“Mustang,” David said.
“The faster the better.”
“Even the buttoned-up ones have to get a rush somehow, huh?” he asked with a wink.
I touched my collar. How ridiculous I’d been to think an extra button could protect me from his charms.
“I take it your dad doesn’t want to part with the car?” he asked as we pulled into midday traffic.
“No, he would, actually,” I said. “It’s Bill. He says it’s impractical for the city.”
We slowed for a red light. “What about thesuburbs?”
I curled my hands into loose balls, keeping my eyes out the windshield. “Then I’m getting my car. If we move there, I’m going to need something, that’s for sure.”
“If?” he asked.
I couldn’t look at him for fear I’d never be able to picture myself anywhere in the world except in this car with him. Especially not that dust-free nursery-to-be.
“Hmm,” David said with a sidelong glance.
“What?”
“Your energy changed talking about the car. That’s who I saw at the ballet,” he said. “Not white wine, suburbs, and pencil skirts, but someone trying to break through.The-faster-the-bettergirl in a sparkling gold dress, tipsy on Bordeaux . . .”
If he thought that’s who I was, he was wrong. I was the person I made myself into. Life couldn’t be all glitter, speed, and indulgence. There had to be compromise, sensibility, sustainable pace—and office appropriate attire. “What’s wrong with my pencil skirt?” I asked.
He glanced at my bare knees. As his eyes roved up my thighs to my hips, the fabric changed from the shield I’d intended into skin-tight, revealing, and hugging my every curve. “Not a thing, Miss Germaine. I like it as much as your dresses, the green and the white ones—but the gold? That’s my favorite.”
He had a favorite. It was mine, too. I tried not to wiggle in my seat. “Has anyone ever told you you’re very forward?”
“Yes.” He accelerated when the light turned. “It’s what got me where I am. Hungry?”
I blinked at the enigma that was David. “Excuse me?”
“Lunch,” he said. “Will you indulge me by stopping to eat first?”
“Indulgeyou?” I asked. “I’m starved. I’m ready to chow down.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Chow . . . down?”
“Guess you aren’t used to a date who actually eats,” I said and snickered. “What about your ‘hectic schedule,’ though?”
“Funny,” he said. “It just opened up. And this isn’t a date, by the way. When you’re on a date with me—believe me, you’ll know it.”
When? He was teasing. He had to be. Did he think the ring on my finger was for show? “I believe that,” I said.
“Do you?”
“Anyone with eyes could see Maria wasdefinitelyon a date Saturday night. Did you two have a nice time?”
“Moderate,” he said bluntly. “I went to support Arnaud and the firm, but I was—let’s say, distracted. I’d rather’ve been at your table.”
“No doubt, considering it was a table of five women.”
“I meant that I’d have preferred your company.”
I scoffed. “Mycompany? Maria was the most beautiful woman in the room.”
