funds to head back to the war-torn country she’d just left to finish what she’d started.
“Do you win often?”
His voice was soft, like velvet, and she felt something deep inside her answer its challenge.
“As often as I can.”
“It’s hardly gambling when it’s a sure thing,” he commented before picking up his menu.
“You can’t blame me for playing it safe.” She nodded toward the printed card in his hands. “What do you recommend?” she asked.
“Everything’s good here but the lamb, in particular, is my favorite.”
“Good. I’ll have that then.”
He closed his menu and put it down. “Just like that? You don’t want another half an hour to peruse your choices and change your mind a half dozen times?”
“Why? Is that what you usually do?” she teased, knowing full well the answer would be an emphatic no.
He gave a slight shake of his head. “I prefer not to waste time. I’ll order for us both.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
She watched carefully as he called the waiter over and placed their order, including a bottle of wine. Again the staff showed him that same respect they had before.
“You must tip really well,” she mocked with a laugh. “I swear that guy was about to offer you his firstborn child.”
“Hardly,” Ethan responded drily before realizing that she was still teasing. “Ah, I see, you think it’s fine to bait me? Okay then, I’ll bite. Since you’re clearly not in the habit of bribing waitstaff into providing good service, what do you do with your money?”
“My money?” Isobel pulled a face. “What I don’t use for travel I try to use to help support worthy causes.”
“Seriously?” His face pulled into a frown. “That’s very philanthropic of you.”
“I barely make a difference,” she said, a note of sadness creeping into her voice as she remembered the helpless futility of some of the people she’d tried to help. “For myself, I’ve learned to need very little.”
“What about when you grow older? How will you support yourself then?”
“I’ll worry about that when it happens.” His frown deepened, prompting her to ask, “You don’t approve?”
“I didn’t say that. Different strokes. I’m involved in a family business. We work together, socialize together—we’re all striving for a common goal. With the business we have, we’re looking forward to the future every day. I can’t imagine just living in the day and not planning ahead. But then, as a family business, there are plenty of other peoples’ futures at stake than just my own.”
“I’m the only one affected by my decisions,” she said simply, “which definitely has its advantages.”
Ethan smiled back at her, and she knew that in some way, even if it was small, he probably envied her freedom. Most people did, but without realizing that it came with its own personal cost at the same time. Ethan clearly had a network of people to help and support him, while Isobel was very accustomed to being on her own.
She took advantage of the companionable silence between them to study him some more. In the subdued lighting of the restaurant, his lean features were all shadows and light. His nose a long straight patrician blade, his upper lip narrow but with a perfect bow to it, the lower lip fuller, enticing. His hair was worn short and controlled but she could detect the faintest of hints of curl in it and she wondered what he’d look like if he let it grow out a bit more, let himself look a little less disciplined and a lot more wild. Her fingers itched to reach for her camera in her pack and to shoot off a series of pictures of him.
The tingle that had started in her body earlier ramped up a notch, sending swirls of heat spooling through her belly and lower. The strong shadow on his jaw showed he was probably a two-shaves-a-day man, but somehow she knew she liked him better like this. Less polished, more primal. She squeezed her thighs together as a surge of desire arrowed direct to her core, and in that moment Isobel knew she was probably going to sleep with Ethan whatever-his-last-name-was tonight and, more, that she wanted to—very, very much.
Two
The food was delicious and she was glad she’d left Ethan to make their selections. She slipped up a little sauce from the edge of her plate with a finger and licked it off, her eyes closing briefly to enjoy the blissful flavor just that bit longer. When she opened them again, she caught Ethan staring at her. That earlier thrill of desire jolted through her again and she saw a flare of reciprocal interest light in his eyes.
What would he be like as a lover? she wondered as she broke eye contact and reached for her wineglass. He wasn’t her usual type, which was probably a male version of herself—free-spirited, unfettered, casual. No, Ethan was definitely different. He exuded stability and strength, not to mention an unfair dose of sex appeal, and she found the combination fiercely compelling.
“Tell me about your travels,” he said, leaning forward to top up her wineglass with a little more of the very fine merlot they’d enjoyed with their meal.
So far they’d kept their conversation very general and superficial. So much so that neither of them really knew much about the other. Isobel preferred it that way. She didn’t like to share too much of herself—at least not more than she was prepared to. She found so many people were critical of her attempts to expose some of the better-kept secrets regarding atrocities against children and families overseas. It was safer, she’d found, to be judicious with the information she shared.
She found it easy to fill the next hour with flip conversation of some of the funnier exploits she’d experienced. Ethan leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily at her recitation of her reaction to a giant centipede coming out of the hole in the ground she’d been using as a toilet during a trip through Nepal. Her own lips turned up in response to his unfettered joy. He had a great laugh, she decided. She liked it when a man could really give in to mirth. It was, in her mind, a good indicator of just how much he’d give in to anything else he was passionate about. Right now, she hoped that was her.
“Can’t say I have anything in my experience to equal or better that,” he said through his laughter. “And none of that puts you off or makes you want to take a more mainstream route?”
“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t really see the world as other people are forced to live it when you do that.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“What?”
“Forced. Aren’t most people living the life of their choice?”
She gave him a pitying smile. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“I believe it’s up to each individual to choose his own path.”
“In a perfect world, maybe. Not everyone has the privilege of a perfect world.”
Ethan considered
