“You don’t find that fascinating?”
“What?”
“The fact that she’s on TV—she’s a TV chef. Most people are intrigued. But you’re not?”
“Not particularly. Although, if she’s anything like you, I’m sure I’ll like her.”
“You like me?”
All the tension from his mouth had gone now and he smiled and shifted his warm gaze onto her. “Yes, I like you, Amber. Otherwise I wouldn’t be taking you out to dinner.”
“Good. Because, you know, I quite like you, too.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.” The warm feeling left her.
“How?”
He flicked the car’s indicator and they turned into the entrance of the restaurant. He waited until he’d drawn up directly outside the grand portico entrance before switching off the engine and looking at her.
“Because you flirt outrageously with me every time I see you, and I’ve noticed you don’t do it with other people. Besides, I don’t think you’d be able to hide your feelings from anyone.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What am I feeling now?”
“You’re irritated because I can read you like a book.”
She shot him a look of mock indignation. “You can only read what I allow you to read.”
“All I can say is that I like what you allow me to read.” He ducked his head to look at the doorman who was walking over to them. He jumped out of the car and came around to her side and opened the door for her. She couldn’t ever remember anyone doing that for her.
David tossed the car keys to the doorman who slid into the car and drove it away to park.
“I’ve only ever seen that done in films before,” she said, slipping her hand through his arm as they entered the restaurant.
“Really?” he said, with the surprise of someone who was accustomed to people doing things for him. He shrugged. “It’s just easier.”
“Good evening, Mr. Tremayne,” said the maître d’, who appeared from nowhere, all ingratiating smile and subservient body language. It made Amber uneasy. She had an urge to tell him to stop it. “Good to see you again.”
“And you, Paul. This is Amber Connelly.”
“Miss Connelly. Pleased to meet you. Are you a relative of Rachel Connelly?”
“Yes, she’s my sister.”
“Ah.” He beamed broadly. “A very talented and beautiful lady. Please”—he stepped to one side and swept his arm in a flourish—“follow me.”
They followed him through the restaurant to a more secluded corner which overlooked the harbor and the distant lights of Akaroa. The maître d’ pulled out a chair for Amber and continued to talk to David as Amber gazed out the window. From Akaroa, she’d often looked up at the twinkling restaurant lights high in the hills, but had never been tempted to go. It wasn’t her kind of place. But she was here now. She glanced across the table at David, who was frowning at the wine list. She suspected he did everything with extreme care and thoroughness. A shiver ran through her body as her imagination strayed.
“Do you have a preference?” David asked.
For a moment she couldn’t think what he was referring to.
“Wine. Any type of wine you prefer?”
“Yes, I mean no. I don’t often drink,” she added. “I mean I drink, preferably something that sparkles, but not alcohol, not when I’m out, anyway. Water, actually. Mostly water.” She was babbling. She knew she was, but she felt she might be disappointing this urbane, sophisticated and totally hot man by this admission.
“Oh.” He closed the wine list decisively. For a moment she wondered if he was put off by her admission, that he’d suddenly realized what a hick hippy chick he’d landed himself with, but then he looked up at her and gave her that rare smile which melted her from the inside out. It wasn’t that it was a broad grin which revealed perfect teeth—although it was—it was that it was like a spark which lit up his whole face. “Then nor shall I.” She sighed under the delicious beam of his smile and he turned to the maître d’. “A bottle of your best sparkling water please.”
In an effort to quell the blush which had been summoned by his smile, she looked around, trying to take her mind off his hair. It was cut short, tamed to within an inch of its life, and drew attention to his bone structure—classically proportioned, she thought with her artist’s eye, and strong. He had the kind of head sculptors made studies of.
