open my mouth, not wanting to lie to this man, but not wanting him to know too much about me either, especially the fact that I’m a Harvard grad and a doctor. Just then the waiter returns with our drinks. He pours a small amount into Tate’s glass and he tastes it.
“Perfect,” he says, and the waiter fills our glasses. We put in our order and once he’s out of earshot, Tate leans toward me. “You never did tell me your last name.”
I hesitate for a second. “It’s just Summer.”
He leans back and nods, a flicker of a smile on his face. I expect him to call me on it, ask why I’m not giving up more information, but he doesn’t, and for that I’m grateful.
“What do you do, Summer?” He lazily waves his hand toward the view of the mountains. “Besides vacation in St. Moritz.”
I chuckle. “Right now I’m between jobs,” I say. Not a lie. I do run between the geriatric clinic and James’s mansion on Sixty-Fourth Street. Not to mention my own clinic that I’m trying to build. I look out the window. “This was all compliments of a friend.”
“A very generous friend.”
Averting Tate’s gaze, not wanting to flaunt the fact that I’m here living in luxury—and feeling guilty about it—I pick up my napkin and place it on my lap. “Very generous indeed.”
When I don’t elaborate, he lifts his glass, redirecting the conversation. I reach for my wine and we clink crystal.
“What are we toasting to?” I ask.
“Mistakes.”
I crinkle my nose. “Mistakes?”
He laughs. “Yeah, me groping you by mistake.”
“So, you admit to the groping?” He laughs harder and I arch a challenging brow. “I’m beginning to wonder if it was a mistake,” I say, fully aware I’m leading this conversation elsewhere.
His blue eyes deepen, little flecks of honey sparkling under the chandelier lights. “Believe me, Summer. If I was touching you on purpose, you’d know it,” he says, his voice full of promise and heat. My breath rushes as he stares, his eyes latched on mine, not letting me go.
The waiter returns to top our wine glasses, and Tate expels a breath, long and slow...tortured. A thrill goes through me, to know I can do this to him. I’m not being totally honest about who I am, but it’s the woman in me he wants, so it’s the woman in me he’s going to get. The bottom line is, I want this man, and dammit, before the night is through, I plan to have him.
A loud group of middle-aged men gets seated next to us, and I shift my chair a little closer to the window. The hostess hands them their menus, and when they start making inappropriate comments to her, every muscle in my body stiffens. My heart goes out to the girl who stands there quietly and smiles. Having been in her position, I know just how she feels. If she says something, puts a complaint in about their behavior, she’ll be out of a job before the night is over. Men like the ones beside me, ones with impressive pedigrees, well, they think they can get away with anything—and they usually can. I lift my eyes to find Tate watching me, his gaze narrowed, zeroed in on me.
“Summer.”
“Yes?”
“Would you excuse me for a minute?”
I nod. “Of course.”
Tate slides his chair back, and stands to his impressive height. “I’ll just be a moment.” He turns from me, and I expect him to disappear down the hall, to the little boy’s room. What he does instead surprises me.
I study the way his hair flirts with his collar as he bends down, puts his hands on the backs of two chairs and says something to the table of men, his voice low, for their ears only. A moment of silence, then he straightens and smooths his hand over his tie as he walks back to me. My jaw is practically on the table, as the men give their apologies to the girl, then go deathly silent. The hostess smiles after Tate, but his attention is back on me.
“Want to get out of here? Go somewhere a little quieter?” he asks.
“But we ordered.”
He smooths his hand over his tie again. “I’ll take care of it. What’s important right now is if you want to leave.”
I hesitate for a second, not wanting to ruin this date, but not wanting stay here a minute longer either. “Yes, please.”
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