dropped his hand, somehow making the gesture elegant rather than awkward, and turned into the dining room. I followed him.
We wove through the other diners. A few stopped chewing and stared at him as he passed them by, but most of them ignored him. I, in my hooker-on-a-holiday getup, attracted far more attention. I didn't like that one bit. Mercifully, we were seated at the back of the dining room in an intimate little booth. I took one side and put my purse next to me to deter him from sharing my bench, but he didn't even try. Instead he slid in across from me, poured two generous glasses of red wine, and ordered the asparagus salad for both of us from the waitress who stood next to our table, practically vibrating at attention.
“Of course, Mr. Waters,” she gushed. She didn't even look at me. I wondered if I would have to get used to that sort of thing as well when we got married.
No. If. If!
Dammit.
I smoothed the white table cloth under my hands as she ran off to the kitchen. “I'm not fond of asparagus,” I said.
“You will be with this asparagus,” he said. “It is delicious.” I watched as he shook out his napkin and laid it in his lap. I envied that napkin. I followed suit, though the table cloth was so long it seemed like it could do double duty as a napkin just fine. I shoved it out of my way and laid the cloth across my gaudy red skirt.
“Care to explain what you are wearing?”
I looked up.
Waters sat across from me, one arm propped on the back of the booth, his head tilted at an arrogant angle. He wore another linen shirt today, this one just as impeccably tailored as the one yesterday, and a tie was conspicuously absent. Every day was casual Friday in the Empire empire, apparently.
“Just something I had left over from college,” I said. Which was mostly true.
He arched one perfect brow. His green eyes glinted. “I see,” he said, his tone of voice conveying that he didn't see at all. I felt like a contrite schoolgirl dragged in front of the principal.
Oh no, don't paddle me, Mr. Principal, I thought, and was immediately angry. It was becoming increasingly clear that I was fighting a losing battle, and it wasn't with Waters; it was with myself.
Of course it was Waters' fault for being so sexy. It wasn't fair.
I shrugged at him. “Well, you hung up on me before I could ask you what I should wear.”
“And this is what you chose?”
I looked down at myself, pretending to be surprised. “Sure,” I replied. “Why not?”
He studied the glass of wine in front of him, then reached out and began to play with it, but before he could answer me the waitress returned with our salads. She chirped something at him, and he answered, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too mesmerized by the slow, deliberate way he stroked the stem of his wineglass. It wasn't until the waitress bustled away again that I realized he had ordered my lunch for me. I was really blowing this. Ah, well, at least I could get a meal out of it, right?
I looked down at my salad and was perturbed to discover that it was a single piece of asparagus on a leaf of lettuce, artfully arranged and drizzled with some balsamic concoction that stung my nose all the way from the table. A lone slice of tomato peeked from beneath the lettuce.
“You are trying to get a rise out of me, Miss Dare.”
I looked back up at him. His gaze penetrated me straight to the core.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
He leaned back. “You will have to do better than that. What purpose would dressing as a prostitute serve?”
“Well, that's what I'm going to be for you, right? Your prostitute?”
“No. You would be my wife.”
I scowled at him. “I don't see it that way, and I doubt many other people would either if they knew the truth. I just thought I'd rather be honest about what I am to you.”
He pursed his lips. His lovely, perfect lips. Why was he so distracting?
“I know what you are to me, and you know what I am to you, Miss Dare. There
We wove through the other diners. A few stopped chewing and stared at him as he passed them by, but most of them ignored him. I, in my hooker-on-a-holiday getup, attracted far more attention. I didn't like that one bit. Mercifully, we were seated at the back of the dining room in an intimate little booth. I took one side and put my purse next to me to deter him from sharing my bench, but he didn't even try. Instead he slid in across from me, poured two generous glasses of red wine, and ordered the asparagus salad for both of us from the waitress who stood next to our table, practically vibrating at attention.
“Of course, Mr. Waters,” she gushed. She didn't even look at me. I wondered if I would have to get used to that sort of thing as well when we got married.
No. If. If!
Dammit.
I smoothed the white table cloth under my hands as she ran off to the kitchen. “I'm not fond of asparagus,” I said.
“You will be with this asparagus,” he said. “It is delicious.” I watched as he shook out his napkin and laid it in his lap. I envied that napkin. I followed suit, though the table cloth was so long it seemed like it could do double duty as a napkin just fine. I shoved it out of my way and laid the cloth across my gaudy red skirt.
“Care to explain what you are wearing?”
I looked up.
Waters sat across from me, one arm propped on the back of the booth, his head tilted at an arrogant angle. He wore another linen shirt today, this one just as impeccably tailored as the one yesterday, and a tie was conspicuously absent. Every day was casual Friday in the Empire empire, apparently.
“Just something I had left over from college,” I said. Which was mostly true.
He arched one perfect brow. His green eyes glinted. “I see,” he said, his tone of voice conveying that he didn't see at all. I felt like a contrite schoolgirl dragged in front of the principal.
Oh no, don't paddle me, Mr. Principal, I thought, and was immediately angry. It was becoming increasingly clear that I was fighting a losing battle, and it wasn't with Waters; it was with myself.
Of course it was Waters' fault for being so sexy. It wasn't fair.
I shrugged at him. “Well, you hung up on me before I could ask you what I should wear.”
“And this is what you chose?”
I looked down at myself, pretending to be surprised. “Sure,” I replied. “Why not?”
He studied the glass of wine in front of him, then reached out and began to play with it, but before he could answer me the waitress returned with our salads. She chirped something at him, and he answered, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too mesmerized by the slow, deliberate way he stroked the stem of his wineglass. It wasn't until the waitress bustled away again that I realized he had ordered my lunch for me. I was really blowing this. Ah, well, at least I could get a meal out of it, right?
I looked down at my salad and was perturbed to discover that it was a single piece of asparagus on a leaf of lettuce, artfully arranged and drizzled with some balsamic concoction that stung my nose all the way from the table. A lone slice of tomato peeked from beneath the lettuce.
“You are trying to get a rise out of me, Miss Dare.”
I looked back up at him. His gaze penetrated me straight to the core.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
He leaned back. “You will have to do better than that. What purpose would dressing as a prostitute serve?”
“Well, that's what I'm going to be for you, right? Your prostitute?”
“No. You would be my wife.”
I scowled at him. “I don't see it that way, and I doubt many other people would either if they knew the truth. I just thought I'd rather be honest about what I am to you.”
He pursed his lips. His lovely, perfect lips. Why was he so distracting?
“I know what you are to me, and you know what I am to you, Miss Dare. There
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