But now their mother was gone. At twenty-six, Eric was successfully established with Bingham Enterprises, blissfully engaged to the woman he adored, and expecting a child he would love with all his heart. Cecilia was thirty-seven and still recovering financially from the daunting medical bills she had hidden from her brother. Her social life was pretty much nonexistent, and having her own child was a dream that seemed farther out of reach with each passing month.
“What’s wrong?”
She glanced up from the food she had suddenly lost interest in to find Geoff watching her from across the table, his clear hazel eyes entirely too perceptive. She felt as if he could read her thoughts in her own brown eyes, and even though she knew that was foolish, she glanced quickly away, pretending to concentrate on her meal again. “Nothing’s wrong. Why?”
“You stopped smiling.”
She smiled again and tried to make it look completely natural. “No serious talk tonight. I won’t allow it. Tell me about Milan—and make me see it in my mind.”
Proving himself to be as skilled with words as he was with a smile, he entertained her for the next twenty minutes with stories of his travels. His descriptions were so clever it was almost as if she could see the classic architecture, almost smell the spices and flowers, almost hear the music and voices, almost taste the exotic air. Maybe she would never have a chance to visit Milan for herself, but she would leave this restaurant feeling as if she had been treated to a brief glimpse of the faraway city.
Within minutes her smile was entirely genuine again. And all because of Geoff.
Funny how Geoff had fantasized earlier about spending the evening alone with his guitar. Instead, he found himself doing everything he could think of to delay his return to his empty rooms.
“Are you sure you don’t want dessert?” he asked when they could spend no more time toying with their empty plates.
Still wearing the soft smile his word-pictures had evoked, Cecilia shook her head. “I couldn’t eat another bite. But feel free to order something for yourself.”
He had no interest in dessert, either. As delectable as the pies here were, they couldn’t draw his interest away from the woman across the table from him.
It seemed he was in the mood for spicy rather than sweet this evening.
Somewhat reluctantly he paid the tab and escorted her out of the dining room. The strains of music drifting from the downstairs lounge gave him an idea for prolonging the evening. “The band sounds good tonight. Unless you’re in a hurry to get home, why don’t we have a drink and listen for a little while?”
She barely hesitated before agreeing. “That sounds like fun.”
Immensely pleased with himself, he led her in. Melinda’s lounge was a popular weekend date destination, and both the dance floor and the numerous cozy tables were almost full. Geoff thought it was another example of how magical this evening had been so far that a particularly nice table opened up just as they entered.
An efficient waitress took their orders almost as soon as they sat down. Cecilia asked for white wine, and Geoff requested the same.
The band—a group of talented local thirtysomethings—played a mix of adult contemporary and country pop numbers, the most popular genres for the usual crowd here. Geoff tapped his foot in time with a lively rendition of “Boot Scoot Boogie.” Energetic dancers two-stepped and line danced on the polished wood floor.
Geoff could two-step with the best of them, but he was rather hoping a nice, slow number would be next. The thought of holding Cecilia Mendoza in his arms was enough to make his foot tap faster.
She seemed to be enjoying watching the dancers. An amused smile flitted across her lips as she focused on one rhythmically challenged couple in matching turquoise western shirts and ill-fitting jeans.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to watch her without her noticing, he admired the way the flickering candlelight and colored dance floor lights gleamed in her dark hair. Wispy tendrils had escaped her upsweep to sway against her cheeks and flirt with the tops of her shoulders. He would like to see her hair down. Even more, he would like to see it spread across his pillow.
She chose that moment, of course, to glance his way, making him hope his thoughts were well concealed. “The band is good, aren’t they?”
“Very good,” he agreed, though he hadn’t heard a note since he’d started gazing at her.
She leaned a bit closer to him so he could hear her over the music and surrounding conversations. Though he could hear her perfectly well when she made another comment about
the music, he scooted his own chair a bit closer to hers when he replied.
She lifted an eyebrow when his knee brushed hers. “You aren’t getting fresh, are you, Mr. Bingham?”
He grinned and ran a fingertip slowly down her smooth bare arm. “I was sort of thinking about it.”
“Well, let me know when you decide.”
“Are you telling me it’s okay if I do get fresh?”
She gave him a smile that heated his blood to a low simmer. “I suppose you’ll just have to try it and see.”
Obligingly enough, the band slipped into a slow number, the country arrangement of “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing.” As of that moment, it was Geoff’s new favorite song.