speed, that’s all. But I suspect you’re a quick study.” All at once he grinned. “Think of the next phase of this evening as background research.”
They spent the next couple of hours relaxing in pleasant conversation. Michael ordered in advance the chef’s signature chocolate soufflé to share as a conclusion to their meal, and Sierra found again that he was an attentive and amusing companion. He regaled her with tales of his brothers’ growing up, some of his business and travel experiences, and appeared to enjoy her laughter at some of his funnier tales about a world about which she knew very little. Sierra also knew nothing of what it was like to grow up with siblings. Jen was the closest thing she had to a sister, and that still wasn’t the same thing.
She was glad he had given up asking about her past, though she didn’t think for a moment he would let the topic rest forever.
At last she sighed with pleasure, put down her fork, and leaned back in the chair. “That was delicious, but I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Ah!” Michael replied. “But we’ve ordered soufflé!”
She looked at him in mock horror. “So we have. What were we thinking?”
She’d had three glasses of wine in the course of their meal and was feeling mellow. Perhaps even the tiniest bit tipsy, although Michael had made sure that her water glass had been kept as full as her wineglass. She smiled at him now.
“Part of my master plan,” he replied. “Soufflé takes a while to prepare, so in the meantime, we’ll have to work up an appetite with a little dancing.”
Sierra stiffened, her smile vanishing. Throughout their meal she had been aware of the jazz combo’s unobtrusive music and of the few couples sharing the tiny dance floor. The atmosphere was slow and sensuous.
“Um, I don’t dance,” she said. “Seriously, I’m a klutz.” She wished she hadn’t drunk the wine. She had the distinct impression it was best to deal with Michael Donovan sober.
“I don’t think there’s much skill involved in this kind of dancing.” His voice was dry.
Yeah. That was the problem. Slow-dancing with Michael after some wine and a couple of hours of great conversation? Not a good idea. She didn’t trust attraction or her instincts when it came to men, and the easiest way to solve that problem was to remove men from her radar completely. Michael Donovan included.
Except on a professional basis.
****
God, she was sexy.
Michael looked at the woman across from him, dressed in her form-fitting black dress with the string of pearls around her neck and knew suddenly that he wanted nothing so badly for dessert as he did her. Just a taste perhaps, the feel of her in his arms, but he wanted that very much.
What harm would it do?
What was it about her that was so alluring? Was it simply that she represented a change of pace from the usual women he escorted, most of whom would have been eager to dance and to use it as a way of seducing him into more intimate contact? In contrast, Sierra looked like she wanted to run at the mere suggestion.
But he didn’t think it was just novelty that made her so attractive to him. She was different from other women he knew. She didn’t flatter him. She was smart and direct. He admired her determination to step up to a difficult situation to help her family and solve her problems.
He told himself he simply wanted to hold her in his arms and find out more about she might respond to him. A natural male reaction to an attractive woman.
That was it. Sue him.
“Come on.” He stood and held out his hand. “Consider this part of your background research into playing the professional role of loving girlfriend.”
The couples on the dance floor weren’t engaging in complicated dance moves. In fact, as near as he could tell, they were using dancing as an excuse to be as close to each other as public decency would allow.
Great minds think alike.
“A fate worse than death?” he inquired, as
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley