"Nick," she said before her courage could desert her. "I'm in the mood to celebrate. If you know a good place for sandwiches and a cold drink, I'll buy you lunch."
He hesitated for an unbearable moment, then a smile dawned across his tanned features. "That's the best offer I've had all day."
Rather than give her directions, Nick drove the car. A few blocks away he turned off Jefferson and pulled into a parking lot behind what looked like a narrow, renovated three-story brick house. The sign above the back door, made of dark wood with gold letters etched deeply into it, said simply, Tony's. Inside, the house had been converted into a dimly lit, charming restaurant, with dark oaken floors, tables polished to a glossy shine and copper pots and pans hanging artistically on the rough brick walls. Sunlight illuminated the stained glass windows, and red-and-white checked tablecloths added to the warmth and charm.
A waiter stationed near the door greeted Nick with a polite, "Good morning," then showed them to the only unoccupied table in the entire place. As Nick pulled out her chair, Lauren glanced around at the other customers. She was one of the few women present, but there was certainly a mixed variety of men. Most of them were wearing suits and ties, while three others, including Nick, wore slacks with open-collared sports shirts.
An older waiter appeared at their table, greeted Nick with an affectionate pat on the shoulder, a cheery, "Good to see you again, my friend," and began to hand them huge, leather-bound menus. "We'll have the special, Tony," Nick said, and at Lauren's quizzical look, he added, "The specialty is French-dip sandwiches—is that all right with you?"
Since she had offered to buy his lunch, Lauren thought he was asking her permission to order something that cost more than a regular sandwich. "Please have whatever you like," she insisted graciously. "We're celebrating my new job, and I can afford anything on the menu."
"How do you think you're going to like living in Detroit ?" he asked when Tony, who was apparently the owner, had left. "It's bound to be a big change for a small-town girl from
Missouri
."
A small-town girl? Lauren was puzzled. That wasn't the impression she normally conveyed to people. "Actually, we lived in a suburb of Chicago until my mother died, when I was twelve. After that my father and I moved to Fenster,
Missouri
—the town where he grew up. He took a job teaching in the same school he'd attended as a boy. So you see , I'm not completely a 'small-town girl' after all."
Nick's expression didn't change. "Were you an only child?"
"Yes, but my father remarried when I was thirteen. Along with a stepmother, I also acquired a stepsister two years older than me, and a stepbrother one year older."
He must have caught the note of distaste in her voice when she mentioned her stepbrother because he said, "I thought all little girls liked the idea of having a big brother. Didn't you?"
An irrepressible smile lit Lauren's vivid face. "Oh, I liked the idea of having a big brother. Unfortunately, I didn't like Lenny at the time. We detested each other on sight. He teased me unmercifully, yanked my braids and stole money from my bedroom. I retaliated by telling everyone in town that he was gay—which no one believed because he turned out to be an absolute lecher!"
Nick chuckled, and Lauren noticed that when he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners. In contrast to the warm golden tan of his face, his eyes were a light metallic silver. Beneath his straight dark brows and thick spiky lashes, they glinted with humor and keen intelligence, while his firm lips promised excitingly aggressive male sensuality. Lauren felt the same delicious stirring of her senses that she had experienced the night before and cautiously lowered her gaze to the tanned column of his throat.
"What about your stepsister?" Nick asked. "What was she like?"
"Gorgeous. All she had to do was stroll down the street and
He hesitated for an unbearable moment, then a smile dawned across his tanned features. "That's the best offer I've had all day."
Rather than give her directions, Nick drove the car. A few blocks away he turned off Jefferson and pulled into a parking lot behind what looked like a narrow, renovated three-story brick house. The sign above the back door, made of dark wood with gold letters etched deeply into it, said simply, Tony's. Inside, the house had been converted into a dimly lit, charming restaurant, with dark oaken floors, tables polished to a glossy shine and copper pots and pans hanging artistically on the rough brick walls. Sunlight illuminated the stained glass windows, and red-and-white checked tablecloths added to the warmth and charm.
A waiter stationed near the door greeted Nick with a polite, "Good morning," then showed them to the only unoccupied table in the entire place. As Nick pulled out her chair, Lauren glanced around at the other customers. She was one of the few women present, but there was certainly a mixed variety of men. Most of them were wearing suits and ties, while three others, including Nick, wore slacks with open-collared sports shirts.
An older waiter appeared at their table, greeted Nick with an affectionate pat on the shoulder, a cheery, "Good to see you again, my friend," and began to hand them huge, leather-bound menus. "We'll have the special, Tony," Nick said, and at Lauren's quizzical look, he added, "The specialty is French-dip sandwiches—is that all right with you?"
Since she had offered to buy his lunch, Lauren thought he was asking her permission to order something that cost more than a regular sandwich. "Please have whatever you like," she insisted graciously. "We're celebrating my new job, and I can afford anything on the menu."
"How do you think you're going to like living in Detroit ?" he asked when Tony, who was apparently the owner, had left. "It's bound to be a big change for a small-town girl from
Missouri
."
A small-town girl? Lauren was puzzled. That wasn't the impression she normally conveyed to people. "Actually, we lived in a suburb of Chicago until my mother died, when I was twelve. After that my father and I moved to Fenster,
Missouri
—the town where he grew up. He took a job teaching in the same school he'd attended as a boy. So you see , I'm not completely a 'small-town girl' after all."
Nick's expression didn't change. "Were you an only child?"
"Yes, but my father remarried when I was thirteen. Along with a stepmother, I also acquired a stepsister two years older than me, and a stepbrother one year older."
He must have caught the note of distaste in her voice when she mentioned her stepbrother because he said, "I thought all little girls liked the idea of having a big brother. Didn't you?"
An irrepressible smile lit Lauren's vivid face. "Oh, I liked the idea of having a big brother. Unfortunately, I didn't like Lenny at the time. We detested each other on sight. He teased me unmercifully, yanked my braids and stole money from my bedroom. I retaliated by telling everyone in town that he was gay—which no one believed because he turned out to be an absolute lecher!"
Nick chuckled, and Lauren noticed that when he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners. In contrast to the warm golden tan of his face, his eyes were a light metallic silver. Beneath his straight dark brows and thick spiky lashes, they glinted with humor and keen intelligence, while his firm lips promised excitingly aggressive male sensuality. Lauren felt the same delicious stirring of her senses that she had experienced the night before and cautiously lowered her gaze to the tanned column of his throat.
"What about your stepsister?" Nick asked. "What was she like?"
"Gorgeous. All she had to do was stroll down the street and
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