“You do Versace proud,” Stephen said. He took her by the hand, forcing her to turn a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees.
“Thank you. And Armani looks good on you.” She adjusted his bow tie, which was perfectly knotted, and used their close proximity as an excuse to brush non-existent lint from the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. “Have I ever told you that you wear clothes well?”
She was flirting, but she couldn’t resist. He looked so handsome, so…interested.
“I can’t say that you have.” He leaned in, bringing with him the crisp scents of soap and aftershave. “Let’s make this an early night.”
She held her breath and tried not think about the double entendre when she replied, “Oh, is there something you want to do?”
Dark eyes seemed to smolder.
“As a matter of fact, there is.”
The evening dragged, perhaps because the enigmatic answer Stephen had given before they left the house lingered in her mind, tantalizing her with its possible interpretations. It didn’t help that as they ate, danced, or shared small talk with acquaintances she would look up to find him studying her in that intense way of his. She was in the middle of a conversation with the Mayor, pitching hard for more funds for youth activities, when he joined her.
“Ah, Stephen, I was just enjoying a conversation with your lovely wife,” the Mayor said, offering a hand.
The two men shook, and it was obvious this was not a first meeting.
“Has she muscled some more money out of you yet?” he asked. There was pride in his voice, warmth in his smile, and heat in the hand he rested on the small of her back.
“The city’s budget being what it is, not quite. But she’s very persuasive.”
“She is that. I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal her away now. We have another engagement.”
She glanced at him in surprise and resisted the urge to ask what that engagement was.
“Of course. I understand. Newlyweds have all sorts of engagements,” the Mayor remarked with a wink.
Stephen hustled Catherine out the door in record time, tipping the valet extra to bring his car around in a hurry. The teen took Stephen at his word, squealing the tires of his Jaguar as he maneuvered the sleek automobile over from the parking lot.
A lot of men would have gone into coronary arrest, right after committing brutal, cold-blooded murder. Stephen surprised her by merely shaking his head and saying in a dry tone, “That’s what I get for telling a kid to step on it when he’s got the keys to my Jag.”
Then he squealed the tires himself as the sleek sports coupé shot away from the curb and into night traffic. She figured out right away that they weren’t going home, but he remained tight-lipped beside her, saying only, “You’ll see,” when she asked him their destination.
Then she saw the marquee and knew. Charade with Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn was playing at an old theater that showed only vintage films, including the accompanying trailers and newsreels.
“We’re going to the movies?” she asked needlessly, as he swerved to the curb and into a lucky parking space half a block from the theater. He hopped out, came around to her side of the car and all but yanked her to her feet.
“Yeah. Can you run in those heels?”
He didn’t wait for her answer, but grabbed her by the hand and started off at a trot.
“Movie starts in less than a minute and I want to get popcorn.” He sounded almost like a kid when he added, “They use real butter here. You like butter, right?”
Again, he didn’t wait for her answer, but she didn’t mind. She’d never seen Stephen like this, rushing as if his life depended on seeing a movie he’d probably already watched a dozen times. In fact, she didn’t doubt he owned a copy of it, either on video or DVD. Perhaps both.
They were the only ones in the theater decked out in formal wear, but he didn’t seem to mind the double-takes, raised eyebrows and whispers. He sent her to the concession stand while he purchased the tickets, and met her there just in time to pay for the king-sized bucket of buttered popcorn, beverages and Milk Duds he’d asked her to purchase.
The photograph caught her attention the moment he opened his wallet. It was of the two of them, standing side by side in the I Do Chapel. She’d forgotten about the pictures that had come with their deluxe wedding package. Apparently Stephen had not. He’d kept them, cut one down to fit the plastic protector in his wallet and carried it with him. She was ridiculously touched.
“I didn’t know you had these.” She pointed to the photograph.
He seemed uncomfortable when he replied, “Most married men carry pictures of their wives.”
“So, it’s for effect?” she asked.
He didn’t answer her question, instead he said, “You looked beautiful that day.” Dark eyes studied her for a moment. Then he handed her one of the drinks and a paper-covered straw. “You look beautiful every day.”
Before she could respond, he hoisted the tub of popcorn into his arms and grabbed the other drink. “Don’t forget the Milk Duds.”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she whispered as they took their seats in the back of the theater.
“You have to admit it beats another two hours of small talk with the movers and shakers of Greater Chicago.”
She dipped her hand into the tub and feasted on a mouthful of popcorn. When she was done she said, “I won’t argue with a man when he’s right. Do you have the napkins?”
“No, I thought you had them.”
“Nope. Can I use your handkerchief, then.”
“I have a better idea.” As Cary Grant flirted with Audrey Hepburn on the screen, Stephen lifted Catherine’s hand and one by one slowly licked the butter from her fingers.
He wasn’t sure why’d he’d done it, although from the way she sucked in a breath and leaned toward him he didn’t think Catherine minded. He rubbed his own buttery hands on his tuxedo pants, unmindful of the obscene price he’d paid for them. Then there was only the small matter of setting aside the popcorn tub so that he could take her face in his hands, bring it forward for the kiss. She tasted salty and incredibly sweet.
They were in the rear of a sparsely crowded theater, but they could have been front and center at a sold-out performance of a Broadway play and he doubted it would have kept him from trailing a hand down the slim column of her neck and then following it with his lips. He stopped at her collarbone and the cloth that covered it, and prayed for some sanity to return. He’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Catherine.
“Sorry. I got carried away.”
“I’ll say,” she whispered back.
But when he started to straighten she wound her arms around his neck. “Do you think you could get carried away again?”
His smile came slowly, despite his charging heart. “I’ll see what I can do.”
This time he was determined not to be deterred by clothing. He took Catherine’s sexy little sigh as consent. His fingers were just starting to dip beneath the fabric of the gown’s bodice when a beam of light all but blinded him. He kicked over the tub of popcorn in his haste to sit upright.
“Sir.” It came out as squawk, so the teenager wielding the flashlight cleared his throat and tried again. “Sir, um, ma’am, we don’t, um, you know, allow that kind of stuff in here. If you, like, keep it up, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
When he was gone Catherine succumbed to a fit of laughter, and Stephen