want to repeat them.
When she’d refused Jen’s attempts to get her to go out, this was what she’d been avoiding. Intimacy. The powerful draw of the sensual.
No one’s ever done this to you, made you feel this way. The little voice in her head, referring to Gates and her reaction to him, was almost as frightening as losing control.
Whether it was the effect of the wine or the adrenaline, Gates was even more attractive, more sensual than he’d seemed before. Considering she’d had erotic dreams about him based just on his voice, that was saying something.
I gotta get some food before I do something stupid.
That was the first sensible thought she’d had in an hour, so she repeated a version of it out loud. “Seriously, you’re right. I think I’d better get something to eat, and soon.”
“That’s the plan,” Gates said as they pulled into an alleyway. “Here we are.”
Startled, Ana balked at getting out. “Why are we in the alley?”
Gates’s smile was charming and totally calm. “The front entrance is too exposed. Given that someone took a shot at me yesterday and you today, I’m feeling vulnerable.” He grimaced. “Yeah, I guess that’s a trigger word for me too. Anyway, we’ll be going in the side door. We can pretend we’re rock stars.”
Nonplussed, Ana looked at him. “Side door it is. Now, let’s go before I do something stupid like hug you and start crying again.”
“Wait? There’s hugging?” he said as they slid out into the dark. The driver held an umbrella over their heads. “Nobody told me there was going to be hugging,” he protested, laughing.
“It’s barely raining now,” she murmured, trying to ignore his teasing.
“Can’t shoot what you can’t see,” he whispered in her ear, his words as serious now as he’d been playful before. The driver opened the side door to the restaurant and ushered them in. A maitre d’ was waiting, all beaming smiles.
“Welcome, welcome, Mr. Bromley. And your lovely guest. Yes, yes, come this way,” he enthused. “I have your table all ready. Certainly,” he answered some unasked question. “Yes, and a nice bottle of white chilling. So, lovely lady, is there anything you don’t like to eat? Anything you cannot eat?”
The man paused with considerable drama at the end of the corridor, his hand on the door that presumably led to the restaurant itself. Distracted by thoughts of Gates, the ride to the restaurant, everything, including the maitre d’took her off guard. He was obviously waiting for her to answer, but she didn’t remember the question.
“Yes?”
“Food allergies? Anything you detest? Are you vegetarian, vegan?”
Whoa. Now that is service.
“I hate Brussels sprouts and pretty much any kind of beans,” she said, feeling slightly defensive about food issues when put on the spot. “I don’t eat veal.”
“Yes, yes, good. None of that tonight, so good. Anything else?”
“Not that I know of.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when he whisked through the door with a further wave of his hand. “This way, this way. Yes, yes, yes, it’s all ready. Very good. Welcome and all that. Now, here you are, sir,” he directed Gates to slide in one side of a booth in a darkened corner. There were other diners, but they were separated by high banquettes. Several other isolated tables like theirs were minimally visible through screening plants. Some were occupied; some were not. “And you on this side, Madame,” he directed, holding out an imperious hand for her briefcase. “Settle in now, be comfortable. I’ll put this right here.”
The maitre d’ bustled around, fluffing their napkins and dropping them artistically on each of their laps. “Your usual vintage, Mr. Bromley?”
“Please,” Gates said, and Ana could tell he was suppressing a smile. “My companion found it to be enjoyable, so we’ll continue with that.”
“Water too, please,” Ana added.
“But of course, Madame. Sparkling?”
“That’s fine, Mr. Prinz.” Gates was polite, but Prinz easily read the dismissal and with a brilliant smile, he trotted off to do their bidding. Gates turned to her. “So, no Brussels sprouts for you either?”
She made a face. “Nasty things. Bitter. Bleeech.”
“I know people who love them, but I agree with you. Bleeech.” He tapped the menu in front of her. “Nothing in here warrants that face or reaction, I can assure you. I’ve never had a bad meal here, and most of the ones I’ve had have been,” he paused, which made her look his way, “exquisite.”
Somehow, he was making that all about her and not about the food. That