place will be packed in a couple of hours,” Kam explained as he directed me toward the wall at the far end of the space. In front of the wall was an arched bar, unmanned. On either side of it were exits that led out to a smaller, more intimate lounge area with padded leather booths. Kam motioned me to the farthest booth. I sat.
Before I’d had a chance to say anything, a waiter approached us, smiling. “Mr. Maldonado. It’s good to have you back, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll take a bottle of Chardonnay.”
“Very good. I’ll be back shortly.” Off the waiter went, to fetch our wine.
Kam’s gaze locked on mine. “Are you sure I didn’t ruin your evening, calling you last minute like this?”
Ruin? How could he think he had ruined my night? He had done nothing to wreck it . . . yet. “No, not at all.”
His lips curled into a semismile. “I didn’t feel like being alone.”
It struck me then, for the first time, as I gazed into his dark eyes that he might be lonely. A man who looked like a model, who had enough money to buy anything he wanted, anytime, lonely. A man who spent hours upon hours talking to people, Lonely. A man who probably had women throwing themselves at his feet, lonely.
My heart jerked in my chest.
“I understand,” I said. “Actually, when I said I was in the mood for a quiet evening, I lied. The truth is, I didn’t have plans either. I ate dinner and had burned through all my TiVo shows already. If you hadn’t called, I probably would’ve just gone to bed.”
His expression softened. “Why a beautiful woman like you would be forced to spend Friday night alone . . .”
Beautiful. Kam Maldonado called me beautiful. My face warmed. “Thanks for the compliment. But it’s not anyone’s fault but my own. I don’t try to get out and meet people.”
“Neither do I.”
The waiter made a show of bringing our wine and pouring some into a glass for Kam to sample. After taking a sip and giving a quick nod of approval, Kam waved him off with a pleasant thank you, then poured a glass for me.
I sipped. Delicious. Fruity but not too sweet.
In the distance, music started playing. Soft, sultry music.
Drinking his wine, Kam watched me over the rim of his glass. “Do you want to dance?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I recalled the last time he’d held me, how confused and conflicted he’d acted. And how confused and conflicted his actions had made me.
“Friends dance, don’t they?” he asked, tipping his head slightly.
“Friends?” I echoed. “Is that what we are?”
“I’d like that. Would you?”
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be friends with him or not. A part of me liked the idea of having a safe, nonsexual, but personal relationship with this enigmatic man. But another was worried about how even a friendship might affect our working relationship. I also worried about the fact that I was so attracted to Kam. How I felt when he touched me. How I felt when he kissed me.
And how I felt when he didn’t.
The truth was, my body craved his touch. It craved his kiss. When he wasn’t touching me, I wanted to move closer, lean in, close the distance between us.
Friends. Friends? Could I be friends with a man I was so drawn to?
What if he started dating another woman?
How would I handle that?
My stomach twisted.
“Abigail?”
His voice yanked me out of my head, away from that awful what-if and back to the current moment. Our gazes met, and my insides flittered like little trapped butterflies.
I sputtered, “Yes, sure. Friends.”
He chuckled. “You sound so enthusiastic. Am I that much of a bastard?”
“No, no!” I shook my head as I fingered the stem of my wineglass. My gaze dropped to the table, to my hand. His was resting on the table, not far from mine. Within reach. But I couldn’t touch it, hold it. Just like the man himself. Within reach but forbidden. “That’s not the issue.”
“Abigail?” That hand, the one I had wished I could touch,
Before I’d had a chance to say anything, a waiter approached us, smiling. “Mr. Maldonado. It’s good to have you back, sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll take a bottle of Chardonnay.”
“Very good. I’ll be back shortly.” Off the waiter went, to fetch our wine.
Kam’s gaze locked on mine. “Are you sure I didn’t ruin your evening, calling you last minute like this?”
Ruin? How could he think he had ruined my night? He had done nothing to wreck it . . . yet. “No, not at all.”
His lips curled into a semismile. “I didn’t feel like being alone.”
It struck me then, for the first time, as I gazed into his dark eyes that he might be lonely. A man who looked like a model, who had enough money to buy anything he wanted, anytime, lonely. A man who spent hours upon hours talking to people, Lonely. A man who probably had women throwing themselves at his feet, lonely.
My heart jerked in my chest.
“I understand,” I said. “Actually, when I said I was in the mood for a quiet evening, I lied. The truth is, I didn’t have plans either. I ate dinner and had burned through all my TiVo shows already. If you hadn’t called, I probably would’ve just gone to bed.”
His expression softened. “Why a beautiful woman like you would be forced to spend Friday night alone . . .”
Beautiful. Kam Maldonado called me beautiful. My face warmed. “Thanks for the compliment. But it’s not anyone’s fault but my own. I don’t try to get out and meet people.”
“Neither do I.”
The waiter made a show of bringing our wine and pouring some into a glass for Kam to sample. After taking a sip and giving a quick nod of approval, Kam waved him off with a pleasant thank you, then poured a glass for me.
I sipped. Delicious. Fruity but not too sweet.
In the distance, music started playing. Soft, sultry music.
Drinking his wine, Kam watched me over the rim of his glass. “Do you want to dance?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I recalled the last time he’d held me, how confused and conflicted he’d acted. And how confused and conflicted his actions had made me.
“Friends dance, don’t they?” he asked, tipping his head slightly.
“Friends?” I echoed. “Is that what we are?”
“I’d like that. Would you?”
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be friends with him or not. A part of me liked the idea of having a safe, nonsexual, but personal relationship with this enigmatic man. But another was worried about how even a friendship might affect our working relationship. I also worried about the fact that I was so attracted to Kam. How I felt when he touched me. How I felt when he kissed me.
And how I felt when he didn’t.
The truth was, my body craved his touch. It craved his kiss. When he wasn’t touching me, I wanted to move closer, lean in, close the distance between us.
Friends. Friends? Could I be friends with a man I was so drawn to?
What if he started dating another woman?
How would I handle that?
My stomach twisted.
“Abigail?”
His voice yanked me out of my head, away from that awful what-if and back to the current moment. Our gazes met, and my insides flittered like little trapped butterflies.
I sputtered, “Yes, sure. Friends.”
He chuckled. “You sound so enthusiastic. Am I that much of a bastard?”
“No, no!” I shook my head as I fingered the stem of my wineglass. My gaze dropped to the table, to my hand. His was resting on the table, not far from mine. Within reach. But I couldn’t touch it, hold it. Just like the man himself. Within reach but forbidden. “That’s not the issue.”
“Abigail?” That hand, the one I had wished I could touch,
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