Shadow's Edge by J. T. Geissinger Read Free Book Online Page A

didn’t look up from the wine list as she paused at the edge of the table. For one swift moment she allowed her gaze to linger on the long, tapered fingers that held the leather-bound book. They were tanned, strong, and elegant, like the rest of him.
    A fine, humming current took up residence in her abdomen.
    “Lord McLoughlin,” she said, raising her eyes to his handsome face. “Welcome to Mélisse. How may I be of service?”
    With a smooth motion of his arm, he lowered the wine list to the table, then met her gaze. He smiled—a true smile, admiring—and the din of the restaurant seemed to recedeabruptly into a bank of muffled fog, leaving the two of them alone together.
    “Please, call me Leander.”
    That voice like velvet, sending a wash of honeyed warmth throughout her body. The glossy fringe of his hair was longer than she remembered, almost brushing the tops of his shoulders, thick and shining jet. The barest hint of stubble glinted copper along his jaw.
    Tell me you want me...
    “Leander,” Jenna repeated, liking the way his name felt on her tongue.
    Impossible
, she thought.
Too far away. But still...
    She tilted her head and gave him a sidelong look from under her lashes. “Not Your Grace? Your Highness?” she said lightly, testing him.
    His answering smile was proof enough, but his words were total confirmation.
    “Why bother with the ridiculous business of titles? It’s all so...” He snapped his fingers, searching for a word. “Gauche
. Très gauche
, in fact...wouldn’t you agree?”
    He leaned forward over the table, steepled his fingertips under his chin, and held her gaze. For one brief moment she imagined he heard her heart pounding in her chest.
    “Quite,” she replied, her mind working furiously.
    How did he hear the conversation with Geoffrey? How was that possible? They had been a hundred feet away...at least. And
whispering
.
    Her stomach turned over with a twinge of intuition she promptly ignored. There was no one else who could do what she did; no one she’d ever met had those kinds of sensory gifts. He was just another man.
    And her mother’s cryptic warnings...well, her mother used to drink a lot.
    She pushed a stray tendril of hair away from her cheek with the back of her hand and motioned toward the wine list. “May I assist you with a wine selection, Leander?” she said smoothly. “Do you see anything you like?”
    Why had he been staring at her at the store?
Had
he been staring at her? What was he doing
here
? Was she just crazy—was the whole thing her imagination?
    His smile deepened, dimpling his cheeks. “Why, yes, Miss...?” he lifted his eyebrows, waiting.
    “Jenna,” she replied.
    “Jenna,” he repeated slowly. His intense gaze flickered over her figure, once. It came back to rest on her face and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yes, I do believe there is something I like.”
    Under the proper English accent, Jenna detected a slight cadence to his voice, something lilting and familiar, a nuance she couldn’t place. The way he was looking at her made her stomach do something strange.
    “Wonderful.” She cursed her voice for cracking. “What may I bring you this evening?”
    Coincidence? Her imagination? Who were the other two? And what
was
that heavenly smell coming off his skin?
    “The ’61 Latour.”
    And then she stopped thinking and just blinked at him, trying not to let her mouth hang open. The waiter came and set a silver tray of flatbread and warm rosemary sourdough rolls ensconced in ivory linen upon the table.
    “Sparkling or still water for you, sir?” the waiter asked.
    Leander’s eyes did not move away from Jenna’s face. “
Rien, merci
,” he said, his voice silky smooth.
    The waiter glanced over at Jenna, then inclined his head and retreated.
    “The ’61 Latour,” Jenna repeated stiffly, her lips puckering. “A fine choice.”
    At seven thousand nine hundred eighty dollars, it was by far the most expensive bottle on their