So Many Men...

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“It’s all wonderful as far as I can see. Great food and service. Nice atmosphere.”

“What else could you ask for in a restaurant?”

“Nothing. It’s perfect.”

Warmth filled him. Her approval pleased him more than he wanted to admit. “Exactly.”

“Except…”

“What?” He stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. “You just said it was perfect.”

Her gaze pinned him. “Define ‘best customer.’”

He stared at her, frowning. “What do you mean? I’m a regular customer. I’m friendly and appreciative. I take care of the staff.”

“Define ‘regular.’”

What was she getting at? “Regular. I dine here often.”

“How often?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

She shrugged. “I have this feeling about you, Mason.”

Something told him this wasn’t the kind of feeling he was going to like. “What kind of feeling?”

Her lips pursed. “You like the tried and true.”

“That’s right.”

“You like being where you’re known and where you know people.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“You like knowing what to expect and what’s expected of you.”

He raised his hands in appeal. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Ever feel like you’re in a rut?”

“No.” A rut? Who was in a rut?

“You don’t ever find yourself doing the same thing over and over again?”

“I like a routine. What’s wrong with that?”

“Define ‘routine.’”

“Come on, Tess, what are you driving at?” He swallowed. How could the woman badger him and still look so damn tempting?

“I don’t know you well enough to make any judgments, but there’s a fine line between a routine and a rut.”

“Well, I am not in a rut. I eat here three, maybe four times a week, because I like it for all the reasons we’ve already stated. That does not mean I’m in a rut. I’m happy with my life. People in ruts are not happy with their lives.” He took a sip of his wine to calm himself.

The woman had a way of riling him.

“No need to get all defensive. You do agree that a little change is healthy, right?”

He stiffened. “Change is part of life. I accept that. I can roll with the punches as well as the next guy.”

“But change can be a good thing. It isn’t always about rolling with the punches. Sometimes it’s about going with the flow. Ever do that? Jump in a raft and let the current take you?”

“Some of us don’t have the time or inclination to just drift about.”

“You should try it sometime.” She ran her finger along the edge of her wineglass. “Imagine the two of us, drifting along together with the sun warming us, a nice breeze caressing our skin.” Her gaze met his, the blue of her eyes as enticing as ever. “No phones or pagers. Just all the time in the world to enjoy each other.”

His mouth ran dry as she took a long swallow of wine. Visions of her floating along in the water wearing nothing but sunshine filled his head. “Well, honey, when you put it that way, it does have a certain appeal.”

“Of course it does. You know I’d take really good care of you.”

“I have no doubt you would.”

Her smile—filled with promise for the night to come—sent heat rippling through him. He smiled back at her, ignoring all the warning bells going off in his head. He could enjoy a night with her and not get tied up in a relationship.

As far as he could tell, Tess didn’t have relationships. She had affairs, which were by nature temporary. “I suppose drifting might not be a bad thing as long as one knew in advance that it would be a short trip.”

“The point of drifting is that you land where and when you land, with no predetermined time frame. But since it’s new to you, I’d say a short bout—a testing of the waters—would be in order.”

He raised his glass, letting his gaze fall briefly to the swell of her breasts. “To a testing of the waters.”

She clinked her glass to his. “May it be all we’ve dreamed and more.” She held his gaze while they both drank deeply.

Notes from the piano shifted into a livelier tune. Tess took another bite of her food, while he continued sipping his wine. The murmur of voices filled the space around them, but their booth remained a private refuge amid the bustle of the restaurant.

“So, tell me about your family. Parents, siblings?” she asked.

“I have a few uncles.” He set down his glass and picked up his fork, clenching it in his fist.

“Uncles?”

“Yes, uncles. That’s it. No parents. No siblings.”

She blinked. “Oh, Mason, I’m so sorry.”

When she reached for his hand, he pulled back. This one with her questions. She’d probably keep asking until he told her. “The quick of it is that my mother split when I was a kid and my father drank himself to death shortly after. I was passed from uncle to uncle until I could make it on my own. End of story. End of discussion. So how about you?”

She sat straighter, but seemed to take his brusque explanation in stride, nodding almost as if she’d expected as much. “Let’s see, I have a mother who’s usually off traveling somewhere, two sisters, both of whom I lived with until one moved out recently. I’m pretty sure the other one is still there, though I don’t see much of her these days. I also have an aunt, my mother’s sister, who’s around most of the time and who keeps us all sane. And we have a family friend who’s more like a father to us than anything, though he’s not a blood relation.”

“Sounds like quite a crew.” He set down his fork and pushed away his plate. In spite of himself, envy ate at him. Her tone was warm as she spoke of her family.

He mentally shook himself. No use wishing for something he wasn’t meant to have. He had his uncles. They were family enough.

“What are your uncles like?”

“They’re okay.” He shrugged. “Stout Republicans, doctors mostly, old school. My favorite is Uncle Gabe. He’s my mother’s brother. I lived with him the longest. I don’t really have anything to do with them these days, though.” He glanced at his watch. “We should get going if we don’t want to be late.”

“Late?”

He smiled, again on stable ground. “Yes, my dear, the theater awaits us.”

MUSIC SWELLED IN THE darkened theater. The audience sat seemingly entranced as the actors moved across the stage at the Coconut Grove Playhouse. Tess stretched and glanced surreptitiously at her watch.

How much longer could this play last?

Not that she wasn’t enjoying it. As far as plays went, this one wasn’t bad. She was just finding sitting still for such a long time a bit challenging. Mason appeared to be into the drama and his pleasure was always nice to feel.

It made her think of a different kind of pleasure, though, and she was itching to get the man alone. He, however, seemed in no hurry to leave. It was disconcerting to have him so oblivious to her.

Did he not realize what a true hunk he was?

She shifted in her seat. A man of convention. Good God, what if he didn’t believe in kissing on the first date?

He glanced at her and smiled, his attention diverted from the play long enough to squeeze her hand and let his gaze drift over her. She’d chosen this dress with seduction in mind and he hadn’t been unaffected by it throughout the evening. His focus lingered over her breasts, her cleavage exposed just enough to tantalize.

She leaned toward him, so her leg pressed into his. She lowered her hand to her thigh and slipped from his grasp, so his hand rested on her, warming her through the thin fabric of her dress. His fingers flexed over her and desire buzzed around them.

Smiling, she slid her hand up his chest and raised her face to him. His gaze fastened on her mouth. He cupped her cheek, then leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “Don’t be a tease, Tess. I promise to kiss you later.”

“Later?” Sighing, she rubbed her cheek against his, her lips a breath from his. “Why not now?”

He groaned softly and frustration sounded in his voice. “This isn’t the proper place or time.”

“Who wants to be proper? It’s dark and no one’s paying any attention to us.”

She skimmed her mouth along his jaw, then brushed his lips with hers. He stilled for a long moment as heat spiraled out from him. She absorbed his desire, darting her tongue along his full bottom lip.

He pulled away, his muscles rigid. “Not here.”

She pressed her hand over his, where he gripped her thigh. If he thought she’d give up so easily when he obviously wanted her, he was sorely mistaken. The man was way too into this repression and she could sense the toll it had already taken. Before all was through, she’d show him the wonders of embracing his desires.

Slowly, his hand relaxed as he made a pretense of watching the play. She stroked his long fingers until the tension in him lessened. She shifted, so his hand slipped farther up her leg. Pausing, she drank in his heightened awareness, almost feeling the thudding of his heart. His fingers flexed again, then tightened. She prepared for him to pull away, but instead, he made an exploratory circle with his thumb.

Taking a deep breath, she savored the moment where he hovered on the verge of giving in, but the action on the stage picked up and the audience burst into a round of spontaneous applause. Mason clapped along with them, leaving the impression of his hand burning on her thigh.