Better Than Chocolate.... JENNIFER LABRECQUE
It was a line. A really impressive line, but a line nonetheless.
“Do you always have such a way with words?”
“Only when I’m suitably inspired…which is seldom.”
He definitely knew how to deliver a compliment. And he was definitely just what the ego-doctor had ordered. She mentally gave Perry the finger.
At least five women had eyed him since they’d entered the restaurant. Eve had once gone out with a guy who’d spent their evening dividing his attention between Eve and all the other women in the room. It had been the date from hell. But this gorgeous man seemed oblivious to anyone but her.
The saxophone’s husky notes added a layer to the sensual mood, lending a fantasy quality to the evening.
“Eve?”
She looked at the other major player in her unfolding fantasy. “Hmm?”
“Aren’t you interested in my name? Who I am?”
The “Strangers in the Night” refrain came to a screeching halt. No, no, no. Not just when her fantasy was cranking up.
Andrea had prescribed a fling. Eve was eight hundred miles from home in a city where she didn’t know anyone. Fate had delivered this guy. Who was she to shut the door on opportunity when it knocked?
But why should they pretend to look each other up next week? Why make one more bad decision regarding a guy? Besides, she was on the verge of taking on one of the most important projects in her life. She didn’t need complications. She didn’t want to exchange phone numbers, then wait on a call that never came. Bottom line, she didn’t want a relationship. She wanted a memory. Did she want to know who he was?
“No.”
“You can be tough on an ego,” he said.
Right. His ego seemed fully intact. “Maybe I don’t want to spoil this evening by finding out your name is Bert and you manage a tampon factory in Boise.”
“Most domestic tampon production is in Detroit.”
She’d been tongue-in-cheek with her example but totally serious in her reluctance to kill the night’s fantasy. Had she, in one of those weird cosmic turnarounds, hit the nail on the head? “Are you…”
He smiled. Heat suffused her face and neck as she realized he’d got her.
“No. I just made that up. I’m not from Boise or Detroit, and my name isn’t Bert. If you don’t want to know who I really am…” He leaned forward and brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. A warm, melting heat flowed through her. “Why don’t you give me a name? Who would you like for me to be, Eve?”
If she was going for fantasy, why not just go all out?
“Why don’t I call you Jack?”
“JACK IT IS.” He managed a neutral expression despite his surprise. Was she playing him for a fool? Had she discovered his identity much the same way he’d stumbled on hers? Had the whole Bert from Boise been a clever ruse to throw him off track? “Can I ask, however, why Jack?”
“It suits you.” A hint of animosity shadowed her amazing eyes, but unless she was the world’s consummate actress, she really didn’t seem to know who he was.
“You said earlier I reminded you of someone. Is his name Jack?”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
Damn. Everyone had a past. Why should it annoy him that Eve’s past included another Jack. “Ex-husband? Former lover?”
“Nothing so…intimate.” The way her low voice caressed the word knotted his gut. “A co-worker if you will. Actually, a rival.”
He was the Jack in her past? Life was stranger than fiction. They’d never met before, yet he reminded her of himself. “I see. I don’t want to be your rival this evening,” he said on behalf of both Jacks, Jack the Imposter and Jack the Rival. And amazingly he didn’t. Certainly, if she had anything business related to divulge, he’d listen. But he found himself fascinated by Eve—the woman and the Avenger.
“Poor choice of words. He’s my counterpart.”
She could backpedal all evening, but the truth as she saw it lay in her initial response. Ethically, he should speak up and admit his true identity. He’d actually tried to earlier, but she had turned down his offer. And he was much more likely to gain insight into her and her plans if she didn’t know who he was. An even more compelling justification for keeping his mouth shut was that Eve wasn’t likely to stay for dinner if she knew he was Jack LaRoux. At least not on the terms he wanted her to stay. All told, self-interest far outweighed ethics.
“Counterpart sounds like a much more interesting position than rival,” he said.
“Perhaps.”
“Oh?”
“A truly interesting position would be to become both.” Sensuality threaded her voice.
This was the way he’d seen her, fantasized about her even. She was his equal, yet also his rival, and they were locked in a struggle for domination. Arousal, swift and intense, arrowed through him.
Unfortunately, the waiter arrived for their drink order. Or perhaps it was fortunate, as it gave him a chance to recover his equilibrium.
They ordered coconut prawns and a bottle of wine, sommelier’s choice.
Jack wasn’t hungry for prawns or anything else on the menu. Dinner had merely been a way to get her to see him again. And that was even before he knew who she was. Eve was the most enigmatic, self-possessed women he’d ever met. His younger sister, Marta, would crucify him as a sexist pig, but the truth was, most of the women he knew couldn’t wait to tell him all about themselves. He’d never met a woman more closemouthed—or one he wanted to know about more.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”
He shrugged. She hadn’t shown overwhelming enthusiasm when he offered the invitation. “I hoped you would.”
Skeptical amusement lit her eyes. “Have you ever been stood up?”
He smiled. Busted. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Hmm. I can’t imagine you have many first experiences left open.”
“There’s enough.” He’d had his fair share of sexual experiences, but he had a feeling making love to Eve would be something truly unique.
“Such as?” she asked.
Probably best not to bring up making love…yet. “I’ve never been married or engaged. I’ve never forfeited a handball game.” He smiled. “There’s a whole range of first experiences waiting for me.” Including you.
The waiter arrived with the wine. After the obligatory sniff and taste test, he poured two glasses of the pale drink and left.
Eve traced the glass rim with a neat, unpolished nail and picked up their conversational thread. “How about love? Have you ever been in love, Jack?”
Ah, the irresistible topic of love. “No. I’ve never succumbed to the power of Aphrodite.” He paused as she raised the wineglass to her full, generous mouth and sipped. “But then again, Aphrodite’s a myth.”
“Delicious,” she said, complimenting the wine and regarding him over her glass rim. “Love’s a myth?” She didn’t display feminine outrage, merely amused interest.
“Love’s a shadow puppet. People hide their real emotions and motivations behind it. Lust, passion, obsession, manipulation. Cloak them in the guise of love and all’s right with the world.” For her,