drawing out the word in a blood-pounding way as sea green eyes washed all over her.
Carrie laid down her menu and gripped the table edge to get her bearings. “Nope. Nobody famous, if you must know. Just your regular old girl from Virginia. Hope that doesn’t disappoint too much.”
Uh, uh. Carrie St. John had done nothing to disappointment him yet, and she wasn’t going to start now. Her eyes were fanning wide, half playful half daring. The deepest chocolate brown, even darker by candlelight than they’d appeared in the light of day. And everything about her seemed to be drawing Mike closer. Even as he willed himself to remain stoic in his chair.
But instead of staying put, Mike found himself reaching across the table. Wrapping her satiny shoulders in his trembling grip, leaning his mouth in toward hers as the moonlight and the table and the milling voices of others all melted away.
Carrie titled her chin in expectation, but didn’t break away. Rather than pause she seemed susceptible to the same raging pull that had engulfed Mike’s senses. Her eyes lingered tantalizingly on his own -- beckoning, promising. She let out a little gasp, lightly moistening her lips.
“Ready to order?” the maître d’ inquired, jackknifing the air between them.
“Not on your life,” Mike said, slamming down his napkin.
****
Chapter Six
“Excuse me,” Carrie said, abruptly pushing back her chair. “I’m going to powder my nose.”
Thank God, Carrie could hear herself thinking. Thank God, thank God, thank God! If that maître d’ hadn’t interrupted just in the nick of time, who knows what would have happened?
Carrie knew exactly.
She pushed her way into the ladies room and made a beeline for the faucet, where she ran the water cold.
Get a grip, Carrie, she warned herself sternly, dousing some paper towels and dabbing them at her neckline and brow. Water streamed from her neck to cleavage, reminding her of the effect Mike Davis had inspired at the pool. What was it with this man and water! Every time Carrie thought of him...
Carrie looked up into the mirror and found her face a heated rash.
And this was supposed to make things all better? Getting tangled up with someone new when her heart hadn’t even had half a chance to heal was going to somehow alleviate the ache in her life?
Carrie shook her head at the woman in the mirror. Plain old girl from Virginia was right. To look at her now, no one would ever suspect her worldly sophistication. They’d liken her, in fact, to some high school hayseed, fallen right off the turnip truck.
Mike sat at the table dumbfounded. This had to be the longest nose-powdering in history, he thought, staring down at his and Carrie’s lukewarm entrees.
She’d agreed to let him place the orders, but then had bolted like a minnow in the path of a Man-o-ray.
Mike wracked his brain for something -- anything -- he could have done wrong, but all he came up with was that “almost” kiss. Now, if he had kissed her and botched it miserably, he would have understood her wanting to take flight. But he hadn’t even gotten his chance. And, no matter what excuses she planned to offer to the contrary -- and Mike was quite certain that’s what she was doing at the moment, concocting excuses -- there’d been that unmistakable look in her eye that said she’d wanted him to take it.
Mike had been with plenty of women, enough of them to know when one wanted kissing and wanted it badly. Was it really possible all his years of training could fail him now?
Mike stood from the table, thinking he should go check on her. As far as he knew, Carrie didn’t own a black Jaguar to escape in, but Mike supposed it was possible that Carrie could decide to run out on him just as Alexia had.
Mike was just rounding the corner where trellised vines climbed heavenward when he ran smack into Carrie.
“I was just coming to check on you,” he said, when she halted in
Carrie laid down her menu and gripped the table edge to get her bearings. “Nope. Nobody famous, if you must know. Just your regular old girl from Virginia. Hope that doesn’t disappoint too much.”
Uh, uh. Carrie St. John had done nothing to disappointment him yet, and she wasn’t going to start now. Her eyes were fanning wide, half playful half daring. The deepest chocolate brown, even darker by candlelight than they’d appeared in the light of day. And everything about her seemed to be drawing Mike closer. Even as he willed himself to remain stoic in his chair.
But instead of staying put, Mike found himself reaching across the table. Wrapping her satiny shoulders in his trembling grip, leaning his mouth in toward hers as the moonlight and the table and the milling voices of others all melted away.
Carrie titled her chin in expectation, but didn’t break away. Rather than pause she seemed susceptible to the same raging pull that had engulfed Mike’s senses. Her eyes lingered tantalizingly on his own -- beckoning, promising. She let out a little gasp, lightly moistening her lips.
“Ready to order?” the maître d’ inquired, jackknifing the air between them.
“Not on your life,” Mike said, slamming down his napkin.
****
Chapter Six
“Excuse me,” Carrie said, abruptly pushing back her chair. “I’m going to powder my nose.”
Thank God, Carrie could hear herself thinking. Thank God, thank God, thank God! If that maître d’ hadn’t interrupted just in the nick of time, who knows what would have happened?
Carrie knew exactly.
She pushed her way into the ladies room and made a beeline for the faucet, where she ran the water cold.
Get a grip, Carrie, she warned herself sternly, dousing some paper towels and dabbing them at her neckline and brow. Water streamed from her neck to cleavage, reminding her of the effect Mike Davis had inspired at the pool. What was it with this man and water! Every time Carrie thought of him...
Carrie looked up into the mirror and found her face a heated rash.
And this was supposed to make things all better? Getting tangled up with someone new when her heart hadn’t even had half a chance to heal was going to somehow alleviate the ache in her life?
Carrie shook her head at the woman in the mirror. Plain old girl from Virginia was right. To look at her now, no one would ever suspect her worldly sophistication. They’d liken her, in fact, to some high school hayseed, fallen right off the turnip truck.
Mike sat at the table dumbfounded. This had to be the longest nose-powdering in history, he thought, staring down at his and Carrie’s lukewarm entrees.
She’d agreed to let him place the orders, but then had bolted like a minnow in the path of a Man-o-ray.
Mike wracked his brain for something -- anything -- he could have done wrong, but all he came up with was that “almost” kiss. Now, if he had kissed her and botched it miserably, he would have understood her wanting to take flight. But he hadn’t even gotten his chance. And, no matter what excuses she planned to offer to the contrary -- and Mike was quite certain that’s what she was doing at the moment, concocting excuses -- there’d been that unmistakable look in her eye that said she’d wanted him to take it.
Mike had been with plenty of women, enough of them to know when one wanted kissing and wanted it badly. Was it really possible all his years of training could fail him now?
Mike stood from the table, thinking he should go check on her. As far as he knew, Carrie didn’t own a black Jaguar to escape in, but Mike supposed it was possible that Carrie could decide to run out on him just as Alexia had.
Mike was just rounding the corner where trellised vines climbed heavenward when he ran smack into Carrie.
“I was just coming to check on you,” he said, when she halted in
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