He tilts his chin down and purses his lips, his eyes still rooted to mine.
“Fine,” I say, flicking my hand.
“I’d rather have this conversation somewhere else,” he says calmly, studying me.
“I’m not gonna throw a fit in the middle of the restaurant.”
He lowers his eyes, suppressing a smile.
“That’s not what I had in mind.”
“This place is as good as any, then.”
“Okay,” he finally concedes, bringing his glass to his mouth again.
I take in his hands, the masculine line of his jaw, and the sexy contour of his lips. He takes another swig of wine, and I stare blankly at his mouth while tasting my drink.
“Are you ready to order?” he asks.
“Yeah, sure.”
We place the order.
As the waiter pulls away from our table, I pop the first question.
“So, who is Crystal Sanders?”
A thought glints through his eyes before he moves his gaze away.
“You’ve done your research,” he finally says, raising his eyes to me again, mixed feelings flashing through them.
He hurts. I can tell. What I don’t know is whether the memory of that woman affects him.
Or is it me asking the question or this whole conversation?
“Yes I have, but I don’t have eyes in your bedroom. So who is she?”
He slides his elbows onto the table, and for a moment, he trains his eyes on his hands.
Sorrow courses through his eyes.
“She was a client.”
My heart sinks.
“What kind of client?”
He glances out of the window.
“The old kind.”
I lean back in the chair.
“She’s married.”
“Yeah, she is.”
He shifts his focus back inside and stares vacantly at me.