Marni listened to his words, but it was his tone and his expression that reached her. He was sincere, almost beseechful. There was pain in his eyes, and an intense need. He’d never been quite that way with her fourteen years before, but she suddenly couldn’t seem to separate the feelings she’d had for him then from the ache in her heart now. It occurred to her that the ache had begun when she’d first set eyes on him that morning. She’d attributed it to the pain of memory, and it was probably ninety-nine percent that, but there was something more, and she couldn’t ignore it. Fourteen years ago she’d loved him. She didn’t love him now, but there was still that … feeling. And those blue, blue eyes shimmering into her, captivating her, magnetizing her.
“I want to show you my world, Marni. I’m proud of it, and I want you to be proud, too. You may have thought differently, but my life was deeply affected by that summer in Camden.” For a minute the blue eyes grew moist, but they cleared so quickly that Marni wondered if she’d imagined it. “Give me a chance, Marni. We’ll start with dinner tonight. I won’t pressure you for anything. I never did, did I?”
She didn’t have to ponder that one. If anyone had done the pressuring—at least on the sexual level—it had been her. “No,” she answered softly.
“And I won’t do it now. You have my word on it. You also have my word that if anything gets too tough for you, I’ll bring you back here and leave you alone. Youalsohave my word that if, in the end, you decide you really can’t do that cover, I’ll abide by your decision. Fair?”
Fair? He was being so reasonable that she couldn’t possibly argue. What wasn’t fair was that he wore his suit so well, that his hair looked so thick and vibrant, that his features had matured with such dignity. But that wasn’t his fault. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder.
She gave a rueful half smile and slowly nodded. “Fair.”
He held her gaze a moment longer, as though he almost couldn’t believe that she’d agreed, but his inner relief was such that he suddenly felt a hundred pounds lighter. He pushed back his cuff and glanced at the thin gold watch on his wrist.
“We’ve got reservations for five minutes ago. If I can use your phone, I’ll let the maître d’ know we’re on our way.”
She nodded and glanced toward the kitchen. When he rose and headed that way, she moved toward the small half bath off the living room. She suddenly wished she’d showered, done over her hair and makeup and changed into something fresher. Web was so obviously newly showered and shaved. She should have done more. But it was too late for that now, so the best she could do was to powder the faint shine from her nose and forehead, add a smidgen more blusher to her cheeks and touch up her lipstick.
Web was waiting when she emerged. He’d already put on his topcoat and was holding the coat she’d left ready and waiting nearby. It, too, was the same she’d worn that morning, but that decision she didn’t regret. To wear silver fox with Web, even in spite of his own debonair appearance, seemed a little heavy-handed.
He helped her on with the coat, waited while she got her purse, then lightly took her elbow and escorted her to the door. They rode the elevator in a silence that was broken at last by Marni’s self-conscious laugh. “You’re very tall. I never wore high heels in Camden, but they don’t seem to make a difference.” She darted him a shy glance, but quickly returned her gaze to the patterned carpet.
He felt vaguely self-conscious, too. “I never wore shoes with laces in Camden. They add a little.”
She nodded and said nothing more. The elevator door purred open. Web guided her through the plush lobby, then the enclosed foyer and finally to the street. He discreetly pressed a bill into the doorman’s hand in exchange for the keys to his car, then showed Marni to the small black BMW parked at the curb. Before she could reach for it, he opened the door. “Buckle up,” was all he said before he locked her in and circled the car to the driver’s side.
The restaurant he’d chosen was a quiet but elegant one. The maître d’ seemed not in the least piqued by their tardiness, greeting Web with a warm handshake and offering a similarly warm welcome to Marni when Web introduced them, before showing them to their table.
Web deftly ordered a wine. Then, when Marni had decided what she wanted to eat, he gave both her choice and his own to the waiter. Watching him handle himself, she decided he was as smooth in this urban setting as he’d been by the sea. He had always exuded a kind of confidence, and she assumed it would extend to whatever activity he was involved in. But seeing him here, comfortable in a milieu that should have been hers more than his, took some getting used to. It forced her to see him in a different light. She struggled to do that.
“Have you been here before?” he asked softly.
“For a business dinner once or twice. The food’s excellent, don’t you think?”
“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin.
“So … tell me about Marni Lange and the Lange Corporation.”
She shook her head. Somewhere along the line, she realized he was right. They’d been … friends once, and shewascurious as to what he’d done in the past years. “You first. Tell me about Brian Webster the photographer.”
“What would you like to know?”
“How you got started. I never knew you had an interest in photography.”
“I didn’t. At least, not when I knew you. But the year after that was a difficult one for me.” His brow furrowed. “I took a good look at myself and didn’t like what I saw.”
She found herself defending him instinctively. “But you were an adventurer. You did lots of different things, and did them well.”
“I was young, without roots or a future,” he contradicted her gently. “For the first time I stopped to think about what I’d be like, what I’d be doing five, ten, fifteen years down the road, and I came up with a big fat zip.”
“So you decided to be a photographer, just like that?” She was skeptical, though if that had been the case it would be a remarkable success story.
“Actually, I decided to write about what I’d been doing. There’s always a market for adventure books. I envisioned myself traveling the world, doing all kinds of interesting things—reenacting ancient voyages across oceans, scaling previously unsealed mountain peaks, crossing the Sahara with two camels and canteens of water …”
“Did you do any of those things?”
“Nope.”
“Then … you wrote about things you’d already done?”
