lifted. "Touché." He stared at her, desire still throbbing inside him and wondered what about this
woman spurred him to unusual behavior, then decided he didn't want to delve too deeply. "Our table is ready." Following her
to the hostess station, Greg silently repeated his goal: to secure her cooperation.
"Check your coat?" he asked, then helped her out of the dalmatian look-alike garment.
"I'm afraid I'm underdressed," she said, looking around at the elegantly clad patrons. She smoothed a hand down the sleeve
of the pink ruffled poet's blouse with a neckline so plunging that it stole the moisture from his mouth.
"You look great," he managed to say. Surely she was wearing a bra. With much effort, he tore his gaze from her cleavage.
The rest of her slender body was clad in black jeans with embroidery running down one leg. Jingle-bell earrings with tiny
green ribbons swung from her delicate earlobes. Her hair was arranged in that messy style that women were paying a lot of
money for these days, although he suspected that Lana Martina might have been the person who started the look because it
seemed so… right on her.
The sleek hostess apparently disagreed, based on the dubious glance she bestowed on Lana when Lana wasn't looking. At the
woman's snub, protective feelings bloomed in his chest, much like when Will was slighted by others. Greg stepped closer to
Lana, and his hand involuntarily snaked to her back. She stiffened, but he simply pressed her forward, the warm skin between
her shoulder blades burning through the thin layer of fabric into his palm.
Greg summoned strength. The woman was playing dirty. She was definitely not wearing a bra.
11
HE MAINTAINED steady pressure against her back, while they threaded between round tables adorned with candles and
flowers, and spaced for privacy. He liked touching her, but he suspected the feeling wasn't mutual.
"I knew this was a nice place," she said, as he pulled out her seat. "I just didn't realize how nice."
He acknowledged with a nod the white tablecloth, the fine crystal, the gleaming china. Orchestral holiday tunes floated
around them. "Your first time here?"
She nodded, opening the menu. "This kind of place really isn't my bag. A little pricey for my budget."
"Dinner is my treat, of course," he said quickly.
"No, thank you. I'm not out of a job yet. "
Greg frowned. "I'm not trying to put you out of a job."
She set aside her menu. "But that's exactly what will happen if the rezoning proposal passes as is. For me and a lot of other
people."
He looked at her over the top of the wine list. "I was hoping we could have a nice meal before we got down to business."
She looked as if she were about to argue, then her expression changed. "You're right."
Her relenting smile coincided with the arrival of the waiter. "Something from the wine list, sir?"
"Split a bottle of pinot noir with me?" Greg asked her.
"Wine goes straight to my head," she said, then turned to the waiter. "Do you have cranberry juice?"
The man seemed surprised, then nodded.
Greg bit back a smile. "Then make that a carafe of pinot and a carafe of cranberry juice."
"Very good, sir. Would you like appetizers?"
Lana pressed her lips together, then shook her head.
Suspecting she was calculating the check in her head, Greg had the urge to order one of everything for her, but he swallowed
words he knew she would resent and told the waiter he would pass, as well.
She sneaked a look at her watch, which had some kind of cartoon character on its face. "Would it be all right if we placed
our entrée orders now?"
A tiny frown flitted across the waiter's face, but he acquiesced. Greg was vaguely disappointed that she was already
anticipating the end of their date—er, meeting. Maybe she had something planned with the Kissing Man. She ordered pasta and
roasted tomatoes; Greg opted for steak and asparagus.
"Are you a vegetarian?" he asked, when the waiter left.
"Reformed," she
woman spurred him to unusual behavior, then decided he didn't want to delve too deeply. "Our table is ready." Following her
to the hostess station, Greg silently repeated his goal: to secure her cooperation.
"Check your coat?" he asked, then helped her out of the dalmatian look-alike garment.
"I'm afraid I'm underdressed," she said, looking around at the elegantly clad patrons. She smoothed a hand down the sleeve
of the pink ruffled poet's blouse with a neckline so plunging that it stole the moisture from his mouth.
"You look great," he managed to say. Surely she was wearing a bra. With much effort, he tore his gaze from her cleavage.
The rest of her slender body was clad in black jeans with embroidery running down one leg. Jingle-bell earrings with tiny
green ribbons swung from her delicate earlobes. Her hair was arranged in that messy style that women were paying a lot of
money for these days, although he suspected that Lana Martina might have been the person who started the look because it
seemed so… right on her.
The sleek hostess apparently disagreed, based on the dubious glance she bestowed on Lana when Lana wasn't looking. At the
woman's snub, protective feelings bloomed in his chest, much like when Will was slighted by others. Greg stepped closer to
Lana, and his hand involuntarily snaked to her back. She stiffened, but he simply pressed her forward, the warm skin between
her shoulder blades burning through the thin layer of fabric into his palm.
Greg summoned strength. The woman was playing dirty. She was definitely not wearing a bra.
11
HE MAINTAINED steady pressure against her back, while they threaded between round tables adorned with candles and
flowers, and spaced for privacy. He liked touching her, but he suspected the feeling wasn't mutual.
"I knew this was a nice place," she said, as he pulled out her seat. "I just didn't realize how nice."
He acknowledged with a nod the white tablecloth, the fine crystal, the gleaming china. Orchestral holiday tunes floated
around them. "Your first time here?"
She nodded, opening the menu. "This kind of place really isn't my bag. A little pricey for my budget."
"Dinner is my treat, of course," he said quickly.
"No, thank you. I'm not out of a job yet. "
Greg frowned. "I'm not trying to put you out of a job."
She set aside her menu. "But that's exactly what will happen if the rezoning proposal passes as is. For me and a lot of other
people."
He looked at her over the top of the wine list. "I was hoping we could have a nice meal before we got down to business."
She looked as if she were about to argue, then her expression changed. "You're right."
Her relenting smile coincided with the arrival of the waiter. "Something from the wine list, sir?"
"Split a bottle of pinot noir with me?" Greg asked her.
"Wine goes straight to my head," she said, then turned to the waiter. "Do you have cranberry juice?"
The man seemed surprised, then nodded.
Greg bit back a smile. "Then make that a carafe of pinot and a carafe of cranberry juice."
"Very good, sir. Would you like appetizers?"
Lana pressed her lips together, then shook her head.
Suspecting she was calculating the check in her head, Greg had the urge to order one of everything for her, but he swallowed
words he knew she would resent and told the waiter he would pass, as well.
She sneaked a look at her watch, which had some kind of cartoon character on its face. "Would it be all right if we placed
our entrée orders now?"
A tiny frown flitted across the waiter's face, but he acquiesced. Greg was vaguely disappointed that she was already
anticipating the end of their date—er, meeting. Maybe she had something planned with the Kissing Man. She ordered pasta and
roasted tomatoes; Greg opted for steak and asparagus.
"Are you a vegetarian?" he asked, when the waiter left.
"Reformed," she
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