he replied. “That’s a plausible hypothesis. Do you have any proof of it?”
“There are no lights in that pool, hence no underwater video. I’ve checked the security cameras for last night, but the crowd is so dense around the pool I can’t make out anyone who might have dumped anything in the water.”
“So your theory will have to remain just that. A theory.”
“A scary theory that you and my bosses would do well to take seriously,” she retorted.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry,” he murmured.
“I’m not angry. Just worried.”
“Fair enough. If you’re worried, I’m worried,” he responded gallantly.
“Really?”
He met her gaze squarely. “Yes. Really. Even if I don’t know you that well, yet, I do know Gunnar Torsten. And anyone he trains is someone to take seriously.”
They waited in silence as the first course of their meal was served, hors d’oeuvres of wild mushrooms stuffed with crab, escargot and truffle paté.
He silently took pleasure in watching the orgasmic expressions crossing Rebel’s face with each new flavor she encountered. She was a great deal more expressive than she likely thought she was. But then, a man like him was adept at catching every nuance of facial and body language, too.
Eventually, he leaned forward. “I did get one interesting piece of intel from my people this afternoon.”
She looked up expectantly from her potato-leek soup, abruptly all business, food forgotten. He sent a silent mental apology to the chef.
“I’ll share it with you, but on one condition,” he murmured.
“What’s that?”
He stood up, went around the table and held out his hand to her. “Dance with me.”
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