stained the cloth.
Shoving the handkerchief into his back pocket, he hurried after her.
Standing in the rain, he watched her climb behind the wheel of a late-model Honda Prelude. And then, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, oblivious to the lightning that split the clouds, he followed her home.
Marisa took a long, hot shower, sprinkled herself liberally with dusting powder, then pulled on a pair of stretch jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of thick socks and curled up on the sofa. She nipped through the TV channels for a minute, then switched off the set. Reaching for a book, she tried to read, but after she found herself reading the same page for the fourth time, she tossed the book aside.
Too restless to sit still, she went into the kitchen to fix something to eat and then, on a whim, decided to go out instead.
She pulled on a pair of boots, and then, grabbing her purse and an umbrella, she left the house. The rain was no more than a fine mist now, though the clouds still hung dark and ominous in the sky. She contemplated taking her car, but decided a walk in the fresh air would do her good.
Angelo's was her favorite restaurant, a cozy little Italian place with red-checked tablecloths, candles in old Chianti bottles, and a relaxed atmosphere. It was located a couple of blocks away, and Marisa went there often. The owners were friendly and the spaghetti couldn't be beat.
Standing under the restaurant's awning, Marisa shook the rain from her umbrella, then went inside and took a seat at a booth in the back. She smiled at the waiter who handed her a menu.
She was trying to decide whether to have rigatoni or ravioli when she realized she was being watched.
Lowering the menu, Marisa glanced around the restaurant, felt her heart catch in her throat as she saw the dark-haired man from the carnival walking toward her.
He smiled as he reached her table. "Hello again."
"What are you doing here?"
"Seeking company on a stormy night, perhaps. I see you are alone. Would you mind if I joined you?"
Of course she'd mind. She didn't know a thing about the guy, not even his name.
The prudent thing would be to tell him to get lost. She knew that. Still, for no reason she could think of, she found herself inviting him to sit down.
Graceful as a leaf falling from a tree, he slid into the seat across from her.
"Do you come here often?" Marisa asked.
"No, this is my first time." He smiled at her. It was a totally disarming smile, revealing teeth white enough for a toothpaste commercial. "Fortuitous, don't you think?"
At a loss for words, Marisa nodded. She was glad when Tommy came to take her order.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," the waiter said with a wink, "how's it going?"
Marisa shook her head. Tommy was a hopeless flirt. He was studying accounting in college, and worked at the restaurant four nights a week. He was under the delusion that he was irresistible.
"So," Tommy purred, "what'll it be?"
"Rigatoni, I think."
"Excellent choice. Rigatoni and a glass of Chianti."
Marisa grinned. "You know me too well."
"Not as well as I'd like," Tommy replied, waggling his eyebrows at her. "And what can I get for you, sir?"
"A glass of red wine. Very dry."
"Coming right up," Tommy said.
Marisa spread her napkin over her lap. "You're not eating?"
"I dined earlier. I only stopped in for a drink."
"Oh."
"You must come here often," he remarked.
"Yeah, usually once or twice a week. Cooking isn't my favorite thing, and the food here is good, and inexpensive."
She looked up and smiled as Tommy brought their wine.
The stranger picked up his glass. "A toast?"
"What shall we drink to?"
"New friends?" he suggested.
Marisa picked up her glass. "New friends."
He watched her over the rim of his glass as she swallowed.
"I'm afraid I don't know your name, new friend."
"Forgive me. I am Grigori." He extended his hand.
"Marisa Richards."
He took her hand in his. His grip was gentle, yet firm, his skin cool.
"It is my pleasure, Marisa
Shoving the handkerchief into his back pocket, he hurried after her.
Standing in the rain, he watched her climb behind the wheel of a late-model Honda Prelude. And then, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, oblivious to the lightning that split the clouds, he followed her home.
Marisa took a long, hot shower, sprinkled herself liberally with dusting powder, then pulled on a pair of stretch jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of thick socks and curled up on the sofa. She nipped through the TV channels for a minute, then switched off the set. Reaching for a book, she tried to read, but after she found herself reading the same page for the fourth time, she tossed the book aside.
Too restless to sit still, she went into the kitchen to fix something to eat and then, on a whim, decided to go out instead.
She pulled on a pair of boots, and then, grabbing her purse and an umbrella, she left the house. The rain was no more than a fine mist now, though the clouds still hung dark and ominous in the sky. She contemplated taking her car, but decided a walk in the fresh air would do her good.
Angelo's was her favorite restaurant, a cozy little Italian place with red-checked tablecloths, candles in old Chianti bottles, and a relaxed atmosphere. It was located a couple of blocks away, and Marisa went there often. The owners were friendly and the spaghetti couldn't be beat.
Standing under the restaurant's awning, Marisa shook the rain from her umbrella, then went inside and took a seat at a booth in the back. She smiled at the waiter who handed her a menu.
She was trying to decide whether to have rigatoni or ravioli when she realized she was being watched.
Lowering the menu, Marisa glanced around the restaurant, felt her heart catch in her throat as she saw the dark-haired man from the carnival walking toward her.
He smiled as he reached her table. "Hello again."
"What are you doing here?"
"Seeking company on a stormy night, perhaps. I see you are alone. Would you mind if I joined you?"
Of course she'd mind. She didn't know a thing about the guy, not even his name.
The prudent thing would be to tell him to get lost. She knew that. Still, for no reason she could think of, she found herself inviting him to sit down.
Graceful as a leaf falling from a tree, he slid into the seat across from her.
"Do you come here often?" Marisa asked.
"No, this is my first time." He smiled at her. It was a totally disarming smile, revealing teeth white enough for a toothpaste commercial. "Fortuitous, don't you think?"
At a loss for words, Marisa nodded. She was glad when Tommy came to take her order.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," the waiter said with a wink, "how's it going?"
Marisa shook her head. Tommy was a hopeless flirt. He was studying accounting in college, and worked at the restaurant four nights a week. He was under the delusion that he was irresistible.
"So," Tommy purred, "what'll it be?"
"Rigatoni, I think."
"Excellent choice. Rigatoni and a glass of Chianti."
Marisa grinned. "You know me too well."
"Not as well as I'd like," Tommy replied, waggling his eyebrows at her. "And what can I get for you, sir?"
"A glass of red wine. Very dry."
"Coming right up," Tommy said.
Marisa spread her napkin over her lap. "You're not eating?"
"I dined earlier. I only stopped in for a drink."
"Oh."
"You must come here often," he remarked.
"Yeah, usually once or twice a week. Cooking isn't my favorite thing, and the food here is good, and inexpensive."
She looked up and smiled as Tommy brought their wine.
The stranger picked up his glass. "A toast?"
"What shall we drink to?"
"New friends?" he suggested.
Marisa picked up her glass. "New friends."
He watched her over the rim of his glass as she swallowed.
"I'm afraid I don't know your name, new friend."
"Forgive me. I am Grigori." He extended his hand.
"Marisa Richards."
He took her hand in his. His grip was gentle, yet firm, his skin cool.
"It is my pleasure, Marisa
Similar Books
Imagined Empires
Zeinab Abul-Magd
Do You Know the Monkey Man?
Dori Hillestad Butler
The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series
Emmanuelle de Maupassant
Awakening the Mobster
Amy Rachiele
Mother Daughter Me
Katie Hafner
Heart Fire (Celta Book 13)
Robin D. Owens
Fly by Wire: A Novel
Ward Larsen
Cold Hit
Linda Fairstein
Maude
Donna Mabry
The Elemental Mysteries: Complete Series
Elizabeth Hunter