Dinner arrived almost magically, wheeled into the suite on two shiny silver carts before being placed on the dining room table by two smartly outfitted waiters who gave the impression they were auditioning for a play, or perhaps a silent movie as neither one of them made so much as a sound above the clink of a water glass or the soft thud of a piece of heavy silver on the tabletop.
There were four different entrées to choose from, including a buttery salmon, a gorgeous filet mignon, lamb in an exotic mint sauce and roasted chicken with truffles that Libby ultimately couldn’t resist. She was almost tempted to ask for a doggie bag in which to carry home the rejected dishes that the waiters promptly and silently wheeled away.
“Oh, what a terrible waste,” she said with a sigh as she watched them turn a corner on their way to the elevator.
“Don’t worry,” David told her as he prepared to cut into his steak. “When that food gets back to the kitchen, it’ll be devoured within a matter of seconds. The chef is working with a small staff prior to the opening while he refines the menu. I had him send up four choices because I didn’t know what you might like. Feel perfectly free to be a critic. How’s the chicken?”
“To die for,” she said, reveling in her very first bite. “And the vegetables actually look edible which doesn’t often happen where I come from.”
She tried a petite, buttery carrot dusted with parsley and some other herb she couldn’t identify, then rolled her eyes in delight. “Who knew a lowly carrot could taste so good? You know, David, your boss must weigh a ton if he eats like this every single day.”
“Well, he works out a lot, I’m told,” he said before taking another sip of wine and another bite of his filet. “I’d like to hear more about your photography, if you don’t mind discussing it.”
She didn’t mind at all. It was probably her favorite subject and she was quite capable of going on endlessly about it, which she proceeded to do. But every time she politely—and curiously—attempted to change the subject and to inquire about him, David smoothly and affably turned the conversation back to cameras and lenses.
After dinner, they returned to the living room with its glorious window wall, where Libby avoided another painful glance at the shabby motel below. It was nearly midnight when she finally said, “I really should be getting back to Haven View. The man I left in charge, my uncle Doug, is almost eighty years old and really needs his rest.”
David’s left eyebrow quirked. “And you assume, I suppose, that your uncle has been overrun with demanding guests all the while you’ve been here?”
Libby had to hand it to him. The guy really did try to suppress his laughter even though he didn’t quite succeed. She appreciated his sense of humor despite this particular, rather hurtful and annoying subject matter.
“You never know,” she said with a little shrug of her shoulders before she stood up and extended her hand. “It was a truly lovely dinner, David. Thank you.”
He stepped forward, smoothly brushing her hand aside as his arms reached out to encircle her. He gathered her close, kissed the top of her head, then her forehead, then the bridge of her nose. “I’ve wanted to do this all evening, Libby,” he said, his breath warm and fragrant as expensive French wine on her face.
Libby felt like whimpering, “What took you so long?” But then David’s mouth covered hers, and speech was suddenly and completely out of the question. She couldn’t even think, but only inhale his wonderful scent and savor the rich remnants of wine on his lips. A tiny moan mounted in her throat, threatening to break loose and inform him just how much she craved his touch.
He leaned back slightly, used his thumb to angle her face up to meet his gaze. Those lovely hazel eyes of his had deepened to a dark and passionate green. “Stay here with me tonight. Don’t go back to that dump.”
Something clicked in her head, and Libby blinked hard as her eyes began to focus again. She could feel her mouth flattening to a hard, thin line. Then she straightened up even as she took a step back, out of his arms.
“I don’t want to be rude,” she said, “especially after that divine dinner, and also because I truly like you, David. I like you enormously. But I won’t have my aunt’s lifetime endeavor trashed or made fun of. Not by you. Not by anyone.” She paused a second, her eyes still locked on his. “I hope that’s clear.”
He nodded. “Got it,” he said. He sounded absolutely sincere if not somewhat taken aback by her rather unexpected challenge. “I won’t do it again.”
“Good.” Libby smiled. “I’m glad you understand.” Then she lifted her chin and tapped a finger to her lips. “Now kiss me goodnight again. Please.”
Women rarely stood up to him, either professionally or privately. It was such a rarity, in fact, that David couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. Hell, men rarely stood up to him these days. His little Libby was a tigress in peach silk. He smiled in the darkness at the memory of her fierce, flashing eyes, her stiffened spine and her delicate but formidable chin. More power to her, in fact. She’d had every right to put him in his place after he’d spoken disparagingly of her motel, wreck that it was.
He cursed himself now for deceiving this wonderful woman from the get-go. Had he ever had a more stupid, more self-defeating, almost suicidal idea? He was going to have to make it all right, but at the moment he didn’t have a clue how to do it. All he knew was that he didn’t want to lose her. Well, hell. He didn’t even have her yet, but Lord how he wanted her.
He turned over in bed, pummeled the pillow once more with his fist, and eyed the bedside clock. It was two-fifteen. He’d be likely to wake her if he called her right now. With any luck, however, she’d be awake also, just across the highway, tossing and turning and thinking about him. Yeah. He should be so lucky.
Well, maybe he was. She answered her phone on the second ring.
David skipped the usual telephone introductions and niceties and immediately said, “Let’s do something fun tomorrow.”
A soft, sexy murmur came through the distance. “Like what?” she purred.
“I don’t know. Let’s just go somewhere, anywhere. We’ll just hold hands and wander. We’ll be kids on our very first date.”
She laughed, and the sound was practically delicious. “I’ll have you know,” she said, “I sprained my ankle on my very first date.”
“No problem. I’ll carry you.” David smiled in the darkness, imagining her in his arms. “Where should we go?” he asked her. “What about the zoo?”
“Been there.”
“The art museum?”
She let out a long sigh. “Been there, too.”
“How about the Arch?”
“Done that.”
David, at a loss now, said, “Well, pick someplace. Anyplace. It doesn’t have to be in St. Louis.”
She was quiet a moment and then she said, “I know. Let’s go to Hannibal.”
“Hannibal?” David scratched his head. “You mean Hannibal, as in Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn?”
“Uh-huh. That’s exactly what I mean. I haven’t been there since I was a kid, and it’s only an hour and a half or so away. I’ll even drive if you’d like.”
“Wait. I’ve got a better idea. Can you be ready to go by ten tomorrow morning?”
“Sure. I’m pretty sure I can get all my work out of the way by ten. Definitely by ten-thirty.”
“Great.