um, Randi Smith.” She laid her palm against his.
Instead of shaking hands, he lifted hers to his lips, brushing a barely there kiss on the backs of her knuckles. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Smith.”
Randi finally understood what it meant to be electrified by a man’s touch. His lips against her skin sent frissons of sensation throughout her body and she gasped.
“Ms. Smith? Are you all right?” There was something in his too-knowing gaze that said he was perfectly aware of the effect he was having on her.
She tried to speak, then cleared her throat and tried again. “Randi, please.”
“Randi is short for?”
“Oh, um, no one ever asks. They just ask stuff like if I enjoy having a boy’s name.”
“So?” He hadn’t let go of her hand and he now brushed his thumb over her knuckles, where his lips had been.
She had no thought of not answering. “Miranda.”
“Lovely name.”
“You think so?” She’d always found it old-fashioned.
“I do.”
“Basilio is pretty neat, too. Spanish?” she guessed.
“You got it in one. My friends call me Baz.”
“My friends call me Randi.”
“I prefer Miranda.”
Did that mean he didn’t want to be friends? Only he’d implied she should call him Baz. “Are we going to be friends?”
“I would like that.”
Good. “Me, too. I mean...” But she wasn’t sure what she’d meant to say, the sexual chemistry between them playing havoc with the efficient firing of synapses in her brain.
“I hope you mean just that.”
“Yes, okay.”
“So, dinner tonight?” he asked, still caressing her hand.
“I have plans with my sister and brother-in-law.” And as much as she wanted to spend time with her sister, giving up a date with such a delicious man was hard.
“After-dinner drinks?”
“Really?” Oh, man, why had she asked that? “I mean, that would be great. Fine.”
She was just going to sink into the sidewalk right now.
“When and where?”
She thought about the location of the restaurant she was supposed to meet her family at and a likely spot near it. “How about the piano bar at the Heathman?”
It was quiet, with lots of places to sit in an intimate tête-à-tête.
“Fine. What time?” Basilio asked.
“Eight o’clock?” She was having an early dinner with Kayla and Andreas.
“Perfect. I will get my own dinner and meet you there.”
Taking a risk, Randi asked, “You could join us?”
“You are sure I would not be an unwelcome intrusion?”
She loved the formal cadence of his speech, so different from her own. “Not at all. I’m sure Kayla and Andreas would not mind at all.”
But she’d better call and give a heads-up on her way over.
“Then I would be pleased to accept.”
“Great. Um, you can meet me there?”
“Naturally. I would not expect you to get into a car with a stranger after such short acquaintance.”
And why she wished she could, she wasn’t even going to think about. Ever since the trouble five years before, Randi had become very wary of new people and even making friends, much less dating. But no way was this man a grubby reporter, looking for lascivious details from the years-old tragedy.
Not in his five-thousand-dollar suit and shoes that probably cost more than she made in a week.
They made arrangements to meet at the restaurant in twenty minutes. Then Randi was running for her car, even later than she had been.
* * *
Basilio pulled into the valet parking for the Heathman.
A walk from the restaurant to the piano bar would be further opportunity to draw out Miranda Smith née Weber. Bumping into her on purpose had made two things very clear. One, the picture in the file he’d had compiled on her did not capture the sweet naïveté she wore like a cloak, nor her unconscious sensuality. Two, seduction might well be his best course of action in achieving the goal his family needed.
While intimidation tactics were not yet off the table, he had a feeling using the instant attraction between them would be more easily effective.
Walking into the restaurant a few minutes later, he was once again struck by the clarity of her gray eyes as they met his across the roomful of diners in the upscale steak house. Even in the subdued lighting of the restaurant, the gray orbs glowed. Miranda was sitting with Andreas Kostas and another woman with eyes the exact color and vibrancy of Miranda’s, declaring her the sister.
Basilio allowed the maître d’ to lead him across the restaurant to the linen-clad table for four. Appetizers and bread were already on the table, indicating the Kostases had been there for a while.
Miranda stood up. “You made it.”
Basilio nodded, finding her enthusiasm almost charming. There was such an innocence about this woman, he found it hard to believe she had plans to blow his family’s peace right out of the water. She did not look or behave like someone who would go on a talk show to spite them, particularly after committing such a heinous act as hitting a small child with her car.
But he had it on good authority that Miranda Smith, for all her airs of innocence, was exactly that kind of woman.
He could not afford to forget that fact.
“This is my sister, Kayla Kostas, and her husband, Andreas.” Miranda indicated the other two people with one hand, nearly knocking over a filled water goblet.
Her brother-in-law saved the table from getting doused with a discernible lack of impatience.
Basilio inclined his head to the married couple. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Randi said she met you on the street?” Kayla asked as Andreas sat down, clearly wanting more information.
Miranda had dropped back into her chair across the dining table from him. She smiled shyly at him, her cheeks tinged with color. Was she embarrassed she’d allowed him to pick her up?
He
