“Sophia, you look wonderful.” He kissed her cheek.
She stared at him, surprised by the kiss. “Thank you.”
He opened the door and held his hand to help her inside the car. As he seated himself behind the steering wheel, he turned to her. “Allenthorp couldn’t come. He asked me to convey his apologies and say that he’ll call you to collect his lunch.”
“That was not our agreement,” Sophia muttered.
“He needs to be in court,” Ethan shrugged, starting the car, “His loss. But I’m sure he’s going to call you.”
Sophia looked at the road, not certain what she should say.
“Have you eaten at Le Gavroche recently?” he asked.
“No. But I have fond memories of the lunch I had there. Such spectacular food.”
“Michel is a spectacular chef. I already informed him I’m having lunch with a special guest.” He smiled at her. “I’m happy you have accepted my invitation, Sophia.”
He’s so sure of himself. She smiled back, without uttering a word.
He turned on the radio, but before putting a CD in, probed, “Do you like opera?”
“Sure. What is this one?”
“A selection of Maria Callas.” He slid the CD in. “I just love her voice; so much emotion. She takes the role, transgresses and transforms it. She makes you feel all the drama, the love and ecstasy, the fear and the death.”
The intense enthusiasm expressed in his voice and face baffled Sophia. “You really like her.”
“I admire those who have no fear of demonstrating passion, to live life to the fullest.” He quickly surveyed her, his blue eyes electrifying. “I think you can.”
All right. Two can play this game. She grinned mysteriously at him, turning sideways on the seat, her dress rising to the middle of her thighs. She noticed when his breath hitched. Oh, yeah, Mr. Ashford. You asked for it.
“What makes you say that, Ethan?” she asked in a deceivingly naïve voice, her fingers playing with the seam of her boot and tracing the contours of her knee.
“Your eyes sparkle with passion when you talk about your pro bono work.” He clutched her hand and, looking right into her eyes, kissed it. “It is up to the man who holds your heart to ignite that fire inside you.”
Sophia felt a thrill run through her spine. Oh. My. God. Now what?
Their arrival at the restaurant saved her from having to respond.
“Here we are.” He signaled to a doorman, who took a traffic cone from the street. Ethan maneuvered the car with an ease that belied the difficulty of fitting it into such a small parking place.
“You’re lucky. A parking place just in front of the restaurant.”
“Darling, we make our own luck,” he retorted enigmatically.
“Not always,” she riposted. “Trust me, I know.”
He exited the car and rounded it to help her out, offering his hand again.
She laughed. “I’m not crippled or old.” She accepted his hand and left the car.
“High heels,” he pointed and arched an eyebrow at her, closing the door. He waited for her to take his arm. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
“No offense taken. I’m well versed in getting in and out of all types of cars. Never had a problem with my heels.”
“I love women in high heels, Ms. Santo.” He flashed a smile at her.
“Mrs. Santo,” she corrected him.
“Sophia. Calling you Mrs. Santo makes me feel like I’m going out with a married woman.”
“I see,” she smiled amazed by his explanation.
Sophia smiled when Ethan tipped the doorman who had collected the cone. Yeah, he makes his lucky. Her smile faltered. But then, Gabriel did the same and ran out of luck.
Ethan watched her. “Everything okay?”
“Sure.” Lies; more lies; always lies.
The restaurant was full, but they were promptly seated in a reserved booth in the back. The staff treated Ethan in a deferential way. On the way to their table, he possessively put a hand on her shoulder and greeted some acquaintances with a nod, but didn’t stop. He concentrated on her.
Forty minutes flew by as they chatted and ate an entrée of hot foie gras and crispy pancake of duck flavored with cinnamon perfect foiled on a Sauternes Chateau D’Yquem.
“Monsieur Ashford. Madame. C’est un plaisir!”
“Michel! How are you?” Ethan greeted the owner of the restaurant in perfect French. “This is a dear friend of mine, Ms. Sophia Santo.”
“Monsieur, the food is magnificent,” Sophia complimented the chef, also in French.
“Merci, Mademoiselle Santo. I’m happy you enjoyed it.” He turned to Ethan. “Mr. Ashford, I prepared a special dessert for you. Chocolate, of course, but spicy. Let me know if you like it or desire something else. Monsieur. Madame.” He made a small bow and continued his wanderings through the restaurant.
Even though she was certain Ethan had asked for the service to come very slowly, Sophia enjoyed the lunch immensely. He was intelligent, witty, extremely well-read and they shared many mutual interests.
“Mademoiselle, the chef presents your grilled scallops with carrots and salad leaves, tarragon mustard and for monsieur the roast milk-fed lamb with flageolets beans and thyme-scented jus.” The waiter put their plates in front of them and with a flourish, opened the silver coverlets. The sommelier tasted the wine, a 1996, Réserve Mouton Cadet Médoc, approved it, and served a little for Ethan’s assent.
“Do you like the wine?”
“Excellent.” Sophia reveled in the way Ethan clearly prepared everything for her. She gave him a scowl followed by a little smile. “I think you’re trying to get me drunk, Mr. Ashford.”
“No, I’m not.” He pierced her with his sparkling blue eyes. “You have it the wrong way round. I’m the one who is drunk, Sophia. You’re so beautiful, so intelligent, so perfect that it makes a man forget what he’s doing.”
“Beautiful?” she sniggered. “I’m not beautiful. Much less, perfect.”
“Yes, you are. More than beautiful and perfect. You’re…” He scooted to her side of the booth. His hand lifted to touch her raven strands, “Your hair is shiny and lustrous, as long as it should be.” His knuckles caressed her cheek, “Your face is like a cameo.” He opened his hand when it reached her neck and then it descended to her shoulder, pausing just before the swell of her breast. “Your body. I don’t have words to describe it. You leave me speechless and this is not a common thing.”
“Compliments, compliments!” she waved her hand, trying to recapture the light conversation they had been having. “When men desire something they scatter compliments in the wind.”
“And what do I desire, Sophia?” he lowered his tone, his voice husky, and leaned into her. The movement showed his strength that had been hidden within his suit, making visible his powerful muscles. Sophia’s mouth went dry and she licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and bit her bottom lip.
“Don’t, Sophia.” His thumb caressed her bottom lip.
“Pardon?”
“Don’t do this.” He was serious, his voice hoarse. His knee touched her thigh and she almost jumped. “You drive me crazy with desire.” His thumb gently touched the center of her lips.
His voice and hand hypnotized Sophia. “Ethan…”
“I want to take you out to dinner, Sophia. Are you free on Thursday?”
“No,” she shook her head, “I’m traveling on business to Ireland tomorrow.”
“When do you return?”
The waiter arrived and she waited for him to serve the dessert before answering.
“On Friday night.”
“Saturday, then.” His azure eyes were so brilliant they had surpassed the color of the Mediterranean Sea.