before he could think of anything to say in response, Ingrid arrived in the doorway.
“Dinner is ready, Mr. Burke.”
Dawson’s formal dining room sported vaulted ceilings, a crystal chandelier and an oval cherry table that could comfortably accommodate a dozen guests. A gas fireplace and glowing candle centerpiece made the large room cozy. But it was the framed family portrait hanging over the mantel that made it personal.
Eve had never seen photographs of Dawson’s late wife and daughter, but even if he hadn’t been included in the shot, she would have known who the other two people were. In an odd way, she recognized them, even if she did not recognize the happy, relaxed man who was seated with them.
As Ingrid set out serving dishes heaped with enough steaming food to serve a small army, Eve discreetly studied the photograph. Sheila was blond-haired and blue-eyed with the delicate beauty of a porcelain doll. Isabelle was lovely, too. Eve glimpsed mischief in the little girl’s light eyes and a hint of her father’s stubbornness in her small jaw. She’d expected them to be beautiful and they were. But what truly surprised Eve was the odd connection she felt to Dawson’s loved ones and the disappointment that they would never meet.
The dinner conversation started out stilted and strained thanks to the emotionally charged discussion that had preceded it. She blamed herself for that. What had she been thinking, provoking the man and then essentially baring her soul to him?
No matter, the deed was done and she wouldn’t waste her time or energy regretting it now. Besides, she’d only spoken the truth. Dawson did matter to her. Eve hadn’t realized how much until the words had tumbled out.
Oh, well. She was who she was … though it seemed she never learned. No, she picked up stakes and started over, but she never learned.
She was fussing with her napkin when Dawson asked, “Would you care for some wine?”
Eve pushed her glass closer to his side of the table. “Yes, but just a little, please.”
Once he’d poured the chilled pinot grigio, dinner became a far more relaxed affair. It had nothing to do with the loosening effects of alcohol, but the fact that Dawson spilled his wine down the front of his shirt when he went to take a sip.
It was an accident, of that Eve was sure. He wasn’t the sort of man given to slapstick comedy, though he had loosened up considerably since their first meeting. Had that been a mere two weeks ago?
“I can’t believe I did that.” He dabbed at his shirt front with his napkin. “I’m rarely so clumsy.”
“It’s my fault,” Eve said.
He stopped wiping and glanced over at her. “How do you figure that?”
Face straight, she replied, “It’s the effect I have on men. They become blundering fools in my presence.”
Dawson snorted. And though he was smiling, he sounded somewhat serious when he replied, “You certainly do have an effect on me, Eve.”
Half an hour later, Eve pushed back from the table on a contented sigh. “I probably should have passed on that second helping of pork tenderloin, but it was too good.”
“Irresistible,” he agreed as he watched Eve dab her mouth with a linen napkin.
Heat curled inside her at the suggestive remark. Just over his right shoulder, Sheila and Isabelle smiled down at Eve from the portrait, dousing any flames before they could start. Just as well, she decided. Just as well.
During the meal, while they’d talked companionably, steering clear of weighty or emotionally complicated topics, the candles on the table had burned low and the sun had set outside. Though Eve had planned to leave as soon as good manners would allow once they’d finished eating, she glanced out the window and reevaluated.
“Let’s go for a walk, work off some of these calories,” she suggested instead.
“A walk? It’s snowing,” he said.
“Yes, I hear it does that in Denver. No need to worry. I won’t melt.” Her eyebrows arched. “Or are you afraid that you will?”
“It’s getting dark, Eve.”
Dawson’s home was surrounded by a private, almost parklike setting with mature trees and meandering paths. “The landscape lighting looks adequate for a leisurely stroll.”
“The paths haven’t been shoveled recently. A good three inches have fallen since the grounds crew went through last.”
She batted that excuse aside, too. “That’s all right. I’ve got boots.”
Of course, the boots in question were unlined and made of supple Italian leather with three-inch heels that hardly made them suitable for a hike—or even a stroll—in inclement weather, but she was willing to take her chances.
“I don’t know.”
Like a veteran poker player, Eve upped the ante. “I promise to protect you.”
But it was Dawson who called. “Maybe I’m not the one who needs protecting.”
“Is that a threat?” she inquired.
He set aside his napkin and pushed back from the table. Gaze direct and challenging, he said, “There’s only one way to find out. Are you still game?”
“Please.” She snorted. “That question is insulting. I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”
“I didn’t think you had.” One side of his mouth lifted, tugging her pulse rate right along with it. “I’ll just get our coats.”
Outside, the air was crisp. It stole Eve’s breath, making her glad for the scarf that she’d wound around her neck. She tucked her chin into it now.
“It’s lovely here,” she commented. And it was. Winter had wrought its magic, covering everything in a pristine layer of white that sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight.
“The grounds were what attracted me to this property in the first place,” Dawson admitted.
“I can see why.”
“If you think it’s lovely now, you should see it in the spring or summer. The flowerbeds are incredible.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a green thumb.”
“Oh, it’s black, believe me. I know my limits, which is why I hired the services of a professional.”
She chuckled. “The economy loves people who know their limits since it helps create all sorts of job opportunities.”
“Like professional shoppers?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I’m glad to do my part for my country.” His voice grew soft. “I haven’t walked out here in the winter in … a long time.”
Eve figured she knew exactly how long, so she remained silent.
After
