straightened. With slow deliberation, she smoothed her hair and then her skirt. She washed her hands and dried them on one of those beautiful cloth towels.
And then she drew her shoulders back and turned for the door.
At their table, the waiter was just setting down the main course. He slid over behind her and held her chair. She thanked him, he nodded and left them.
She spread her napkin on her lap again. Tell him, tell him, tell him. “This looks good…” She glanced up, into those amazing dark hazel eyes.
And she was lost. Finished. She just couldn’t do it.
He was there, across from her, after all these years. And somehow the boy she had loved had become the kind of man she dreamed about.
It was…a fantasy, this evening. Her fantasy. Just the two of them, by candlelight, sharing a lovely meal and good conversation.
Each glance was electric. And when he reached out and touched her hand…
Just a few more minutes. Just a little while longer.
She would tell him before they left the restaurant, before the night was over. But as soon as she did it, everything would change.
The fantasy would end. He would probably be angry. He would definitely be stunned. The hazy, soft magic between them would be blasted away.
Yes, she knew that every minute she kept the truth from him made her all the more culpable. Until last night, when she found him again, she was innocent of wrongdoing.
She’d tried to find him and failed, but she had tried. She’d had no thought, ever, of hiding the truth from him.
Now, though, this evening, as she sat here across from him, exchanged warm glances with him, told him of her life and urged him to tell her of his…
Now she was a cheater. A liar. Ultimately culpable.
She knew it.
And still, she took her fantasy—stole it, really. She had her sweet, tender, romantic lie of an evening.
Because he drew her. Powerfully.
Because she wanted him.
Because she’d never felt like this with anyone, except Michael. And now, here he was, the Michael she’d lost all those years ago, reincarnated into an amazing man named Mitch Valentine.
They had coffee, after the entrée. And they shared a crème brûlée. The vanilla bean custard was warm, sweet silk in her mouth, and she looked across the table and thought of kissing him.
A long kiss. Slow and deep and lazy—and wet. A kiss that would be crème brûlée-sweet.
The look in those eyes of his told her he was thinking along similar lines.
By then, her evilness knew no bounds. She found herself imagining what it might be like to spend a whole night with him. They could go to his hotel, make love for hours on the white, white sheets of a huge hotel bed. She just knew it would be incredible.
And, of course, it was also impossible. First, she’d have to sneak off somewhere so Mitch wouldn’t know what she was up to when she called Tanner.
She’d head for the restroom again, probably. By the marble sink with its linen towels and graceful orchid, she would auto-dial her brother. She would tell him that she’d decided to spend the rest of the night behaving inappropriately with the new, improved version of her high-school sweetheart. Would Tanner mind staying over ’til morning?
Tanner would ask the million-dollar question: Had she told Mitch yet that he was a dad?
She would have to say no, she hadn’t. Not yet.
Oh, that would go over excellently. But just say, for argument’s sake, that after Tanner finished telling her how badly she was handling this, he agreed to stay over and watch DeDe for the night….
Then what?
She’d have a whole night with Mitch. She’d have her fantasy come true.
Too bad about the next morning. By then, she would have run out of chances to put off the moment of truth. She would end up telling him about DeDe in the harsh light of the morning after, before he headed for the airport to board a plane.
How could he see that as anything but a gross and hideous betrayal?
Uh-uh. The evening was drawing to a close. They would not be going to his hotel together. The beautiful, sexy, romantic time was ending here. The fantasy was over before it ever had a chance to really begin. She did accept that.
And she needed to tell him about DeDe now, before they left the restaurant. She knew that. She did.
But still, she said nothing.
He paid the check. She thanked him. They rose. He helped her with her coat and shrugged into his own. She felt his hand at the small of her back, a tiny gesture of care and consideration, one that echoed temptingly of possessiveness.
She wished he would keep his hand right there forever….
He guided her toward the door. She looked up at him and he smiled into her eyes and every atom in her body heated and bounced. A happy dance of the most elemental variety. She yearned for his kiss, for his hands on her bare flesh.
The host beamed and wished them a good evening. They nodded and thanked him. Mitch pushed the door open and they were out on the sidewalk in the cold night air.
It was quiet on the street, a weeknight in midtown. Another couple strolled by, arms wrapped around each other.
Mitch turned her to face him, at the same time as he pulled her a little closer to the building, into the shadows, out of the way of any more strolling pedestrians. He had both arms wrapped lightly around her and he gazed down at her and…
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said. His mouth descended.
She needed to tell him, before he kissed her.
But no. Once again, she surrendered to temptation. She lifted her mouth to welcome his kiss.
His kiss…
It was…everything she’d hoped for. It was her forbidden, lying fantasy fulfilled.
First, the touch—his mouth, her mouth. Nothing like it. She took his breath into her. It was as sweet as vanilla, rich as good coffee….
He deepened the contact. She sighed. Opened. Tasted him as he tasted her.
The same, she thought. The thrill, the wonder, the delicious yearning that rode the fine edge between pleasure and pain. Still the same…
His tongue swept in, teasing, caressing. He was the boy she had lived for and loved with all her yearning, hungry, lonely heart.
He was that boy. And more….
He
