She looked away, out at the river. “Make me feel that—never mind.” She turned back. “Will you need a disguise for the bridge climb tonight?”

His fork went down on his plate, the knife joined it. He steepled his hands. “Am I not supposed to notice you changing the subject?”

“No.” She put some of the crab in her mouth to stop herself laughing, and he waited without moving. “Most people want to talk about themselves. I’m not one of them,” she said.

Yes. She deflected attention expertly. “You figured I’d want to talk about myself.”

“I didn’t figure anything. Certainly not on being here with you.” She wagged her fork at him. “Frankly, of the two of us, you’re the interesting one.” Then came an eye-roll that he was meant to catch.

“Not to me.”

Another fork wag. “I have never worn a disguise in my life.”

“That doesn’t make me interesting.” He took a bite of the daikon. It was a tasty root vegetable to root for. “It makes me devious and that’s hardly a virtue. You’ve already read everything of substance written about me and no doubt a lot that lacks substance. Case in point, that damn Sexiest Man Alive thing. I think you only asked me about the dogs to avoid talking about yourself. I know next to nothing about you and I’m interested.”

She closed her eyes, a huge smile making her cheekbones round out and her nose scrunch. Surrender. Adorable.

He sipped from his wine glass as she started to talk. He’d essentially guilted her into it and that wasn’t exactly fair, like turning up at her office, but they were on an accelerated timetable here and there was no allowance for subtlety.

He learned about her planned move to a better office, about the pipeline of conferences she had on her calendar for the year and the ambitions she had to hire more staff and add on a training and a corporate meetings business. He saw intelligence, heard passion, and two courses including kangaroo, tarragon and radish came and went from the table while he mostly listened, asking a question here and there so she knew he was paying attention.

Teela was impressive. She’d done her homework. She was focused. She understood the stakes and she had a plan B. What would she make of his Oscar campaign strategy? The business plan for the satellite project? What would she make of the approaches he’d had to go into politics?

Over white chocolate, bergamot and crème fraîche—Rick would make him pay for that—he said, “I make you feel what?” Teela made him feel the deep absence of connection in his life. It wasn’t a new feeling. now that he was aware of it, he could and would remedy it in a way that didn’t compromise his lifestyle or his independence.

She blinked in confusion.

He filled in, repeating her words from the top of the conversation. “You don’t know how I do it? I make you feel what?”

She raised her glass in half a toast. “Your mother taught you to listen well.”

“My mother taught me that most people don’t listen and it’s an asset when you do. Stop changing the subject.”

“You make me feel like you are genuinely interested in me.” She put her glass back on the table as if that was her complete answer. He gave her a pointed look and she sighed.

“I’m sure everyone you talk to feels the same way. That older woman whose hand you shook on the way to our table. Of all the people who wanted your attention, you picked her out especially because she’s a grandma. She fell in love with you the moment you complimented her on her fine family. You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to find out it was her birthday and ask the kitchen to do something special. The chef would turn her restaurant inside out for you, not because you’re the Sexiest Man Alive, or you want to do good in the world, but because you asked intelligent questions about ingredient sourcing and food miles. You didn’t do it to make a new fan. You don’t need new fans. Anyone can learn to be charming but you’re not just going through the motions so you can root me later, I’m a sure bet. You’re charismatic. It’s in the way you move and hold yourself, it’s in the tone of your voice and how attentive you are. It’s the wild combination of your confidence and humility.”

He raised a hand to signal enough, enough, and she gave him the same do as you’re told pointed look he’d given her earlier.

“You’re a complete disaster because you are simply impossible to ignore and you’re a good man. You’re going to make a fantastic statesman.”

He closed one eye trying to process that. At this stage, the statesman thing was a rocky proposition and politics was about more than being recognizable. “A complete disaster?”

“To me.”

Still not clear.

“I would root you wearing the bogan get-up. I would still want you with false teeth, bad breath, toe jam and one inch.”

Haydn knew how to pick the one person in a crowded room who least expected and most appreciated being singled out. He knew how to engage in small talk that wasn’t cheap and empty. In this moment, he did not know how to react to Teela because despite the private room, they were in a public place, and what he most wanted to do was sweep his hand across the table and send the dishes and glasses scattering so he could get his hands on her, his lips on her, his several more highly invested inches inside her.

Instead, he had to act like the statesman she thought he could be, raise his glass and offer his thanks while he planned what he’d do when they were alone and done with seeing the sights.

Talk about foreplay.

r /> Turns out not getting what you wanted when you wanted it all the time was sexy as hell.

NINE

Tags: Ainslie Paton The One Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net