him. “I wouldn’t have predicted you’d let someone else order for you.”
“I don’t normally. But you pick great wine; you serve good coffee; you have your own table here. You’ll surely do better than I would. I’d just be guessing at what’s good.”
“All right then, I will. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
“No, and I like just about everything. Except lima beans. I hate lima beans.” She picked up her napkin and put it on her lap. “Oh, and sweet potatoes. Don’t like them either.”
“Good to know. I dislike seeing my dinner companion’s face puff up or turn green because I’ve fed her something she doesn’t like or is poisonous.”
“I’ve never thought about those possibilities before, but I’ll keep them in mind the next time I have the urge to let someone else order for me. They might not be so considerate.”
When the waiter arrived, Marius ordered Caesar salads, Chateaubriand for two with roasted vegetables — no lima beans or sweet potatoes, please — and a bottle of Malbec. After the server left, he said, “Their beef is the best in the city, so I thought we’d eat classic tonight instead of trendy.”
“Classic is good. I wondered if you’d go all oysters and champagne.”
“Am I to infer from that you think — or believe I think — one of us needs aphrodisiacs?”
She could feel her face redden. “No, I wasn’t implying anything. Really.”
The smile that curved up the sides of his mouth was so sensual, she felt her insides begin to melt. This man affected her more with a smile and one glance of his dangerously dark eyes than any man she’d ever known could do with considerably more contact.
“We don’t need aphrodisiacs. We have all the chemistry we need without them.” He took her hand and raised it to his mouth. This time, she didn’t pull away. He kissed her fingers then nipped at the flesh at the base of her thumb. She shuddered and saw his dark eyes get darker.
Having proved his point, he lowered their hands to the table but didn’t release her until the server brought their salads.
When her hand was free, she took a deep, calming breath so she could pick up her fork without having her hand shake. But he was not about to let her breathe easy, it seemed. She felt his knee press lightly against hers. He apparently intended to keep some part of his body in contact with hers through the whole meal.
Maybe wine would help, she thought as she took a healthy gulp, hoping it would relax her throat enough so she could swallow.
Fortunately, once the food got there, it wasn’t a problem. Marius had ordered a delicious meal — the beef was tender and flavorful, the wine a perfect match and the accompanying vegetables flawlessly grilled. Somewhere in the middle of enjoying her dinner, she realized she’d gotten accustomed to the light pressure of his knee and leg against hers. She tried to convince herself it was the good food, maybe the wine, making her so comfortable. Her head was willing to listen, but not her heart.
He insisted she select dessert. She was tempted by cherries jubilee and chocolate cake, but ended up asking for a cheese plate. When the waiter left, Marius had an odd expression on his face.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Are you disappointed? Did I order something you don’t like? We can call him back and change it.” She began to look around for their waiter.
“No, don’t.” He put his hand over hers. “I’m not disappointed; I’m surprised. I thought I was the only person who could resist something sweet after a meal. You ordered exactly what I would have.”
Somehow, almost three hours had slipped by while they ate and talked and laughed. She didn’t realize how late it was until they walked out of the restaurant into a dusky evening.
“My car’s parked that way,” she said, pointing to the left.
“I’ll walk with you to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you’ll be fine.