No More Lonely Nights by Nicole McGehee Page B

her side and held the door open. He politely extended his hand to assist her.
    Dominique reached for his hand. Even before they touched, she felt the vibration, like an electric current. It sizzled through her. It was impossible that he did not feel it, too. She stood and found herself just inches away from him—almost in his arms. His scent teased her. A mixture of sandalwood cologne, leather, and soap.
    Suddenly, two images flashed in quick succession in her mind, like slides on a projector screen. She saw Stephen’s wife, then Lieutenant Smythe. Both tall, blond, cool beauties. She compared them with herself: diminutive and unquestionably Gallic. Her heart sank. He wouldn’t be interested in her. She wasn’t his type at all.
    She spoke automatically—words she didn’t even hear. “Thank you for the ride.” With a halfhearted smile, she turned and started to move away.
    Then she heard his voice. Not loud at all. “Dominique…” Like a caress. “Wait, please.”
    She spun around to face him, her eyes alight. “Yes?”
    He stepped toward her. “Would you”—he paused, as if debating whether to go on. “Would you have dinner with me this evening?”
    Dominique’s pulse thudded in her ears. “Yes,” she answered. She didn’t even think about fetching a wrap from her apartment. She was afraid he would change his mind in the interim. She just got back into the car. She wondered, only briefly, what he would do about Lieutenant Smythe.
    They went to the Majestic, a convivial downtown brasserie. As they entered the etched glass doors, they were hit with a wave of sound. The restaurant was crowded with French and British military, and the roar of conversation echoed off the wood floor and high ceiling. Tables were closely packed, but there were dark red velvet booths separated from each other by panels of etched glass.
    As soon as they were seated in one of the semicircular banquettes, Stephen ordered a bottle of light, dry Sancerre for them to sip. Then he excused himself. Dominique guessed he was telephoning Lieutenant Smythe.
    When he returned, he slid into the booth, leaving a discreet amount of space between them. He looked at Dominique and smiled conspiratorially, his eyes silver in the light from the brass chandeliers overhead. He wore a look of exhilaration that made Dominique’s pulse race. What had he told Lieutenant Smythe?
    Dominique didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Stephen turned the conversation to her. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you from the first time we met,” he said, still smiling.
    The room was so noisy that Dominique had to ask him to repeat himself. Stephen edged closer and spoke more loudly. “You said you came here to escape your mother?”
    He remembered? A thrilling sort of tension made Dominique’s heart pound faster. She leaned forward and raised her voice over the din. “Mostly that. Yes.”
    Stephen cupped his ear and edged closer until they were side by side. “Surely, she didn’t finance such a move for you?” he said, now able to speak in a normal tone.
    Dominique took a sip of wine to calm herself. She was reeling at the fact that she was actually having dinner with Stephen. She could feel the warmth of his leg, though it was not quite touching hers. It made it difficult to focus on their conversation. The last subject she’d expected Stephen to bring up was her mother. “No, you can be sure Mother’s not helping me,” she said with a crooked smile. “I’ve saved some money from birthdays and the like. And, luckily, I found a job immediately.”
    “Your air force salary can’t possibly afford you the lifestyle you’re used to.”
    Dominique shrugged. “I take the shuttle to work. I share my apartment with two other girls. And…” She was going to say that she dined out most nights, courtesy of the British Air Force. Then she thought better of it. She continued on another tack. “And I have enough clothes to last me a long