Kane didn’t want to move, now that he was this close to her. She had every opportunity to move away from him, but all she was doing was staring at him, her cheeks still flushed, still looking mortified. Just to show how trustworthy he was, Kane moved so he was no longer touching her and leaned back on his hands, one of which still held Cabo’s leash. The cold grass was beginning to prickle at his bare legs.
They sat quietly for a moment. She seemed to wrestle internally with something. Cabo got bored and lay down on Kane’s other side. Then she burst out, “Mr. Fielding, I hope my—what I said the other day—didn’t reflect on the hotel.” And before he could reply, she added, “I’m not usually—I mean ever—that... tactless.”
He noticed that she didn’t apologize for what she’d said; she just regretted saying it out loud. But he said, “Ellen, I think we’ve moved beyond last names. I’m sure Emily Post has something about what to call the guy your dog just attacked.”
“He’s not my dog,” she said irrelevantly. “I’m watching him for a friend.”
“Okay, a dog. And you may be surprised to know that I can keep my business and my... overactive social life completely separate.” She put a hand up to cover her flushed cheek, then moved it again to unzip her coat. She was obviously getting hot and bothered around him, but was it in a good or a bad way?
Those blue eyes looked even bluer against the red of her scarf. And he could see that her pupils were definitely dilated.
You don’t have time for this.
Just look at her.
She isn’t your usual diversion.
I just want her to... to trust me.
Don’t do it. You don’t have time. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing.
“See, the problem is,” he said, surprising himself even as he said it, “I’ve been trying not to think about you all weekend.” That made her take in a fast breath. “And failing,” he added.
Was it his imagination, or did she give a tiny, answering nod? Her eyes were dilated, her lips full. They were only a couple of feet apart; she smelled of flowers. He bet if he buried his face in her hair, it would smell incredible.
“Ellen,” he said, and she closed her eyes and opened them again. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
“There’s no point,” she said, almost desperately.
“No point in good conversation? In a good meal with a beautiful woman?”
She squirmed under the compliment. “No point, when I cannot be a part of the life you lead.”
“Have dinner with me, and I’ll tell you about the life I lead. And you can tell me about your life. That’s how it works.” She was already shaking her head. “Besides, I prefer being judged after people have spent time with me.”
Now she put both hands to her cheeks. “Oh, I did do that, didn’t I?” she said, her eyes wide in dismay. He waited. “But I’m leaving. The country. In four months.”
“All the better. No pressure, no strings. It’s just dinner, Ellen. You’ll survive.”
She closed her eyes again. “All right, then.”
It wasn’t the resounding “yay” he was looking for, but he’d take it. “Where?”
“Do you know Carpenter’s?”
It was a very good steak restaurant on Boylston, with sports on five different TVs in the bar. Not what he would have imagined for her. “Sure. I’ll pick you up, what, seven-thirty?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll meet you there. Seven-thirty.”
She really didn’t trust him at all. “If that makes you feel—” he nearly said “safer” but changed it—“better.”
She put her hood back up and squinted at him from its fur lining. Fear, desire, mistrust, longing. He’d never wanted to get to know a woman more.
Ellen stood up; Kane and Cabo followed suit. “’Bye, Cabo,” Kane said to the dog, who was already pulling her away from him. “Seven-thirty,” he called to her, taking in her wide blue eyes and her blond hair escaping from the hood and spilling onto the red scarf.
