Dessert
George stood in the courtyard by Pascale’s entrance. A monkey-puzzle tree spread and twisted overhead. He wished he still smoked; a cigarette would have been great right now. A double scotch, too.
The discovery had caught him off guard. Christ, he hated surprises, especially when they involved his past mistakes. How had he not recognized her? He’d practically had her in his arms while walking her into that little café in London. Her face had been inchesfrom his.
But it wasn’t the same face anymore. Or the same figure. That woman in the street had been faded, out of focus, easily forgettable. This woman here was warm, and vivid, and beautiful. She sparkled. He’d have rememberedher.
Why did it bother him so much? He’d dealt with bigger and more serious surprises in his life. Handling the sale of the railway franchise had been a minefield. Yet he always thought fast and stepped in to plug every hole, quickly and decisively. This wasdifferent.
Shewas different, and he didn’t know how to handle her.
Something in the way her lips held a hint of a smile when she was about to disagree with him. The flash in her eyes that spoke of inner self-respect and told him that he’d gone too far. In the space of two sentences, she’d held up a mirror to him, and he didn’t like what she showed him about himself.
The worst day of her life. She’d been at herlowest ebb. He remembered her eyes now, the unmistakable heartbreak. And he had humiliated her. For what, a scrape of paint off his car? And then he’d walked out on her without the courtesy of saying goodbye.
He didn’t know how to react to a woman in need who refused his help, so he’drun away.
He glanced through the window into the restaurant. The waiter was clearing their uneaten main course. Millie sat alone, sippingher water.
Cursing himself for being a coward, he stepped over his unease and walked back in.
“I owe you an apology,” he said, taking his seat. “I behaved badly just now.” He drank what was left in his wine glass. “I actually behaved badly three months ago when I first met you. Please forgive me.” He mether eyes.
Her lips twitched. “What did you do? Go outside and put on a different personality?”
Unexpected laughter burst from him. “Of all the things a woman might say in reply to an apology, this isthe last.”
“What did you expect me to say?” There was no coyness in her, no intrigue, just curiosity, like an innocent child. No, not like a child, his eyes dropped to her lovely shoulders. Definitely not a child.
He cleared his throat. “In my experience of women, and perhaps it’slimited—”
Now it was she who laughed. “Oh, I doubt your experience of women is in any way limited.” She grinned at him, wrinkling her nose. Again, not a woman flirting, more like a friend calling himon a lie.
“Well, possibly.” He lifted one shoulder in partialagreement.
She was still grinning. “False modesty does not become you,mein Herr.” The exaggerated German accent washilarious.
He had to laugh. She’d not only noticed his penchant for control, but was gently poking fun at it, draining the power out of it. Her shawl had dropped a little, revealing smooth,soft arms.
“You’re nothing like other women.”
And just like that, the easiness vanished, like a soap bubble popping into air. A shadow passed over her face and, for an instant, a flash of pain, before she looked down at her hands in her lap.
“What is it? What did I say?”he asked.
“Nothing.”
Clearly not nothing.He waited.
Finally, she shook her head slightly as if shaking off a distant memory. “It’s just the last person who compared me to other women did it tohurt me.”
Crikey.
“Would you believe I meant it as a compliment?”
She nodded, but her face was still troubled, and her pretty smile didn’tcome back.
Before he could say more, she opened the dessert menu, probably for an excuse to look awayfrom him.
