to ten she said, “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Not saying anything, which forces me to draw my own conclusions.”
“And what might those be?” His tone held what sounded like amusement.
Pinching her eyes closed, she gave in to impulse once again. “You’re trying to figure out which restaurant you want to take me to for dinner before we head to the theater Friday night.”
While Eve held her breath, she heard a mild oath and then strangled laughter. Her lungs felt close to bursting by the time Dawson finally got around to saying, “You’re a mind reader.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE telephone rang as Eve reapplied her lipstick in the mirror that hung by her apartment door. Though it wasn’t her style to appear eager, she was wearing her coat and trying not to watch the clock.
“Eve, it’s Dawson. Sorry, but I’m running a little behind,” he said unnecessarily. She’d expected him to arrive twenty minutes earlier. Their dinner reservation was for six o’clock and that time was fast approaching.
“Everything … okay?” she inquired.
“Wondering if I’ve changed my mind?”
“I’d understand,” she said. And she would, given everything she now knew about his past.
While Eve wasn’t considering this a full-fledged date, neither would her conscience allow her to classify it as mere business. She found Dawson interesting, handsome and definitely sexy. Generally speaking, she’d made it a rule not to become personally involved with male clients. But since the Burke account was hers only temporarily courtesy of Carole, she felt safe making an exception.
“I’m not going to stand you up, Eve.” His tone was resolute. “Something came up at the last minute.”
“Okay. How about I meet you at Tulane then?” she suggested. The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment and it would save him from having to backtrack, as the place was located between them.
He hesitated and Eve was reminded of the fact that he preferred to lead. But then he said, “All right. But give me another fifteen minutes before you leave.”
“Okay.”
“And, if I’m not there when you arrive, order an appetizer,” he added.
“Should I start dinner without you, too?” she asked dryly.
“No. I’ll be there.”
Dawson walked through the doors at Tulane just as the waiter brought the artichoke dip. He’d shed his overcoat, beneath which he wore a tailored charcoal suit, white shirt and muted print tie. He looked sophisticated, sexy and a tad arrogant as he scanned the tables. When he spotted her, he didn’t smile exactly, but his intense expression relaxed even as it brightened. Eve sucked in a breath and exhaled it slowly between her teeth.
“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized again as he slipped onto the chair opposite hers.
Her heart rate back to normal, she offered an easy smile. “That’s okay.”
“I see you ordered an appetizer.”
“Yes, hope you like artichoke dip and toast squares,” she said.
“You won’t hear me complaining.”
“I also took a chance and had the waiter bring us some wine.” She nodded toward the glass that was in front of Dawson on the table.
He picked it up and took a sip. His brow beetled as his gaze connected with hers. “Pinot noir?”
“It’s what you were drinking the other night.”
“You certainly pay attention.”
Eve picked up her glass and shrugged. “I tend to remember details.”
Dawson studied her over the rim of his glass. He remembered details, too. When it came to Eve Hawley, he recalled far too many of them for his own peace of mind.
Details such as the golden flecks that could be teased from her otherwise brown eyes. The candlelight was accomplishing that. And the paleness of her skin that contrasted with a trio of beauty marks at the base of her throat.
She was wearing black tonight. The dress’s cut was simple, elegant, and though it sported three-quarter-length sleeves and a rather demure neckline, it was every bit as sexy as the siren-red number she’d had on the other evening. As for her hair, she’d left it down. It hung in a glossy dark cloud of curls around her shoulders. Dawson wondered if it would feel as soft as it looked. If it would smell …
“You’re staring at me and not saying anything,” Eve said, snapping him out of his stupor. Her full lips bowed when she added, “I’d wonder if I had a piece of artichoke stuck in my teeth, but I haven’t tried the dip yet.”
Ah, yes, Dawson thought, and then there was that—the woman’s surprisingly direct nature. It was another detail, another characteristic, that made her stand out in a crowd. His late wife had been much more reserved and …
He sipped his wine to wash away the memory before it could fully form. No, he wouldn’t think of Sheila tonight. He’d done that on his other dates, he realized, spent the time making comparisons, and finding his companions lacking. Both of them had been nice women, but it struck Dawson now how much they had been like his late wife, resembling Sheila in both looks and temperament. Had he unconsciously been seeking a substitute?
Eve was no stand-in. She and Sheila were polar opposites in everything from their personality to their physical characteristics. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever being attracted to a woman who was quite so outspoken, independent and vivacious. Making comparisons wouldn’t be fair to either woman. Besides, what purpose would they serve? Beyond making Dawson feel guilty.
He took another sip of his wine and swore he felt a couple shackles from the past fall away when he said, “I’m staring because you look lovely this evening.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Actually, I should thank you. I’m glad you asked me to accompany you to the theater tonight.”
Her brows rose at that. “Really?”
He set his wine aside. “Yes. I haven’t been to the theater in ages.”
Her expression turned incredulous. “Do you mean to tell me that your company has access to a pair of choice seats and you don’t bother to go?”
“I’ve been—”
“Busy,” she supplied for him, but her overly bright smile told Dawson exactly what she thought of his long-standing excuse.
“I have been busy,” he insisted. When his conscience delivered a sharp kick, he admitted, “All right, the truth is I don’t get out much these days.”
“No, the
