“Oh, Andrew...”
“Adam,” he interjected, his voice taut and impatient. “My name is Adam.”
“Of course.” She winced. “I’m sorry.” The expression in her eyes revealed the depth of her contrition. “I...I’m having some difficulty keeping the two separated.”
Adam was struck by a blast of feeling, too close to jealously to be acceptable. Dammit, he thought, he barely knew the woman. How could he be jealous?
“We are so alike, this Andrew and I?” he asked, in a harsh tone made almost cruel by his inner struggle of denial.
“Yes.” A gentle smile curved her lips. “But please try to understand, you are alike because you are one, the same being, the same soul.”
Oh, hell. A New Age basket case.
Adam wasn’t into New Age. He was too busy staying on the cutting edge of his current age.
Disappointment bruised his mind. Sunny had caught Adam’s interest from his first sight of her. She was not only lovely but fascinating, exciting, different. Too different.
“You’re having trouble dealing with this.” Her voice was soft, her tone sympathetic.
Staring at her, at the concerned expression dimming the glow in her fantastic eyes, Adam was only vaguely aware of the waiter silently placing their drinks in front of them, then moving away again.
“Have a sip of your wine. It might help a little,” she suggested.
Distracted, Adam picked up the stemmed goblet, took a generous swallow of the dark red wine, then frowned. Why had he ordered it? Other than for toasting purposes on holidays, birthday gatherings, weddings and such, he didn’t drink wine, preferring light beer, or when in need of fortification and something stronger, bourbon or scotch, neat.
He transferred his frown to Sunny. “Did I order this—what is it, anyway? Burgundy?” It was a pure guess.
“Yes.” The glow flared to life again in her eyes. “And yes, you did order it.”
“Odd.”
“Not to me,” she said, her smile nostalgic. “It was always your wine of preference...even with a fish or fowl course.”
Adam felt his facial muscles tighten and his stomach clench. “Don’t start that always business again. I’m not buying into it.”
“You will...eventually.” Once more, her smile and the glow in her eyes faded. “At least, I pray you will.”
This was getting heavy, Adam told himself. And he was getting edgy.
“Look, Sunny,” he began, determined to stay calm and reasonable. “I’m not sure...” he broke off as the waiter put in another appearance at the table, this time to deliver their soup course.
After smiling and thanking the waiter, Sunny glanced down at the creamy potato-leek soup the man had set before her, then back up at Adam.
“Could we postpone further discussion until after we’ve eaten?” she asked. “I truly am very hungry.”
It wasn’t easy, but drawing a deep breath, Adam managed to temper his impatience. Besides, he was hungry, too, and the soup did look inviting.
“Okay.” He watched her take a sample taste of her soup; his breath got stuck in his throat as her lips closed around the bowl of the spoon. “Good?” he asked, despairing of the dry catch in his voice.
“Mmm,” Sunny nodded, dipping the spoon into the creamy broth once again. “Heavenly.”
“You’re right,” he murmured, after his first sip. “Absolutely heavenly.”
Though she smiled, she made no response.
Adam concluded that when the hungry Sunny involved herself with eating, her involvement was complete. He couldn’t help but wonder if she became as deeply involved while in the process of assuaging a different, more earthy appetite.
The soup was consumed in silence. While polishing off his soup, Adam was consumed by erotic images of Sunny, feasting on the sustenance of his mouth.
“Oh, that was wonderful,” she said when the last drop had been scooped from the bowl. She grinned. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have had to order the salmon. I could have made a meal of a large bowl of the soup.”
I could make a meal of you.
The smile that tugged at Adam’s lips was more in response to his thought than Sunny’s impish grin.
“We could change your...” he began, then shook his head on sight of the waiter approaching the table, a large tray balanced on one palm and held aloft at shoulder level. “No, we couldn’t,” he went on, lowering his voice as the waiter came to a stop. “You’ll have to settle for the fish.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” She shrugged. “I like fish...as you should know.”
Adam scowled at her and at the taunting remark and undertones of her voice.
Of course, with the waiter there, he could not retaliate or even question her assertion, not without sounding like a reject from a New Age publishing house.
“Mmm, it all looks and smells delicious.” Sunny gave the waiter a decidedly sunny smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied, returning her smile full wattage, while sparing a mere glance at Adam. “Ma’am, sir, enjoy your dinner.” Giving a half bow from the waist, he withdrew from the table.
“Nice young man, isn’t he?” she asked, brightly.
“Charming,” he said, darkly.
Her lips twitched; her eyes teased. “I do love the sound of that gentle Virginia drawl.”
Adam grunted and slanted a pointed look at her plate. “I thought you were starving?”
“That was before the soup,” she said, pleasantly. “Now I’m merely hungry.”
“Then eat.” Adam was chagrined by the snarling sound of his voice, and even more so by the startling rush of emotions that had caused it.
That old green-eyed monster again?
First that gut-wrenching twinge because he thought Sunny’s reference to an Andrew was to an actual, living, breathing man, and now because of a pleasant, soft-spoken—incidentally good looking—young waiter?
Adam rejected the very idea; or at least he tried to reject it. Problem was, it wouldn’t stay rejected. His mind persisted in examining the phenomenon.
Could he actually be jealous of the smile, the brief attention she had bestowed upon the seemingly ubiquitous waiter? he mused uncomfortably.
Ridiculous. He barely knew the woman—and he wasn’t too sure about her mental stability. The very idea of him being jealous was ludicrous in the extreme.
So why, then, was he feeling as if he wanted to break things, starting with the Virginia drawlvoiced waiter?
“Have you lost your appetite?”
Sunny’s question intruded upon his unappealing ruminations. For the salmon in dill sauce, yes, he answered in silent frustration. But for her, dammit, no.
Noting with some surprise that she had made inroads into her meal, Adam avoided responding by posing a query of his own. “Is it good?”
“Excellent.” She smiled; his pulses raced. “But why not try it for yourself?”
He did. She was right. It was excellent. But Adam was no longer hungry. Not for food. Nevertheless, he continued to eat, growing more restless by the minute.
When at last they had