Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,46
Wesley promised solemnly. “And do you know how?”
Sloan stared at him skeptically. “Somehow with water, I assume.”
“You got it!” Wes grinned. “Come on, let’s find it.”
Laughing happily in the comfort of her husband’s arm, Sloan ambled along the street with him. She was in for her first surprise when Wesley stopped a passerby and asked what she assumed were directions in what sounded like perfect French.
“It’s on a side street off the Grand Place,” Wes explained, without blinking an eye after he had been answered. “Follow, my love, and I shan’t lead you astray.”
“You never told me you spoke French,” Sloan said reproachfully.
“You never asked.”
Sloan smiled. “I guess we’ll make surprising discoveries every day.”
“Ummm...” Wes stared down at her, and for a fraction of a minute she thought she caught that strange coldness in his eyes again. Then it was gone, and he hugged her to him. “Discoveries are amazing, love. In fact, my darling, you never fail to amaze and surprise me...”
After a few wrong turns, they came upon the “famous” Kissing Fountain, and like teenaged lovers they fell into one another’s arms with uproarious laughter. Privately owned, the fountain was a tiny thing, composed of a chubby little girl and an equally chubby little boy, gilded beautifully in Brussels gold. As the water pressure rose from the ground, the pair turned to one another and “kissed,” then swiveled again in their elegant garden with pretty pursed lips—to spout a misting flood of water upon any audience.
“This is a ‘must see,’ huh?” Sloan demanded, giggling as she wiped water from her cheeks. “I’ll bet it’s not listed in the majority of the tourist manuals!”
“Hey! What do you want?” Wes retorted good-naturedly. “Some world traveler you make! I told you, this is one of the things one does in Brussels!” His arm tightened around her waist, and he pulled her closely to him. “But now that we’ve done it...” His voice was low and husky. “Now we’ll go for that French meal and head for our romantic room...”
The restaurant Wes chose was right on the Grand Place, and they were quickly ushered to a discreet table which still allowed for a marvelous view of the quaint glittering buildings. The daytime light was muted to mellow the room and necessitate the use of a single, mood-setting candle at each table. Garlands of roses highlighted the intricately carved, heavy wood furnishings and contrasted with the velvety black booths. Sloan sank into the comfort of the booth gratefully and relished in the delight of Wes’s hard body against hers. She acquiesced with a pretty grin when he suggested he order for them both and gave herself completely to the elegantly romantic mood surrounding them. It was so nice! So easy to rest against the sure shoulder beside her and put herself into the hands of the man she loved with no doubts or second thoughts.
“Well, darling”—Wesley turned to her and raised his glass when they had been served a delicious, dry white wine—“to that ring upon your finger.” In the candlelight, he had a decidedly rakish expression, like that of a pirate, smiling with secret triumph as he gloated over his gold. It was odd that the wavering shadows of the candle could cause such an effect; Wes appeared almost scary but, Sloan thought as a warm shiver of anticipation bubbled in her veins, oh, so sexy!
“To us!” she corrected, raising her glass to tip to his. “That gold thing on your finger is a wedding band, too.”
“Ummm...” But Wes’s mind wasn’t on his own finger or the gold band that adorned it. He was watching Sloan with his pirate expression, his eyes now as brilliant as the gilded buildings outside. With his left hand he held his wineglass; with his right hand he stroked her cheek in a feathery light caress. His thumb rubbed her lips with a tantalizing combination of roughness and care, persisting until she smiled and returned the sensual taunt by grazing her teeth over the thumb. “Ummmm...” Wesley repeated, “And I ordered escargot. You, my love, are all the appetizer, entree, and dessert I think I really require at the moment—”
“I thought you were starving,” Sloan interrupted.
“Oh, I am,” Wes retorted, brushing her lips with a kiss. But the arrival of their escargots—aromatic with subtle seasonings and dripping in a delicious butter sauce—curtailed any explanation of just what he was starving for.
The escargots were followed by an untouchable onion soup baked with a blend of cheeses and toasted