party but his height and athletic build were fixed in her memory. If anything, he looked even more attractive in daylight. He stood up as she climbed the steps into the arbor. His eyes, which had shone amber under artificial light, now glinted with gold flecks around the iris. In narrow-cut jeans, a pale blue T-shirt with random French phrases scribbled across the front and bare feet thrust into leather sandals, he looked more like a university student than a successful surgeon. She immediately felt overdressed in her businesslike taupe pants and short black cardigan with a lacy white camisole.
He stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, Emma.”
With an assurance she was far from feeling, she touched her palm to his, but before she could step away and sit down at the wooden table strewn with papers, his grip tightened and he pulled her closer.
“Nate, what are you doing? This isn’t a good idea.” She was aware of how unconvincing the words sounded.
He gestured with his free hand. “You can’t tell me you felt more romantic in a boardroom setting than in a rose garden?”
“I didn’t feel romantic at all. That was the vodka talking.”
His warm gaze met hers. “Only the vodka?”
Alarmed at how tempting his mouth looked, she held still with an effort. “You know it was.”
And she should have known enough to stay away from him. She felt her resistance slipping even now as he slid his hand down to the small of her back. His touch was light. She could have broken the contact with the slightest move. So why didn’t she? “I came here to discuss catering arrangements for your party, not for…this.”
“You’re right,” he said, moving away with every sign of reluctance. “I’ve been thinking about that night. Seeing you here now made me want to find out if what I remembered about our encounter was real.”
“The encounter wasn’t real, at least not in the way you mean,” she assured him, sitting down at the table. “And it won’t happen again.”
His expression was devilish as he sat opposite her. “Are you sure it won’t? I’m not.”
The thought that she disturbed his equilibrium gave her a moment of satisfaction before she squelched it. “We should get down to business?”
“Coward,” he murmured so softly she couldn’t be sure she’d heard him. The ring tone of a cell phone cut off any retort she might have made. The Chipmunks’ “Witch Doctor,” she noticed. So the man had a sense of humor.
He shot her an apologetic look as he flipped the phone open and glanced at the number. “The hospital,” he said to her. “Hale speaking.”
An all too familiar sensation crept over her. The hospital. How many of her family’s activities had been interrupted by those same words? When she was a child, the reasons her parents had to take the calls had been explained to her over and over again. The clear message she’d received was that patients were more important than she was.
Whether it was a school play, a sporting event, a graduation, or simply a time when she needed their support, her parents would promise to get there as soon as they could. Medical duties came first. Often they wouldn’t get to her event at all, or she’d solve the problem by herself. The upside was she’d developed a healthy self-reliance. The downside was a reluctance to depend on other people, or expect them to be there for her.
But all this was in the past. Replaying her grievances because Nate had answered a call from the hospital didn’t change anything. She heard him give a string of instructions concerning a patient’s treatment, sounding so self-assured that she imagined the person at the other end standing at attention. Her father and mother sounded exactly the same.
He ended the call and placed the phone on the table. “I hope you gave your brother hell for spiking your drink.”
“You bet I did.” Todd had admitted he’d drunk too much himself, falling over himself to apologize. She’d never seen her brother so upset. “I don’t think he’ll do anything that idiotic again.” Emma hoped she could say the same for herself.
Nate nodded. “Would you like some iced tea?”
A carafe and glasses sat on a tray on a little table and he poured a glass for her. Ice tinkled in a tube in the center of the carafe, chilling the drink without diluting it. “Unusual flavor,” she said after taking a sip.
“Pomegranate, from a tree growing in the garden.”
Pleasure rippled through her. Her grandmother also grew the fruit, and had included some recipes in one of her cookbooks. Emma would have to look them up.
She opened her net book and swiveled the screen toward him. “As I told you on the phone, my business isn’t fully up to speed yet, but I’ve put together a selection of menus that might—”
His phone rang again and he held up a hand to silence her as he took the call. This time he didn’t need to say it was the hospital. He listened intently then unleashed a string of commands. “Do you need me there?” he asked.
If anything was guaranteed to kill her interest in him, leaving her sitting while he took off would do the trick. Once upon a time she’d let herself be guilt-tripped into feeling selfish for putting her needs ahead of someone in crisis, until she realized that there would always be another crisis, and not even the most highly qualified doctor was indispensable. There was always someone to help, whereas she had only one family. The problem was convincing her parents that she had as much right to their time as their patients did.
He put the phone down again. “Coming from a medical family, you’d be used to interruptions,” he said.
“Yes, I am.”
The coldness she couldn’t keep out of her voice made him raise an eyebrow, but he didn’t respond. Instead he scrolled through the document she’d sat up late last night preparing for him. “Impressive,” he said. “The combinations are nicely balanced. Tarte Tatin is one of my favorites. Making it with figs and leeks is an interesting variation.”
She heard what he didn’t say. “But?”
“These options are a bit ordinary.”
Pride made her bristle but she kept herself in check. “Not everyone appreciates the unusual when it comes to food.”
“My guests will. A group of us belong to a private gourmet club that travels the country for new and interesting eating experiences.”
“What kind of experiences?” she asked. Her mother might have mentioned he and his friends were gourmands.
His eyes brightened. “There’s a tiny place in Rosebud on the Mornington Peninsula in Victoria. Only holds twenty people, and everything they serve comes from their own produce or is sourced locally. We flew down there one Sunday, spent a day with the owners, picking ingredients from their kitchen garden, helping with preparation and eating one of the best meals of my life. Another time, we traveled to the outback to eat crocodile meat beside a river infested with them.”
“Hardly a relaxing venue,” she said, wondering how often he’d been interrupted by work calls there.
He leaned forward. “That’s the point. Knowing
