"Wine. " A confident woman, she thought, could afford to be just a bit reckless. Night was sliding in. She sat beside him, letting her fingers dance through his hair before she reached for a berry. "I had no idea . . . " Deliberately, watching him, she ran her tongue over the berry, then nipped in.
"That you were interested in Renaissance art. "
Some circuit in his brain seemed to cross wires. He could almost hear it fizzle. "What?"
"Renaissance art. " She dipped her finger into the cream, licked it off. "The book in your living room. "
"The . . . oh. " He managed to tear his gaze away from her mouth. "Yes. It's a fascinating period. "
She waited until he'd coated a berry with cream, then leaned over playfully and took a bite of it.
"Mmm," she purred and slid her tongue over her top lip. "Do you prefer Tintoretto's depiction of the Annunciation, or Erte's?"
Another circuit snapped. "Both are brilliant. "
"Oh, absolutely. Except, of course, Erte was a sculptor, Art Deco, and born centuries after the Renaissance. "
"I assumed you were referring to Giovanni Erte, an obscure and impoverished Renaissance artist who died tragically of scurvy. He was very unappreciated. "
The laugh rolled out of her and tightened every muscle in his stomach. "Oh, that Erte. I stand corrected. "
This time she nipped his bottom lip instead of a berry. "You're awfully cute, aren't you?"
"I paid through the nose for that book. I imagine Lulu's still cackling about it. " He let her feed him a berry. "I went in to buy some music and came out with fifty pounds of books. "
"I like the music. " She lay back across the white cloth, her head on an emerald-green pillow. "It relaxes me. Makes me think about floating in a warm river in a shady wood. Mmm. My head's full of wine. "
She stretched, lazily so the thin fabric of her dress slithered over her curves. "I don't suppose I'll be able to drive your sexy car tonight after all. "
She waited for him to tell her she could drive it in the morning, to ask her to come inside, to stay with
him. And when he lay beside her, traced a fingertip down her throat, over the rise of her breasts, she smiled.
"We can take a walk, let the sea air clear your head a bit. " He caught the flicker of surprise on her face just before he lowered his mouth to hers.
He nibbled, nipped, let his hands roam. He felt her yield, the softening of her body, the quickening of her pulse. To torment them both, he trailed his fingers along her leg, skimming them under her dress to the warm, silky skin of her thigh, circling the witch mark.
"Unless . . . " He slid a finger under the edge of her panties at the hip. Closed his teeth, lightly, lightly, over her breast through the soft cotton of her dress. "You're not in the mood for a walk. "
She felt more than reckless now, and arched her hips in invitation. "No, a walk isn't what I'm in the mood for. "
"Then . . . " He bit, just a little harder. "I'll drive. "
And when he rose, held out a hand, she gaped at him. "Drive?"
"Drive you home. " Seeing her in speechless shock was, he thought, nearly as satisfying as . . . No, not even close to as satisfying, he admitted. But it was precisely the reaction he'd hoped for. He pulled her to her feet, then bent down to pick up her file and her flowers. "Don't want to forget these. "
She recalculated on the drive home. He assumed, correctly, she thought, that she wouldn't stay with him at the cottage. And he'd decided, also correctly, that in order to complete the seduction, he would need to maneuver her into her own bed.
And that, Mia thought as she leaned back to watch the stars, was exactly where she wanted him. Since he'd gone to so much trouble, and it had been sweet of him, she would let him . . . persuade her. Once they'd had sex, her mind and her body would be back on an even keel. When they pulled up at her house, she felt fully in control of the situation. "It was a lovely evening. Absolutely lovely. " The look she sent him was as warm as her voice as he walked with her to the door.
"Thanks again for the flowers. "
"You're welcome. "
At the door, with her wind chimes singing, and the lamplight glowing against the windows, he ran his hands up her arms, down again. "Come out with me again. I'll rent a boat, and we can spend a lazy day on the water. Swim. "
"Maybe. "
He cupped her face in his hands, tangled them in her hair as he kissed her. Going deeper when she made a quiet sound of pleasure.
When she pressed invitingly against him, he reached behind her, opened the
door.
"Better go in," he murmured against her mouth.
"Yes. Better. " Nearly dizzy with need, she stepped into the house, and turning, caressed his cheek. He thought she looked like a siren.
"I'll call you. " With a hand that he considered admirably steady, he pulled the door closed between them.
They had, he thought as he walked to the car, just had their first official date in eleven years. And it had been a doozy.