna and whistles appreciatively. “This is the best lasagna I have ever had.”
    â€œThanks,” I say with a smile. “It’s my specialty.” We eat in silence for a few minutes and then I add, “I’ve never been to a gala before. Is it usually dinner and a speaker?”
    â€œYes, and there’s almost always a theme and entertainment that goes with the theme. Depending on the event and the organizer, these things are completely over the top, and this one definitely falls into that category. The American Cancer Society is a big charity and the socialites of Houston love the opportunity to pull out all the stops.”
    â€œWhat’s the theme for tomorrow night’s benefit?”
    â€œâ€™A Knight to Remember,’ with a ‘K’. It’s a medieval theme.”
    â€œMedieval? What do people wear?”
    â€œTypically period costumes,” he says wryly.
    â€œPeriod costumes?” I ask incredulously. “Are you serious? Now I see why you didn’t want me to go shopping earlier this week! Where am I going to find a medieval costume?”
    â€œEmma, relax,” Beckett says with a laugh. “There’s a place downtown that specializes in costumes for events like this. I know the owner. He’s expecting us in the morning.”
    â€œDo you have your costume already?” I ask suspiciously.
    â€œYes. I didn’t know until last weekend that I would be inviting a date or I would have coordinated our costumes.”
    â€œOkay, tell me what you’re wearing,” I demand. “No, wait,” I add with a laugh. “Let me guess. A peasant? I can totally see you in one of those white blousy shirts. You’d actually look pretty hot with your dark hair and skin. Kind of like a dangerous pirate.” A little shudder of desire rolls over me at the thought of him, dark and dangerous in a white shirt and black boots, taking me prisoner…
    â€œI’ll remember that,” he says knowingly with a dark look in his eyes.
    Oops, time to change the subject.
    I tap my chin thoughtfully. “You’re definitely not the peasant type though, so probably not. I’ve got it. A court jester!” I giggle as he arches his brow. “No? Are you wearing a kilt? I hear the traditional way to wear one is without underwear,” I add wickedly.
    â€œEmma,” he says warningly, “unless you want to be dressed as a tavern wench, I suggest you stop.”
    I try, unsuccessfully, not to smile, but I can’t help it. I love it when he’s playful with me. It’s so at odds with his usual stern reserve. “Okay, I give up. Tell me.”
    â€œYou’ll find out tomorrow.”
    â€œWhat? Are you serious? Why won’t you tell me?”
    â€œBecause I don’t want to,” he says seriously, as if that explains everything. “It will be a surprise.”
    â€œWhat about my costume? Do I get to surprise you?”
    â€œNo, not a chance,” he says definitively. “I get to pick yours.”
    â€œThat doesn’t seem fair,” I pout.
    â€œEmma, you said yourself you’ve never been to a gala. Trust me.”
    â€œYou say that a lot,” I grumble. “But you’re right. I have no idea what would be appropriate. So you win.”
    I get up to clear the dishes and he joins me, washing the dishes while I put the leftovers away. I finish first and pour us both some more wine, admiring the view of his muscular back beneath his form fitting t-shirt as he works at the sink. I watch as he dries his hands carefully, and focusing on his long, competent fingers makes my mind wander to the things those fingers are capable of doing. I realize, belatedly, that I have been staring a little too long. Beckett has turned around and his eyes are