“No big thing.” His eyes met hers. “I like something different every now and then.”
“Eggplant lasagna,” Tanner said, “and pasta carbonara. And how about sharing an antipasto?”
Chay looked at Tanner. “What?”
“I said, we know what we’re having. Eggplant lasagna for my veggie bride, the carbonara for me. How about you?”
Dammit, Chay thought. How about him, indeed?
Why had he said that to Bianca? That thing about wanting to try something different every now and then? It was a come-on line. She’d known it—he’d seen her eyes widen, the color sweep into her face when he’d spoken—and the last thing he was interested in was coming on to Bianca Bellini Wilde. All he’d wanted to do was order a wine she’d like by way of apologizing for having been such an asshole in the parking lot at the LZ.
And in the LZ itself.
He’d been rude.
Okay. He’d been deliberately unkind.
Truth was, no way would he have abandoned her in that lot, let her take a taxi even if he’d remembered the name of the restaurant they were now in. She was a walking, talking bundle of attitude, and she got under his skin every time, but he wasn’t a man who’d ever treat a woman badly…
“Hey,” Tanner said, “I know it’s a huge decision, but what are two going to have for dinner?”
Chay looked at Bianca. From the expression on her face, she hadn’t paid the menu any more attention than he had.
She shook her head. “I haven’t…I’m not really very hungry.”
“Cioppino,” Chay said, because it was the first thing he thought of. “For both of us.”
That brought things back to normal. She sat up straighter and fixed him with what he was starting to think of as That Look.
“Lieutenant,” she said briskly, “I am perfectly capable of choosing my own meal.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then choose it.”
“A steak. Small. No more than seven ounces. Done rare. Not raw. Pink, not red…” She looked around the table. Alessandra and Tanner were dutifully staring at their menus. Chay was staring at her.
Glowering was more like it.
She considered slapping him with her menu.
No! Never. Why would she even think of doing something so out of control? She smiled, though it wasn’t easy to do, and closed her menu.
“On second thought,” she said pleasantly, I’ll have the tagliata with parmesan.”
The Akechetas seemed to let out their breath.
Chay nodded. “Sliced steak. With cheese shaved over it.”
“Good idea?” she said, smiling with all her teeth.
“Great idea,” he said, smiling with all his.
And in the flurry of handing over their menus, and then the arrival of the wine and the drinks, the conversation eased into more normal channels, giving Chay the chance to glance at his watch and figure how much more time he’d have to spend before he could say good-night, hunt up Maguire and Sanchez, find some women men could understand, and take them to bed where life could be reduced to basics. Hot sex. Mindless pleasure, and never mind how badly he’d handled things with the brunette a couple of hours ago. He was back from deployment, his mood was in the toilet, and a night with a woman who knew how to please a man would change it, not a night spent sparring with the prickly, pluperfect, pain in the ass Bianca Bellini Wilde who knew nothing about pleasing a man.
And never would.
• • •
The wine was excellent. The antipasto they’d eventually settled on was good. And if the food wasn’t four-star, what in life was?