Summer Escape with the Tycoon

“What about your family? How do you think they’ll take you leaving the firm?”

She shrugged, but her eyes grew troubled. “I don’t know. I want to believe they’ll want me to be happy. That they won’t see it as a betrayal. I know they love me. I think they’ve just never seen me for me, and like you, I’m partly to blame. I went along with what they wanted because I didn’t want to rock the boat. I was the child that lived, you see.” She took a drink of wine, put down her glass. “I can stand up to anyone in my job. But it’s different when it’s your daddy.”

He wouldn’t know, but he knew what she meant.

“Now,” he said, brightening his voice, “let’s leave the heavy topics behind for a better one. What’s for dessert?”

“Oh, after that meal, I really shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, you know the old saying. ‘A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.’” She rolled her eyes a bit, but he pinned her with his gaze.

“Molly Quinn. There is nothing wrong with your hips. Or any other part of your body, either. Trust me.”

She looked up, met his gaze and said blankly, “You’re only saying that because I’m wearing Spanx under my dress.”

“I am not. I’m pretty sure you weren’t wearing that when we were kayaking, or snorkeling, and let me tell you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

She paused, and seemed to go back and forth in her mind for a minute. And then she said, “Screw it. Let’s have dessert.”

He handed her the menu with a silent promise to himself that if he had the chance, tonight they’d work off any dessert calories and more.

Damn, he was going to miss her when this was over.

* * *

Molly savored every bite of dinner, and when her white-chocolate crème brûlée came, she was determined to enjoy it, too. She ordered a glass of ice wine to go with it, while Eric ordered a cognac and also some sort of flourless chocolate torte that looked divine.

“You can taste mine if I can taste yours,” he said, peering around the candles at her ramekin. “That looks incredible.”

Indeed it did. White-chocolate shavings sat prettily atop the torched crust of the dessert, along with a bright, fat raspberry. “Deal. But I get to break the crust.”

He grinned. “Of course.”

She pierced it with her spoon and scooped up the first bite. Taste exploded in her mouth—rich creamy custard and the white chocolate that somehow had a hint of vanilla in it. “Oh, my God. Go ahead. It’s incredible.”

He took a spoonful and she watched as he put the utensil to his lips. Lord, he was pretty. Maybe she should think handsome, but his face was so perfect, his eyes so heavily lashed. More than once tonight she’d seen him catch the attention of single women in the room. And yet he seemed completely unaware.

She was still trying to digest what he’d told her about his family tonight. To go from worrying about having enough to eat to being a billionaire—what a transformation. It took a strong, determined man to achieve what he had.

When he’d tasted, he offered her his plate. “Try it. It looks decadent.”

It was. The complete opposite from her white chocolate and custard, the torte was dense and dark and sinfully delicious.

“This was such a good idea,” she said and sighed.

“I don’t know why you think you shouldn’t eat dessert. There’s nothing wrong with your figure.”

“Well,

I’m not a size six like my mom. She’s worked diligently to keep it that way since college.”

“So what?” Eric took a bite of his torte, and also took a moment to enjoy it. When he opened his eyes he smiled at her. “Who needs you to be a size six? Who needs you to be anything other than who you are?”

She sat back. “You have to understand. Hearing you say that sounds so...foreign. Particularly when who I am is rarely good enough, or hinges on...”

She stopped, then met his gaze. “Hinges on me doing what my family thinks is right for me.”