Hideaway by Rochelle Alers Page B

glares from the other people who were resigned to wait up to half an hour before they were seated while Martin tightened his hold on her waist as he smiled and nodded like a politician as the crowd parted for him. They were seated in a booth in a corner which afforded them maximum privacy, and given menus.
    She scanned the menu quickly. “Do they serve baby food?”
    The small candle on the middle of the table highlighted the gold undertones in Martin’s brown skin as he smiled at her, and once again Parris found it hard to believe his masculine beauty.
    His black hair was pulled off his high intelligent forehead and secured at the nape of his neck. He had exchanged his business attire for a collarless linen shirt in a small-checkered tan and white print and tobacco-brown linen slacks and brown loafers. She hadn’t decided whether she liked him better in a business suit or in his casual attire.
    Reaching across the table, he held her hands firmly. “Don’t worry, Parris. I’ll make certain you won’t have to chew anything.”
    Parris spent the next two hours thoroughly enjoying Martin’s charming company and the most delicious New England clam chowder she had ever tasted, mashed potatoes with just a hint of grated romano cheese and a creamy lemon sorbet that was so tartit tingled her palate with each spoonful. Martin had given the waitress explicit instructions that everything they prepared for her would have to be strained and pureed until it was smooth and free of lumps.
    He enjoyed his own lobster bisque, grilled salmon and sweet cole slaw while watching Parris as she tentatively spooned small amounts of food into her mouth.
    Seeing her under the glow of the candlelight he noted things about her face he had missed before. Her hair wasn’t black, but a dark brown with reddish highlights, the corners of her eyes tilted slightly upward and her earrings were tiny balls of gold in her pierced lobes. So fragile, so beautiful and so sensual, he mused, leaning back on his seat.
    His dark eyes widened in astonishment as she reached for his wineglass, took a, sip, then handed it back to him with a smile.
    “Would you like a glass?”
    “Yes, please.”
    She didn’t know what made her agree to share a glass of wine with him. She hadn’t lied when she told Martin that she didn’t drink very much. She had seen too many of her friends in college drink until they passed out. Their hangovers were always worse. The nauseating smell of undigested food and souring alcohol in the dormitory bathrooms turned her off alcohol where she could count the occasions when she would accept a drink.
    She drank the single glass of white wine and felt its effects immediately. Her body was loose and relaxed, reminiscent of what she had felt earlier when Martin kissed her. She wanted him to kiss her now; she wanted him to do more than kiss her.
    She wanted him to make love to her!
    Closing her eyes, she pressed back against the leather seat. She wanted the man who had given her back her life. The man who had permitted her a second chance to live out her life the way it had been deemed from a higher power.
    She wanted the man who made her feel safe and protected.
    She wanted the man sitting across from her, and she wantedthe man she knew she had come to love in the three weeks she had lived in his house.
    She wanted Martin Diaz Cole.
    Martin watched Parris’s lids lower until her lashes swept the curve of her cheekbones. It was apparent she wasn’t much of a drinker. He signaled for the check and left a generous tip for the waitress and guided Parris out of the restaurant to the parking lot.
    “I don’t drink much,” Parris slurred as he settled her onto her seat and adjusted the seat belt over her chest.
    “I know, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.
    He was smiling as he took his own seat and started up the car. Her confession that she didn’t drink revealed a lot about Parris Simmons. She was a talented interior decorator who