their waitress approaching, but he delayed her with the barest of signals. âWhat about you, Isabelle Browne with an e, â he asked, deliberately choosing the phrase Hugh had quoted from her phone call. But he saw nothing in her eyes except lively amusement. âHave you lived around here for a long time?â
âIâve lived in Melbourne most of my life, and here on the peninsula for the past six years.â
âYou really are a local.â
âYep.â The smile in her eyes teased the corners of her mouth and tickled his libido. âIn the past twenty years I havenât been any farther than one holiday to Bali.â
âYou have no ambition to see the world?â
âOh, Iâd love to travel, but Iâm afraid that ambition has been put on hold. At the moment I have other priorities.â
She spoke evenly, furnishing the information with matter-of-fact ease, but there was something going on behind her eyes and a tension in the edges of her smile. Other priorities. That could encompass a multitude of possibilities, but one blared loud in Cristoâs mind.
Pregnancy.
The reminder of what had brought them to this place, this conversation, chilled the relaxed heat in his veins. Heâd not forgotten his purpose, but heâd allowed his enjoyment of her company to colour his perception. No more. Straightening in his seat, he signalled the waitress. âWe should order. What do you fancy?â
The worry creases between her brows deepened as she scanned the menu again. âEverything is soâ¦much.â
Everything was exactly as sheâd described it that morningâsimple ingredients, with a twist. âDo you mean the prices?â he asked, taking a second look before shrugging dismissively. âCompared with London, these are modest.â
âPerhaps for you,â she murmured.
âSince Iâm paying, letâs not make it a problem for you.â He reached across and removed the menu from her hand. Leaning back in his chair, he smiled at the waitress. âWhat do you recommend, Kate?â
He took control of the ordering with the confident command Isabelle expected of a man from his background. Polo, wealth, privilege. Argentina, England, Italy. No wonderheâd struck her as exotic and expensive. Little wonder heâd taken zero-point-five seconds to charm the waitress, Kate, into a flirtatious smile. The pretty redhead had tripped over herself to assist with wine-matching recommendations along with the food choices.
This all served as a sobering reminder to Isabelle of the vast chasm in their circumstances. The kick she felt low in her belly when he looked at her a certain way, when he laughed at something sheâd said, when heâd placed a hand low on her back to usher her toward their tableâshe wasnât used to having a delicious man like Cristo Verón pay attention to her. As heâd pointed out, she was not the type to respond to flattery. Not that she couldnât enjoy the experience, but she was too sensible to forget her place.
This was work, and she took the opportunity to reinforce that fact when the wine arrived. Even after saying she would be sticking to water, Cristo plucked the bottle from the ice bucket with an aim to pouring for her. She placed her hand over the glass and fixed him with a steady look. âI havenât changed my mind.â
Apparently he took that as a challenge, because his gaze narrowed on hers. âYou do not like my choice?â
âIâm sure it is a very fine choiceââ after all of the confab between him and Kate, how could it not be? ââbut I donât drink when Iâm working.â
âSurely one glass would not hurt.â
âSurely you donât mean to tempt me when Iâm acting as your driver.â
For a long moment their gazes clashed, and she wondered if the dark intensity of his was a response to being thwarted. She