like that, not one little bit. She summoned a smile and looked at Slade through her lashes. “Well, I could scarcely ask Joe. His girlfriend might object.”
Slade’s jaw dropped. “Oh,” he said, and realized he’d been surprised twice in the last five minutes. Maybe Cory Haines was good for him, he thought sardonically. Because she was right—it was a long time since he’d allowed a woman to knock him off balance. “Then why me? You must know a lot of other men.”
“They all live in Halifax. I don’t want to be tripping over them afterwards. You’re from Toronto—although I’d really rather you were from Vancouver. Or Outer Mongolia.” Avoiding his eyes, she counted off her fingers one by one. “You’re handsome, you’re healthy, you’re intelligent—good genes, in other words. You don’t live here, and—this is important to me—you have principles and you live by them. On top of that, as I discovered on the dance floor, you’re not indifferent to me.”
“Why, when you’ve listed all my good points, do I feel as though I’ve been insulted? I’m not a prize bull, for God’s sake!”
She tilted her chin. “This discussion’s a complete and total waste of time. You said no—remember?” She gestured to the waiter and when he was standing by their table said crisply, “I’ll have the key lime pie and a coffee, please.”
“Chocolate pâté and coffee,” Slade said. As the waiter turned away, he took a deep breath and said in a more reasonable tone and with entire truth, “I’m curious. You’re very young—why this burning need for procreation?”
She said flippantly, “Oh, I probably garden too much. You know, the birds and the bees, all those seeds being planted and coming up in the spring. Fertility, fruition and fecundity.”
“Cute, Cory, cute. What’s the real reason?”
“I could tell you to mind your own business.”
“You could. You’d even be justified. But I’d really like to know.”
Cory stared into her wine, where the candlelight had kindled flames the colour of rubies, until Slade was almost sure she’d forgotten both his presence and his request. Then she whispered, “I’m not so young. I turned thirty-one last October. I’ve wanted a child for years; I’ve always known that being a mother would fulfill me in a way my job never could. But I wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation if Sue hadn’t had her baby last week.
“Slade, I really was happy for her; of course I was. She’s my best friend and a healthy baby is such a miracle.” As a sheen of tears glittered in her eyes, Slade fought down the urge to take her hand in his. In the same toneless whisper she went on, “But I envied her too. Envy’s a horrible feeling! How can I want something that’s hers?”
Considering that only moments ago he’d been furious with Cory, Slade’s voice when he spoke sounded oddly gentle. “You’re a bright and very lovely young woman ... marry someone and have a whole pack of babies.” This time he did reach out and cover her hand with his own, feeling tension stiffen her fingers. Her skin was smooth, her bones paradoxically both delicate and strong.
I don’t want her to marry someone else, he thought blankly. And explain that if you can, Slade Redden. Because you’ve got no intention of marrying her yourself.
Earlier, Slade’s anger had roused in Cory a matching anger; now his gentleness made her want to cry. She looked down at his lean fingers with their well-kept nails, at the strong bones of his wrist where they emerged from his cuff, and suddenly wrenched her hand free. “I don’t want to get married! Slade, I’m sorry I ever brought this up; it was really stupid of me. Can we please change the subject?”
She looked very unhappy. A host of questions hovered on the tip of his tongue. But why ask them? He’d said no, and he’d meant no. No ifs, ands or buts on that one. So she was right. It was past time to change the subject and the one thing he wouldn’t do was ask her to dance again. “Here come our desserts,” he said. “You can have one spoonful of my chocolate pâté—no more.”
With a watery smile she said, “You’ll give away real estate but not chocolate, hmm?”
“A man’s got to have his limits.” After the waiter had gone, Slade put a generous dollop of the rich dark chocolate on his coffee spoon and held it out across the table. With the beginnings of a real smile, Cory leaned forward, closed her eyes, and licked the spoon clean. “Heavenly,” she said solemnly.
Her throat was as smooth and creamy as her blouse; her hair was sliding out of its pins, falling in silky strands about her ears. I still want you, Slade thought. Nothing you’ve said or done has changed that. I want you so badly it hurts.
And what the hell am I supposed to do about that?
Then Cory opened her eyes, smiling right into his. His face was naked with desire, exposed and vulnerable to her in a way that touched something so deeply buried within her that she hadn’t realized until now that it still existed. For several seconds, seconds that shivered with intimacy, she held his gaze. Then her lashes dropped and she said with only the slightest of quivers in her voice, “Do you want to try the lime pie?”
“No, thanks,” Slade said huskily. “Cory, I don’t want to get involved any more than you do.”
“Then we won’t get involved,” she said. “It’s simple.”
He wasn’t sure that anything about Cory Haines—or his reaction to her—was simple. He passed her the cream for her coffee, and with a huge attempt at normality said, “You’re thirty-one years old and your company’s only been in existence for five years—what did you do before that, Cory?”
She ate a mouthful of pie and rolled her eyes in ecstasy. “Luscious,” she said, and in her mind quickly rehearsed an edited version of her working life that would reveal nothing she didn’t want it to; her answer would have the added advantage of masking with words that devastating moment of intimacy.
“I took a course in business administration and went to work for a travel agency when I was nineteen.” The same year she met Rick. “More or less by chance I started specializing in making the arrangements for women traveling alone, and tapped into a market that eventually led me to manage the agency, and then buy it out.
“I ran it for three years and at first it was enormous fun—I got to go to all kinds of interesting and exciting places. But one day I realized I was spending far too much time in the office staring at a computer screen and dealing with accountants.” She grinned. “So I sold it. At a substantial profit, I might add.”
“You’re not the type to be cooped up in an office.”
“Definitely not.” She took another mouthful of pie. “That summer I worked as a naturalist in a privately owned resort on the west coast. While I was there, I began to understand that the wilderness is beautiful on its own. Effortlessly. It’s the cities that need help. Lots of help. So I took a course in horticultural design and set up my own business here on the east coast.” As far from Rick as she could get. “It took a while to get known, but I’m doing fine now.”
“So what’s next, Cory?”
She laughed and said with the eagerness he’d come to expect, “I’d like to branch out into supplying unusual bulbs and perennials—ones that can survive our maritime climate. A lot of the catalogues are from the west coast and the fruit belt in
