Is she jealous?
“I think she was just being polite. It’s what they do, how they earn their tips.” I lean across the table and brush my fingersacross her neck. She loves it when I do that. “You, however, calling me ‘sir’ would be a completely different thing.”
Her eyes widen ever-so-slightly. “What happened to the jovial bloke who bought me cookies, and what have you done with him?”
I lean across the table. “You were the one that wore that dress.”
She looks down at herself, as if just realizing she’s wearing a provocative iridescent affair painted to her perfect figure.
“Oh, this little thing?” she says in a mock American southern accent. “I wear this one to buy groceries.”
I shake my head and lower my voice. “If you ever wear something like that to buy groceries again, I’ll take you across my knee to teach you better.”
Her voice is low and husky. She blinks. “Excuse me?” She swallows hard as I sit back up and shake my head.
“You heard me.”
The waiter comes over with the beverage menus and breadbasket. We order drinks and appetizers, and have gone through nearly an entire bottle of wine before our main entrees are served. Both the wine and conversation flow easily. She’s witty and smart, a clever lassie if ever I saw one.
She tries a few times to ask me questions, to find out more about me, but I steer the conversation back to talk of her and her shop.
“Does your father know you own it?”
A shadow crosses her features again, and this time doesn’t leave as quickly as the first. She finishes her glass of wine before she responds with a sigh.
“Aye. He does now.”
Her lips thin. I don’t pry.
“Will he find out that we ditched your bodyguard?” I hate the idea of her getting in trouble with her father. I despise the man.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Do you really think my bodyguard would admit to losing me like that? Oh, I doubt it.”
I watch her take another bite of food, chew, then swallow.
“Good,” I tell her. “The only person I want you in trouble with is me.”
She shivers, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What do you mean?”
I shake my head at her. “Tonight, I’ll show you exactly what I mean.” The waiter comes back to the table with a dessert menu.
“Dessert?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.” I look to Bryn. “You?”
She places her hand on her belly. “Oh, no thanks. I’m so full.”
“We’ll take the check, please. But just a minute.” I turn to her. “Hypothetically, if you had any more room in your belly, what would you order for dessert?”
“Chocolate,” she says with a smile. “Something decadently chocolate.”
I look up at the waiter. “Every chocolate dessert on your menu, takeaway please.”
“Yes, sir. Straight away, sir.”
Bryn shakes her head but smiles. “You have plans, do you?”
I shrug noncommittally. “Suppose we shall see?”
