After That Night. Ann Evans
“You’re right—you are a lousy journalist. Check your file,” he said, tapping the folder that was clutched back to her breast again. Somehow during the course of this conversation she’d lost his hand. “My birth date should be in there. Thirty-three today.”
Quickly she flipped open the file and found the date on the back of his picture. She gasped. “Oh, my gosh, it is! Happy birthday.”
He lifted her chin with one finger. She thought she saw amusement in the gray depths of his eyes—not at her, but at the situation, possibly even at himself. “Now will you come up? Save me from self-pity? Not to mention a chef with a bad attitude and a meat cleaver.”
How could she refuse such a charming appeal? Caution flew away like a bird let out of its cage. “When you put it that way…”
The penthouse dining room was just as he’d said. The table was surrounded in a sea of burgundy and blue balloons, gleaming with cutlery and china that was finer than anything Jenna had ever seen, much less eaten from. The waiter snapped to attention the moment they walked in, and a few moments after Mark entered the kitchen, Jenna heard him calming the temperamental chef.
Trays of artfully arranged hors d’oeuvres covered the coffee table in the living room. From the look on her face, Mark must have realized how little she wanted to be part of Shelby’s elaborate plans for a celebration. He wisely suggested they skip the formal dinner and have a champagne picnic on the terrace. Jenna went outside, settled into one of the comfortable chairs at the patio table and kicked off her shoes.
A few minutes later Mark appeared with two huge plates in hand, followed by the waiter. In no time, a champagne bucket, place mats, glasses and cutlery were added to the table. The waiter disappeared behind the glass doors without a word.
The moonlight was sweetly romantic, but not very illuminating. While Mark popped the cork of the champagne, Jenna tried to make out what he’d brought her. Oysters still on their shell. Caviar-stuffed celery that she wrinkled her nose at. The rest was a mystery. Pretty to look at, but a little too fancy for her tastes.
Mark pointed to the various delicacies. “Citrus salmon. Red-curry braised duck. Crabmeat on avocado. Squab liver pâté.” He frowned, catching sight of her still-empty plate. “What’s the matter?”
“I make it a habit never to eat anything my cat would fight me for.”
He laughed and speared a marinated shrimp on his fork. “Let’s start with something simple and work our way up.”
They ate, sharing and comparing, and eventually Jenna’s nerves settled. Mark had a quality of quiet self-containment that made him easy to be with. They talked about everything and nothing, even the challenges she faced with her overprotective family. He didn’t try to force his opinions on her—a refreshing change from her relatives.
The Rum Blasters had worn off. She’d had only one glass of champagne, and she was pleased to see that he didn’t try to press more on her. It occurred to her that she’d told this man far too much about herself.
They both settled into a companionable silence and gazed up at the night sky. The moon was a pale, watery disk. Jenna had slid down in her cushioned seat and her bare feet were propped on an empty chair. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, savoring the moment, feeling relaxed.
“Do you want to move closer to the railing?” Mark asked from beside her.
She turned her head back and forth against the back of the chair. “Afraid of heights,” she said.
“That explains why you were plastered against the penthouse wall when I met you this afternoon.”
“I wasn’t plastered against the wall. I just don’t see any reason to get close to the edge of anything. Nothing dramatic in my past. I just don’t like being up high and looking down.”
“What else should I know about you?”
She met his gaze. “I’m an open book.”
“With a couple of pages missing.” He reached to spear a Spanish olive with his fork, then extended it toward her. “Last one. Want it?”
Without taking the fork from him, without thinking, she leaned forward and closed her mouth around the olive. She saw that Mark’s eyes suddenly glittered with desire. The heat in his look made her toes curl. She hadn’t meant her action to send a sexual message, but it was too late to worry about that now. She took another breath and tried to calm the panic that stitched up her spine.
Inspiration struck. “Oh, I got you a birthday present.” She swung her arm in his direction, and he laughed when he saw the jar of macadamia nuts in her hand. “I didn’t have time to wrap it.”
“I’ll treasure these always,” he said playfully. “I know you share them only with special people.”
“That’s right,” she agreed, filled with a pleasant silliness. “Don’t forget it. They’re a unique gift from a unique person.” Someone who remembers how to have fun.
“A very special person,” Mark agreed softly.
She found herself locked in his all-consuming gaze. He didn’t seem to be breathing. She knew she wasn’t.
The need to kiss him rose in her like a powerful thirst, and he must have seen it, because in the next moment he leaned forward, lowered his head and placed his mouth against hers, very gently. At some point during their picnic he’d eaten an orange, and his lips were flavored with it now. He stroked his tongue along the seam of her mouth, soft and curious, slow and suggestive. He didn’t touch any other part of her, but blood rushed through her as though she could feel him everywhere.
She couldn’t have said how long the kiss lasted. Short enough to make her want more. Long enough to make her realize she was perilously close to tripping over the edge and sliding down a very steep slope.
Mark sat back. He stared at her, and she knew he didn’t regret a single moment. Come to think of it, neither did she.
“Jenna…”
Traces of heat lightning zigzagged across the Manhattan sky. A sudden breeze made Jenna shiver.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Almost midnight.”
Her father’s storm warning. Right on time. He’d be worried about her flight tomorrow. He always worried. His good little Jenny-girl. What would he think to see her now? Ready to make love to a man she hadn’t even known twenty-four hours ago.
Oh, Lord, what am I doing? This wasn’t like her. She was the kind of person marriage had been invented for, and Mark…well, Mark wasn’t. He was probably used to having women throw themselves at him. She’d been begging to be kissed, and he’d been more than happy to oblige. But it would be foolish to take this lovely interlude any further. It was midnight. Pumpkin time.
“I have to go,” she said.
She pulled her feet out of the chair and stood, snatching up her shoes and jacket.
“You don’t have to,” Mark said, coming to his feet, as well.
“I do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. I didn’t mean…” She realized she was starting to babble and stopped, void of explanations that would make any sense even to herself.
She pulled the sliding glass doors wide and passed quickly through the suite, Mark close on her heels. She plunged her arm into one of her jacket sleeves, missed and tried again just as Mark came up behind her in the foyer.
Mark settled one of the sleeves up over her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to what, Jenna? Let me kiss you?”
“Yes. No! What I mean to say is, I liked it. Too much.”
“So did I. So stay here. Let’s find out what else we have in common.”
Dammit! Why wouldn’t her jacket cooperate? She fished around in it awkwardly,