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She stole a quick glance. Of course he did. Look at him. God’s gift to womankind. He wore his hair in a ponytail, his clothes casual but trendy—a printed shirt and pre-washed jeans sporting a well-known label. California ranch wear, she decided, designed for the city cowboy. His rugged style appeared natural. He didn’t try to attract attention. He just did.
He caught her eye, and she looked down, studied her hands.
“Did you know that they don’t serve fortune cookies in China?”
She glanced up again, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “Why not?”
“They were invented in the U.S. They don’t exist in China.”
“Have you been there?”
“No. I read that on the Internet in a travel guide. I spend a lot of time online.”
Sarah took a deep breath, told herself she would get through this date. It helped not thinking of him as a world traveler. She had never even been on a plane. “I’m glad they serve them here. Fortune cookies are my favorite part of a Chinese meal.”
He smiled. “Me, too.”
When his smile faded, their eyes met. They sat in a small red booth, candlelight flickering between them. His face fascinated her, but she had already touched it, explored the ridges and angles, the masculine texture of his skin. She didn’t want to remember every detail, but looking at him made that impossible.
He lifted the teapot and offered her a refill. She shook her head. She hadn’t finished the first cup yet.
“Let’s choose a few extra entrées so we can share,” he said.
“All right.” She agreed even though the suggestion sounded oddly intimate. “I would prefer chicken and vegetables, though. I don’t eat red meat.”
He smiled at her, something he did often, she noticed.
“Me, neither,” he said, his voice as easy as his smile. “I guess that means we’re going to get along just fine.”
Yes, she thought, if she could just get over her nervousness, tame the unwelcome flutter in her stomach.
When the waiter arrived, they ordered a variety of dishes. Adam spoke a little Cantonese, enough to surprise Sarah and please the grinning waiter. Sarah wondered if Adam had learned the language on the Internet. He appeared to know a lot more than just the history of fortune cookies.
“Ancient cultures fascinate me,” he told her. “I had some training in traditional Chinese medicine. It’s an integral part of their philosophy and religion. Much like the Native American culture.” He lifted his tea. “I’ve been reading about the Cherokee.”
Sarah frowned. She didn’t want to discuss her heritage. And coming from Adam, the term Native American sounded almost glamorous. A far cry from her roots. She was just a simple Indian girl from Oklahoma.
“Where did you get your formal training?” she asked, hoping to steer clear of Cherokee subjects.
“First I attended a school of herbal studies in Northern California, then transferred to a university in London”
“London? You went to school in England?” Maybe he was more of a world traveler than she had originally thought. “Did you like living there?”
“Sure. It’s a beautiful country, and the University of Westminster was an excellent school.”
His casual response made her feel even more Indian, and she hated the feeling. Adam’s adoptive mother might have been Latino, but he’d been raised in a predominantly white world. Apparently his brown skin hadn’t hindered his experiences. “It sounds exciting, but expensive, too.”
“My dad was an accountant, one of those conservative guys who saved money for his son’s education. We weren’t rich, but I didn’t go without, either.”
His adoptive father must have been an honorable man, she thought with a twinge of admiration and a sting of envy. Sarah’s father hadn’t saved a dime. She had struggled to pay for her own schooling.
Their dinner arrived, and they ate in silence, his gaze catching hers between bites. Feeling shy, she glanced away. His mouth fascinated her. The way he moistened his lips before he lifted the fork.
He leaned toward her, and suddenly, foolishly, she wished the table wasn’t between them.
“Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Are you enjoying your meal?”
She nodded, even though her stomach was still alive with nerves, the flutter of feminine anxiety. “Yes. It’s quite good.”
He smiled, and she took a deep breath, recalling the warmth of his skin.
Night settled in the sky, scattering stars around a quarter moon. Adam and Sarah walked through the Chinatown courtyard, strolling in and out of boutiques. Adam loved the area. A few of the vendors knew him by name. He spent a lot of time in Chinatown, purchasing herbs and admiring the culture.
He turned to look at Sarah. As many times as he came here, he had never brought a date. Not until today.
She smiled a little shyly, and he considered holding her hand. Then reconsidered when she clutched her purse strap with the hand closest to his. There was no point in pushing too hard. If something developed between them, it would happen naturally.
“Have you been to Chinatown before?” he asked.
“Once, when I first moved here.”
“And when was that?”
“Six years ago. I was eighteen at the time.”
Adam nodded. He could almost see her, fresh out of high school—a little Oklahoma girl heading for the golden state. She was still little, he realized. Small and feminine in a way that made him yearn to protect her. But whether or not she would welcome protection, he couldn’t be sure. In spite of her petite frame, independence shone through. She didn’t have to tell him that she had ventured to California alone.
Independent yet vulnerable. Suddenly Adam was reminded of the stray cats that came to his door, the smooth, sleek creatures he couldn’t seem to resist. He gave them their space, but he fed them, too. And those scouting a cozy place to sleep inevitably found their way into his bed.
Adam looked at Sarah again, wondering if she would find her way into his bed. If she would nuzzle and purr, arch and stretch against him. A smooth, sleek creature he wouldn’t be able to resist.
Frowning, he shook his head. She wasn’t a lost kitten. And he was thinking with his libido, creating sexual scenarios on a first date. So much for not pushing too hard.
“What’s your favorite thing about California?” he asked, forcing himself to clear his mind.
She stopped to gaze at a window display. “That’s easy.” Turning toward him, she smiled. “The beaches. I love the sand and the surf. I like to go there at dusk, when it’s quiet.”
She sighed, and Adam pictured her at the beach on a windy day, dressed in an oversize sweater and jeans, her waist-length hair blowing in the breeze. “You collect shells, don’t you?”
She widened her eyes. “Yes. How did you know?”
Because he could see her walking along the shore, shells glinting in her hand like pieces of eight. She was, he decided, a woman who appreciated simple treasures. “A good guess, I suppose. Do you want to check out this shop?”
“Sure.”
They entered the boutique and scanned the crammed interior. It held a collection of goods, many of them jewelry and trinkets, shiny items meant to attract a woman’s eye. Sarah looked around, then wandered over to a small circular rack of clothing. Intrigued, Adam watched her.
She admired a satin dress, tilting her head as she stroked the shiny red fabric.
“It’s pretty,” Adam said, noting the traditional mandarin collar and intricate embroidered design.
“Yes.” Her voice held a note of feminine awe.
The proprietor, a tiny Chinese woman offering a friendly smile, walked over to them. She was old, Adam thought, ancient and charming. She patted Sarah’s shoulder with a gnarled hand.
“You try on,” she said, her accent making her English choppy.
Sarah turned, hugged the garment in a startled reaction. “Oh, no. Thank you, though.”
“We have a private fitting room.” The woman pointed to a corner where an ornate brass rod housed a silky green drape.
“I’m just browsing.” Sarah replaced the dress, giving it one last glance.
The old woman said, “Okay,” then headed toward the front counter.
Perplexed, Adam studied his date. She had looked at the garment with longing, yet refused to indulge herself. Sarah Cloud was a mystery, a dark-eyed princess who wore plain clothes and collected seashells at dusk. He didn’t know how to pursue her, wasn’t sure if he should try. She confused as much as fascinated him.
“Why didn’t you try the dress on?” he asked.
She crossed her arms in what seemed like a protective, if not slightly defiant gesture. “It’s too fancy.”
“I think it’s perfect.”
“Not for me.”
Did everyone see her beauty but her? he wondered. Most beautiful women in L.A. were used to attention, yet Sarah didn’t appear to notice an appreciative eye. Of course she wasn’t from California, he reminded himself. And that alone appealed to him. Since he’d lost his parents, the City of Angels and everything it represented no longer felt right. But in spite of his European education, it was all he knew.
Sarah had asked him about England, and he had tried to respond as casually as possible. His parents had died while he was in London. He had come home to bury them, then returned to finish his studies, knowing his career was all he had left. But that hadn’t been something he could discuss over dinner, not on a first date, not when he’d wanted to keep the evening light. And there was nothing light about the death of his parents—the caring, supportive family that had lied to him. It hurt so badly, sometimes he couldn’t breathe.
Adam looked at Sarah and noticed her arms were still crossed. She was tense, but suddenly so was he. “Let’s buy something,” he said, hoping to ease the tension. “You pick out a souvenir for me, and I’ll choose one for you.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” And he intended to con her into the red dress. “Come on.” He led her to the other side of the store. “Find something you think I’d like.”
Baffled, Sarah wandered through the tiny boutique. She didn’t know what to choose for Adam. She wasn’t an experienced shopper. And the only items she collected came from the sea. She didn’t buy shells; she lifted them from the sand, even broken and chipped ones.
He smiled at her, and her stomach unleashed a flurry of wings. Beautiful butterflies, she decided. It wasn’t nerves this time. It was the flutter of attraction.
Curious about his upbringing, she wanted to ask him about his mother and why he was determined to replace her with the woman who had given him up. But she decided now wasn’t the time for that sort of conversation.
Maybe she was curious about Adam’s mother because she missed her own. Sarah didn’t have anything to remember her mother by, no outdated dresses, no feminine little keepsakes. Her father had burned everything. But that had been part of their culture, the old Cherokee way. A path she no longer followed.
Sarah looked up at Adam. He watched her. Closely. Maybe too closely. Before he could ask what she had been thinking about, she returned to the business at hand. She still had to find him a souvenir.
Scanning the shelves, she caught sight of a teapot. But not just any teapot. This one was adorned with a hand-painted dragon. The serpent’s body shimmered with gold, and its eyes were set with shiny red stones. Yes, she thought, a powerful creature spun from legend. A man like Adam would slay this beast, assume the role of the protective knight, the fairy-tale prince.
She lifted it, turned it in her hand. The serpent’s eyes shined back at her. The detail was exquisite. The dragon seemed alive, ready to breathe a burst of iridescent flames. She could almost feel the heat. The scorch of fire.
“This,” she said. “Do you like it?”
Adam blinked. “It’s a teapot, Sarah.”
“It has a dragon on it,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but it’s still a teapot.”
She stifled a smile. He looked as if she had just squelched his masculinity. “You drink tea, so what’s wrong with a teapot?”
“Nothing, I guess. It’s just not what I figured you’d choose.”
She touched the serpent. “I think he’s dangerous.” Like the way Adam made her feel. Suddenly she was caught up in the moment, in the fairy tale she had created in her mind.
Adam studied the teapot, and the winged flutter erupted in her stomach again. And when he took a small step toward her, the motion intensified.
“Okay. I’ll take the dragon,” he said. “But I want you to try on that dress.”
Her heartbeat jumped. “Why?”
“Because I want to see you in it.”
“It won’t look right on me,” she said, feeling suddenly foolish. “I’m not a red satin kind of girl.” She wore mostly pastels, simple skirts and blouses constructed of washable fabrics. Never red. And never satin.
“You’ll never know until you try it on.”
Was he challenging her? Baiting her? Either way, she knew she had to prove him wrong. Sarah considered herself a practical woman. She had no use for such a luxurious garment. It wouldn’t fit her looks or her lifestyle.
“Fine. I’ll try it on.” She turned and headed toward the clothing rack, knowing Adam followed. Retrieving the dress, she darted into the fitting room without glancing back.
She closed the curtain, removed her wedged sandals and unbuttoned her blouse. Slipping off her skirt, she eyed the dress. It looked much too bright next to her mint green ensemble. The dress zipped in back, so she peeled it open and stepped into the opening. The moment the fabric touched her skin, she shivered. It felt cool. Slick. Almost wet.
Fighting those sensations, she forced herself to continue. She couldn’t reach the zipper to close it all the way, nor could she attach the tiny hooks that fastened behind the collar. She fumbled with them, then gave up and studied herself.
The woman in the mirror startled her. Nothing about the image seemed familiar. Her waist-length hair spilled over red satin, like onyx melting over rubies—jewels from the fairy tale she had created. Tilting her head, she ran her hands over her body. Even with the zipper partially undone, the dress molded to her curves.
Decadent. Sensual.
Wrong, she told herself, suddenly nervous. This wasn’t her.
With a pounding heart, she fastened her sandals and emerged from the fitting room. She would prove to Adam the dress wasn’t right. She would…
…slam into his gaze and lose her breath.
He stood tall and handsome, watching her, his stare bewitching. The knight. The fairy-tale prince. The dragon slayer.
