“Relax.”
“I am relaxed!”
“You’re pale and you’re going to make that little lip bleed.”
“Let’s get you relaxed,” she countered, plunging her hands into his delicious blond hair, leaving it tousled as he pulled open the glass door of the small, upscale French restaurant.The moment Toni stepped inside, she eased her hold on her lower lip and tried for an appearance of elegance and relaxation. She’d chosen a simple black cocktail dress with a high neckline for the evening, her hair done in a loose twist at her nape. A sleek gold necklace hung around her neck, falling down to her navel.
Grey spoke to the maître d’ in a hushed tone, and the woman blushed. “Why, yes.Yes. Of course! Mr. Richards.” She fumbled for the menus. “Your table is ready, if you’d both follow me.”
In the willowy redhead’s wake, he guided her toward their usual booth at the far end. Lovely jazz music drifted in the background, the space graced with sleek, dark wood tables and edgy, colorful Warhol pieces. The booths against the walls were upholstered in chocolate-colored suede with striking white stitching.
As she walked through the scattered tables, some boasting sleek, tall arrangements of pussy willow shoots, her legs felt so stiff she marveled that she did not stumble on her heels.
They reached the dark corner booth, and she quietly commended herself when Heath rose to greet them and she did not gasp. He was as overwhelming as she remembered. Swarthier. More beautiful. God. He should be locked somewhere. In a bedroom. With her and Grey.
With enviable calm and self-assurance, Grey urged her forward. “I’d feel extremely ridiculous if I had to introduce you two.”
Her cheeks burned as she stretched her hand out.
“We’ve met,” Heath said, his voice masculine and deep as he shook her tentative hand. His grip was firm, his palm dry and rough, sending prickles of awareness up her arm.
She’d thought, many times throughout the day, that this dinner would serve a purpose.That she would realize that no, Heath Solis wasn’t some god of the underworld intent on eating her heart.
It wasn’t working.
Her heart felt like someone had taken a bite out of it, and it cost an inhuman effort to tug her hand free and slide into the booth. Her stomach muscles contracted as the men greeted each other. Grey wore a loosely buttoned black dress shirt that highlighted the blond streaks in his hair; Heath, blue jeans and a black crewneck that molded around his shoulders. They were so stunning, so blatantly male.
Any moment now, she expected the heads in the restaurant would swivel their way and people would wonder what she—five feet four, not very bosomy, and not blond—was doing with the two of them.
She took the menu the waiter handed her and studiously eyed each of the offerings as though she’d never read them before. On her right, Grey scrutinized the thick, velvet-covered wine menu. On her left, Heath was scrutinizing her.
“I’m thinking red wine?” Grey remarked. “An Hermitage?”
“I’ll have white,” she quickly said. She’d have a bottle, thank you.This was so awkward.
“White. Excellent. Would Les Chaillets—”
“I love it. And a bottle will do nicely.”
His eyes sparkled as he gazed at her, and the corner of his lips lifted in amusement before he returned to the menu.
She risked a glance at Heath, and his attention was on her hair. His eyes slid along the gathered strands in slow, thorough inspection, then down to linger on her nape.
When he pulled his gaze back up, his eyes positively smoldered. “What did you do to your hair?” he asked. Thickly. Like a lover would murmur in the dark.
“I’m . . . nothing. It’s just tied back.”
“The oysters here are excellent, Heath.”
“Oysters.” Heath reclined in his seat. He did not stop staring at her. All of her. As though he were thinking of dinner and she was it. “I might have those.”
“The lobster is good, too.”
Your woman is good.
Heath didn’t say it, but she felt the words buzz through his mind. Buzz through her body. His eyes weren’t black, she now noticed, but a brown so dark you could barely make out his pupils.
“Toni? You’re having your usual?”