the way her lips softened with her smile.
And her eyes sparkled with earthy sensuality.
And the touch of her fingers on his skin when she took his hand sent a shock of heat through his nerves…
But apart from that, everything was progressing according to plan.
THE SCENTS of smoldering candles and expensive perfume were as subtly pervasive as the background hush that permeated the restaurant. The black-suited waiters didn’t bustle, they glided. Polished silverware winked from the white linen tablecloths and tiny lights twinkled in the crystal wineglass Lizzie held. Clutching the stem securely, she lifted it in response to Alex’s toast.
“To New York,” she repeated, taking a healthy sip of the wine Alex had ordered. It was as smooth and sweet as spring water with honey.
“What would you like to see tomorrow?” he asked. “The Statue of Liberty? Times Square? The museum?”
“The Statue of Liberty, I think.”
“Wonderful. It’s been years since I went there.”
She took another sip of wine as she listened to the sound of his voice. She was vaguely aware that he was detailing the tour he planned to take her on tomorrow, but as had happened before, she paid more attention to his voice than to his words. And why not? She might as well enjoy it while she could. His devastating handsomeness, the dazzling restaurant, the wine…come midnight, it would probably all disappear.
That would be a fitting end to this fairy tale, wouldn’t it?
She should have seen it coming. Lord, she must be pathetic to confuse, even for a minute, the attention Alex had been showering on her. He wasn’t being kind. This was purely business. What other possible reason could there have been for someone like him to whisk her to New York and give her flowers and treat her to dinner at a restaurant with no prices on the menu?
Considering what he was willing to pay her for her uncle’s shares, what would the cost of a few roses and a filet mignon matter?
She put down her glass and toyed with her fork, annoyed with herself for the disappointment that was totally misplaced. Her imagination had really gotten the better of her again, that’s all. Of course, he wouldn’t want someone he didn’t know for a partner. Of course, he’d think she would be anxious to sell her half of the company and scuttle back to her stable, safe, secure, happy life in Packenham Junction.
She should have seen it coming, she thought again, poking at a morsel of meat that had already gone cold. She was Auntie Liz. Good old Lizzie. The perpetual baby-sitter and bridesmaid, destined to exist forever on the periphery of other people’s lives.
In a way, there was a fitting irony to the situation. This entire trip, what she’d seen as her one chance at adventure, had the sole purpose of ensuring that she would return home and stay right where she’d always been.
“Is there something wrong with your meal?”
She put down her fork carefully so it wouldn’t clang and disturb the hush. “No, it’s delicious.”
“I could have the waiter bring you something else.”
“Please, don’t bother,” she said, reaching for her wine once more. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking it, considering the fact that she still hadn’t eaten anything today, but swishing dollar-a-mouthful wine through her teeth was another one of those things she might as well enjoy while she could.
Alex had made her a generous offer. Heck, it had more zeros than she’d seen in one place since she’d sneezed while she’d been typing out the day care center’s financial statement. With that much money, she could build a new barn for her stepfather, pay off Jolene and Tim’s mortgage, even pay Zack’s way through Harvard.
That is, if they would accept the money.
What a stubborn bunch her family was. It must hark back to their pioneer roots, when money in the bank was a foreign concept and people bartered for what they needed. Too bad Whitmore and Hamill didn’t make milking machines or something else useful.
Her lips curved at the thought of the immaculately groomed Alex Whitmore being involved with anything as mundane as a milking machine. He probably wouldn’t know which end of a cow to install it on. With his long fingers and firm grip, though, he likely wouldn’t have too much trouble coaxing out the milk by hand.
She glanced across the table, and a slow flush rose to her cheeks at the mental image of Alex with his long, strong fingers turning his attention to such an earthy task. If the way he moved was any indication, there was plenty of physical strength beneath his sophisticated appearance. Plenty of determination behind his good manners, too. He’d have a gentle, purposeful touch, the kind that would soothe and stimulate at the same time. And he’d be murmuring soft words in that deep, love-potion voice of his, and his brown eyes would grow smoky, and…
Lordy, he was one impressive specimen. Maybe it was the excitement of this whole situation, but never in her life had a man made such an immediate impact on her. She wasn’t so naive as to confuse physical attraction for something deeper, yet knowing what it was didn’t do anything to eliminate it.
It had never been that way with Bobby. Even when he’d been stripped to the waist on those hot summer days on her stepfather’s farm, and his shoulders had flexed with the effort of slinging those hay bales around, and his jeans had clung damply to his hips and thighs, she had never felt more than a comfortable kind of interest.
If she ever had the chance to see Alex Whitmore flex his muscles while he was half-naked and gleaming with sweat, she doubted if she would feel anything close to comfortable.
With a sickening clunk, her wineglass tipped over, spilling the remainder of its contents across the tablecloth in a sudden flood.
Alex whipped the linen napkin from his lap and stemmed the flow. “Sorry, I must have jarred the table,” he said.
She knew that he knew that her own fidgeting had been responsible for the mishap, yet he was willing to take the blame in order to spare her embarrassment. He was a regular…prince. A bubble of laughter hiccuped past her lips.
“Would you care for some dessert, Lizzie?” he asked, righting her glass and moving the wine bottle out of her reach.
“No, thank you, Alex.”
“Some coffee? We still have some time before the show starts.”
Oh, Lord, he must think she was on the downhill side of tipsy. She wasn’t even close to the edge, empty stomach or not. Compared to Bobby’s homemade cordial that could clear sinuses and blister paint, this stuff was cream soda. If her faculties were impaired at all, it was from the effects of Alex’s presence, not the wine—the man was too appealing to be legal.
“Is there anything else you’d like, Lizzie?”
Sure, you can strip to the waist and sling some hay bales. “Do you ever do any modeling?” she asked impulsively.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, posing for any of the advertisements the company does.”
He looked startled. “No, we use an outside agency.
