Sage certainly wouldn’t be boring, she told herself. And if he tried to grope her, she might just let him. Oh, boy. Get a grip, she told herself silently. She was making too much of this. Sage wanted to talk about his late father. All she had to do was keep remembering that and she’d be fine. By talking to him, spending time with him, she could help him get the closure he no doubt needed.
This wasn’t about her and her fantasies. This was about a man, who in spite of his wealth and remarkable good looks, had lost a link to his past. With that thought firmly in mind, she let her sympathy for his loss rise up to drown her silly hormonal meltdown.
“You’re right,” she said, and reached out to take another sip of Jenna’s wine. Colleen hadn’t poured herself any because she hadn’t wanted to risk alcohol on a nearly empty stomach. But the crisp, sharp taste of the Sauvignon Blanc felt like bliss sliding down her too-tight throat. Then the cold, wheat-colored liquid hit her stomach and immediately soothed those pesky bats.
She took a breath, handed the glass back and checked her reflection one last time. “It’s just a meal with a grieving man.”
“Yep. Just dinner with the gorgeous, incredibly sexy, unattainable black sheep billionaire,” Jenna said with a grin. “No pressure.”
Oh, God.
The condo was small, even for a condo.
Sage gave it a quick once-over as he approached the front door. It was tidy, with its cream-colored paint and postage stamp–sized front garden, where spring bulbs were pushing up through the earth. There was a wreath of silk flowers hanging on her front door and when he pushed the doorbell, he wasn’t even surprised to hear a series of melodic chimes sounding out from somewhere inside.
What did surprise him was Colleen.
She opened the door and every scrap of air escaped from his lungs. She was wearing that red dress again. The one she’d worn the night of the rehearsal dinner. The night he’d really seen her for the first time. That damn dress was designed to bring a man to his knees. It molded her figure, defined her luscious breasts and skimmed across rounded hips that made a man think of long, dark nights and hot, steamy sex. Her dark blond hair tumbled over her shoulders and looked like raw honey. He caught the wink of gold earrings when she tossed her hair back and then his gaze dropped lower—to the expanse of smooth, pale flesh that ended in a spectacular display of the tops of her breasts. It was all he could do to lift his gaze to meet her eyes.
“You look beautiful,” he said before he could think better of it. Hell, he was always in control of any given situation, and at the moment, he felt like a teenager on his first date. Hard body and vacant mind.
She beamed at him as if he’d handed her flowers, and immediately he told himself he should have done just that. If he was trying to sway her into spilling her secrets, then he should use all the weapons he could bring to bear.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice just a little breathless. “Let me get my coat.”
She reached into a hall closet, pulled out a heavy black coat and slipped into it, covering herself up so thoroughly, Sage’s brain was able to kick back into gear.
She stepped onto the porch, locked her front door, then joined him with another smile. “Shall we go?”
And he knew at that moment, when her blue eyes were staring into his, that this night was not going to go according to plan.
At the restaurant, Sage was grateful for the clink of fine crystal and the murmured conversations that reminded him they were in a public place. Otherwise he might have been in trouble. She was damned distracting, sitting across from him.
“This is lovely,” she said, turning her head to look around the interior of Moscone’s Italian restaurant. It was filled with small round tables, covered in white linen and each boasting a single candle in the center. A sleek black-and-chrome bar stood along one wall and Italian arias played softly over the loudspeaker. The floors were tile, the waiters were all in white aprons and the scents filling the air were amazing. “I’ve never been here before.”
“Food’s good,” Sage mused. “But they’re going to have some serious competition when the Lassiter Grill opens up.” Damn. He could hardly get words past the knot of need in his throat. Sage took a sip of the wine the waiter had poured just moments before.
“It was really nice of you to bring me here,” she said, “but it wasn’t necessary. We could have talked at my house.”
But then she wouldn’t have worn the dress. Sage shifted uncomfortably on the black leather bench seat. He hadn’t expected to spend the night in agony, but apparently he was going to. And just by looking at her, he knew she had absolutely no idea what she was doing to him. He had to take back control of this situation or he was going to achieve nothing.
“What can you tell me?” he asked, blurting the question out to divert himself from the thoughts plaguing him.
“Anything you want to know.”
Like if you talked an old man into leaving you money? Did you steer him away from giving Angelica the company she loves? Did you wear that damn dress on purpose, knowing what it would do to me?
Couldn’t start with those questions, though...could he? His brain scrambled, coming up with a different way to begin.
“First tell me about you. How long have you been a nurse?” Good. Get her talking. Then later, once she’d relaxed her guard, he’d be able to slide the more important questions in.
She took a sip of wine and he watched, hypnotized by the movement in her throat as she swallowed. Not good.
“Eleven years,” she said, setting the goblet back onto the table and sliding her fingertips up and down the long, elegant stem.
Sage’s gaze fixed on to that motion, and his brain fogged over even as his body went rock hard. He had to force himself to pay attention when she continued to speak quietly.
“When my father got sick, it was such a blessing to be able to help my mom take care of him.” Old pain etched itself into her eyes briefly. “After he died, I realized that I was more interested in taking care of people one-on-one than in a hospital setting. I decided to become a private nurse. So I could make a real difference in the lives of families who were going through what we went through.”
Was she really as selfless and kind as she appeared? He wanted to spot deception, gamesmanship in her eyes, but those soft blue depths remained as clear and guileless as ever. Was she really that good an actress, he wondered. Or was she really an innocent?
No, he mentally assured himself. There were no innocents anymore. And a woman this staggeringly beautiful had no doubt learned before she was five just how to work a man.
Pleased that he’d managed to wrest control of his own urges, he asked, “How long ago did you lose your father?”
“Six years,” she said softly and her features once again twisted with sorrow.
“Then,” she added, “Mom and I both decided we needed a change, a chance to get away from
