Bought Greek's Bride

“Allow me to reveal my plans in sequence.”

She should have guessed he had an agenda of some sort. It was so like him. It was one of the more disconcerting ways he reminded her of her father. She didn’t dislike it exactly, but it worried her a little. Were his agendas as coldly determined as her father’s?

“By all means, I wouldn’t think of attempting to divert your schedule.”

He took a sip of wine, his dark eyes filled with mock menace. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Maybe, a little. Spontaneity is not your thing.”

“You know me well.”

“As well as can be expected after dating three months.”

“Well enough.” There was meaning behind his words, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

“Aren’t you going to have any of the shrimp?” she asked.

“I suppose, but the real pleasure comes from watching you eat them.”

She had just taken a bite and her eyes closed in bliss.Divine. “To each their own.”

He laughed. “I assure you, I am very happy with my own appetizer.”

They were sharing the shrimp and he wasn’t eating any, so it took her a second to understand his meaning. When she did, her eyes flew open. He was looking at her with a distinctly predatory light in eyes that had grown dangerously dark.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid pulse that was making her light-headed. Oh, my. When this man went for it, he held nothing back. She could not wait for later. Tonight, he would not leave her with a good-night kiss that made her toes curl and her body feel hollow with wanting. Not with that look in his eyes.

The appetizer was followed by butternut squash soup. She’d never had it at this particular restaurant before. “The chef must be trying something new.”

“At my request.”

“Youdid preorder the meal.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Tonight is special, I want every aspect to be right.”

“Special?”

“Yes.”

“I like the sound of that.” She smiled and took a bite of the soup he’d had one of the most temperamental chefs in Boston make just for her. “It’s delicious.”

“I would expect no less.”

“I’m surprised you talked the chef into trying something new for your benefit alone.”

“Money speaks most languages.”

“Even that of a temperamental chef?”

“As you see.” He indicated their twin bowls of the golden-orange soup. “But he did not make the soup formy benefit.”

“No?”

“No. He made it for yours.”

“At your request.”

“Yes.”

“Because tonight is special.”

“Very.”

She didn’t know what else she would have said because at that moment, two things happened that derailed any thoughts of talking on her part. The first was that a trio of violinists took up residence in a spot near them that had on the last occasion they’d eaten there held a table of other diners. The musicians began to play a piece she had always found emotionally evocative and soothing at the same time.

The second occurrence was that she was presented with two dozen long-stemmed red roses by the maître d’. She took them and inhaled the scent of the perfect blooms. The heady fragrance bathed her senses.

She looked at Sandor. “They’re beautiful.”

“You are so certain they are from me?”

She laughed, her voice surprisingly husky. “Of course.”

But she picked up the card to read anyway. It was small and white and read, “Sandor.” Nothing else. He’d signed it himself, however. She recognized the black slashing writing.

“Thank you,” she said, her face still buried in the roses. For some reason, she needed to hide there for a moment.

This was definitely more romance than she’d expected from him for the advent of the physical side of their relationship and it made her wonder if he had feelings for her she had not detected. The prospect sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering through her insides.

“It is my pleasure.”

The maître d’took the flowers, returning moments later with them in a gorgeous crystal vase that he set at the side of their table.

She snuck peeks at them throughout the soup course, her mind spinning with what all this meant. Hope swirling through her along with a desire she gave herself permission to feel fully. Tonight, she would not go to sleep wishing for the moon, or Sandor’s caresses. She was sure of it.