The waitress, a girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, stopped by their table with two menus. She wore a pair of jeans and a yellow polo shirt that said “Village Inn” on the front. “Our specials tonight are cream of potato soup, chicken kiev, and stuffed mushrooms. Can I start you off with some drinks or an appetizer, or both?”
Perky, she has to be perky.
“You like mushrooms?” At Mia’s nod, he told the girl, “We’ll start with the stuffed mushrooms and a good bottle of Pinot Noir.”
After jotting down the order, the waitress hurried toward the kitchen. The place was nearly full, making Mia glad he’d arrived early enough to get a booth. It was a quirk, but she hated sitting out in the center where she felt like everyone was staring. There was no reason they would anymore, of course. In her current life, she wasn’t a freak with a 160 IQ, whose mother couldn’t afford decent clothing. These days, she dressed well, and she didn’t attract untoward attention, but she still preferred the quiet, cozy comfort of a booth.
Mia arched a brow. “What if I don’t drink?”
“Then I’ll have the whole bottle, and you must drive me home.” His slight smile curved a bit wider. “But please don’t take advantage of me.”
All right, this wasn’t going at all as she’d expected. He’d discarded the razor edge she associated with him and become someone she didn’t recognize. Tonight he seemed… playful, and it unnerved her.
“Maybe you had a bottle while you were waiting for me,” she muttered.
He shook his head, tapping the lemon and ice water before him. “If memory serves, I owe you another quote, do I not?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes, the way you speak, it’s as though English isn’t your first language.”
“You are clever,” he said, as if she’d delighted him.
“That’s no answer.” Or rather, it was, but not as specific as she’d wanted.
Damn him, she deserved his secrets. After leaving her in the hands of men who’d scared her to death and left her tied up for twenty-four hours, he owed her. She was still working out what she’d do with the information. Her feelings wavered between fierce antipathy and reluctant fascination, for she’d never known anyone remotely like him.
“It’s all the answer you’re going to get, min skat.”
No, it wasn’t. That, too, was a clue. He’d offered it intentionally, another little test.
And she recognized the language; she’d worked there for six months.
“You’re originally from Denmark.”
At her quick reply, he folded his hands on the table. She read subtle surprise in his storm gray eyes. “Not quite.”
“Your parents, then.”
“You shouldn’t dig,” he said quietly. “You won’t like what you find.”
Mia leaned forward, eyes on his. “There’s something you should know about me. When I want something-whether it’s a job, information, or some material comfort-I don’t stop until I’ve achieved my goal.”
“Is that a warning or a promise?”
She smiled despite herself. “I suppose that depends on my intentions.”
“Should I ask what those are?”
“I think I’d rather surprise you.”
“You constantly do.”
Her heart lurched. In melting contrast to his usual ice, warmth blazed from him, so keen she wondered if he meant the invitation in the curve of his mouth and the brightness of his eyes. No man had ever looked at her like that, not even ones who’d claimed to love her.
Before she could reply, the waitress returned with their wine, two glasses, plates, and a platter of steaming stuffed mushrooms. She set the tray down on a folding stand and then started serving. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few minutes?”
Mia realized she’d hardly taken her eyes off him; she hadn’t picked up her menu. “We need a few.”
“No problem,” the girl chirped. “I’ll be back in five to check on you.”
He deftly slid a mushroom onto each plate and decanted the wine. She liked his hands. Bony wrists flared to broad palms topped with long, tapered fingers. Hands like that would feel good on a woman’s body, full of strength and assurance. A shiver rolled through her, and with effort, she forced herself to look away and open her menu.
Focus. You can’t afford to lose track of why you’re here.
With this appetizer, she didn’t need a big entrée. According to the guidebook in the glove compartment of her car, the Village Inn had a delicious berry cobbler. Quickly, she decided on the potato soup and a house salad, so she could save room for dessert. He took a little longer, perusing each page of the menu with such deliberation that you’d have thought lives hung in the balance.
When he looked up at last, she asked, “What’re you getting?”
“Rosemary chicken.”
“Ah.” She laced her fingers in her lap to still their trembling.
Why was she so nervous? Her heart hadn’t behaved this way since college, since she had her first real kiss, her first real boyfriend-the one she’d loved for years after he left her, despite the fact that he was married and had three kids. Right now, she was having a hard time remembering his name, let alone his face. That was a good thing; it was about time she got over him, but she didn’t want to replace… Mark-that was his name-with another unattainable male.
“I’ll share, if you like.” He cut into his mushroom with surgical precision, using both knife and fork in the European fashion, reinforcing her belief that he hadn’t been born in the United States.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a vegetarian.” Mia lifted her glass and took a sip.
“Hm. Does that mean no oral sex?”
She nearly spat her wine.
He delighted in discomfiting her. A deep blush rose in her cheeks; she looked heated and delicious. He shouldn’t be thinking along those lines, but Mia had a gorgeous mouth, and he couldn’t get the image of what she might do with it out of his mind.
Clearly, kissing her had been a mistake. Instead of neutralizing her as a threat, it had given her insight into his character. He couldn’t afford weakness, not when he was so close to achieving everything he’d worked toward. He couldn’t permit distraction.
But God, how he craved it.
From behind him, the waitress gave a tiny, choked giggle-she’d obviously overheard. Mia’s flush deepened, and she lowered her eyes.
Damn, he hadn’t meant to embarrass her. He’d thought her too self-assured to be bothered by what anyone else thought, but obviously he’d been wrong. His protective instincts sparked to life as he turned an icy stare on the waitress, making it clear she wasn’t part of the conversation. “Did you need something, miss?”
Her smile faded. “Are you ready to order?”
“Rosemary chicken. Mia?”
She closed her menu and handed it back, dripping dignity. “Soup of the day and a house salad, vinaigrette on the side.”
But when the waitress walked away, the nascent accord was broken. Though Mia’s body language didn’t change, she might as well have been sitting across the room at the bar. Her dark eyes focused on a distant point over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know she was there.”
“So it’s fine to be crude as long as no one else hears it?”
“I don’t think it was the crudity you objected to.”
“No?” Her scorn was palpable as she took an angry bite. “And you know me so well, to make such a judgment.”
But at least she was meeting his eyes again. He refused to analyze his relief at such a small thing.
“I suspect I know you better than you think.” He’d spent the vast majority of his adult life observing people to better make them do exactly as he wanted.