Jennifer Labrecque - Better Than Chocolate...

In a moment of perfect timing, a couple exited the restaurant and walked past. The woman, a willowy blonde with exquisite makeup, hair and clothes glanced back over her shoulder at him. She obviously hadn’t slapped herself together in half an hour.

Neither Eve nor her dinner date missed the fact that the school-of-high-maintenance graduate had checked him out.

Eve arched an amused brow. “Lucky guess.”

He shrugged off the woman’s interest, a gesture that only confirmed for Eve that it was the norm. “Are you high maintenance?”

He had to ask? Please. Eve had a penchant for nice jewelry and lingerie, but aside from that, she bought her clothes and shoes on sale at discount stores. Her lack of interest in Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahnik appalled Andrea. Eve splurged on the occasional spa visit, but didn’t have the time or budget to make it a regular part of her life. “What do you think?”

“Not overtly.”

That begged an explanation. She raised a questioning brow.

“You don’t impress me as needing a constant stream of adoration to feel good about yourself. But I think you don’t suffer fools gladly. I’d say you’re a woman who speaks her mind and does exactly as she pleases. And the result is very, very sexy.” His voice dropped an octave on the last observation and took her breath with it.

Eve’s heart repeated that stop-and-race trick. If he kept this up, she’d begin to believe she was closer to Angelina Jolie than she realized. He had the speaking-her-mind and doing-as-she-pleased parts down pat, but she was, quite frankly, surprised he found it sexy. It intimidated most men. But then again, from what she’d seen thus far, he wasn’t most men.

“And you strike me as a man who does what he wants and is used to getting what he wants. And that, too, is very, very sexy.”

And it was. Eve wasn’t so sure that she particularly liked this man. He was arrogant, far too handsome, and he set her on edge. But she was incredibly attracted to him.

“Perhaps we have more in common than you think, Eve.”

Caught up in the intimate way her name rolled off his tongue, it took a moment for his comment to register. There was an implied intimacy, almost a hint that he knew something she didn’t. Did she know him? Had she met him before? One of her brothers’ college buddies? Someone from last year’s national conference? Definitely not. A woman would never forget meeting this man. But something about him struck a chord of recognition.

“Do I know you? Have we met before?”

He shook his head. “We’ve never met before.”

Then why did she have this weird, nagging sense of the familiar? Aha. Jack LaRoux.

He reminded her of Jack. Not that she’d ever met Jack, but this man was everything she’d imagined her nemesis to be, possibly because she’d had some antagonistic, sexual fantasy thing going in her head around Jack LaRoux for the past several months. Sex and power were inextricably intertwined, and there was definitely a power struggle going on between her and Jack the Ripper. And she was definitely attracted to this man.

She’d come to Chicago early. Had Jack come early as well? He could have, except Eve had read an e-mail ten minutes ago from LaTonya. Jack had been in a late-afternoon meeting when LaTonya had contacted the San Francisco office earlier. Not even the West Coast Wonder Boy could manage to be in two places at one time.

“Hello. I think you’ve gone somewhere else,” he said

“Sorry. You remind me of someone I know.”

Annoyance tightened his face and flashed in his eyes. He quickly masked it with the detached air of urbane amusement he wore so well.

“Ready?” Obviously he didn’t like being compared to someone else.

“Yes.”

They stepped into the restaurant. A bird-of-paradise display in a large vase dominated the entry. A late-dinner crowd filled two-thirds of the white-linen-draped tables. Nice. Very nice. Minimalist, sophisticated decor. A jazz quartet, tucked into a corner, offered a dinner concert. A handful of couples swayed to the music on the small dance floor.

The maître d’ appeared. “Two for dinner?”

“Yes. Do you have something with a view?”

“A table with quite a nice view just opened. This way please.”

Eve’s companion brushed his fingers against her arm, ushering her ahead of him in a gesture she’d experienced countless times before. But, unlike all those other times, his warm fingers against her bare flesh set her heart racing. Far from being impersonal, his touch echoed through her. Evocative. Sensual.

The subtle scent of his expensive cologne tantalized her. It was incredible how a mere touch and a whiff of fragrance could so thoroughly entice and arouse.

The maıˆtre d’ seated them. Framed by the window, the city’s skyline and dark sky juxtaposed against the reflection of crisp linens, intimate lighting, and them.

The man across the table studied her.

“You have beautiful eyes. I’ve spent the last hour wondering what color they were.”

“Thank you. You could’ve asked at the pool.”

“It wouldn’t have been the same thing,” he said. “What would you have told me?”

“Blue-green.”

“Ah. That’s my point. They’re not simply blue-green. They’re an amazing blend of crystal blue and translucent green, like a natural spring. Beautiful. Bottomless.”

She’d heard before how unusual her eyes were, but never had anyone been so eloquent. It was a line. A really impressive line, but a line nonetheless.

“Do you always have such a way with words?”

“Only when I’m suitably inspired…which is seldom.”

He definitely knew how to deliver a compliment. And he was definitely just what the ego-doctor had ordered. She mentally gave Perry the finger.

At least five women had eyed him since they’d entered the restaurant. Eve had once gone out with a guy who’d spent their evening dividing his attention between Eve and all the other women in the room. It had been the date from hell. But this gorgeous man seemed oblivious to anyone but her.

The saxophone’s husky notes added a layer to the sensual mood, lending a fantasy quality to the evening.

“Eve?”

She looked at the other major player in her unfolding fantasy. “Hmm?”

“Aren’t you interested in my name? Who I am?”

The “Strangers in the Night” refrain came to a screeching halt. No, no, no. Not just when her fantasy was cranking up.

Andrea had prescribed a fling. Eve was eight hundred miles from home in a city where she didn’t know anyone. Fate had delivered this guy. Who was she to shut the door on opportunity when it knocked?

But why should they pretend to look each other up next week? Why make one more bad decision regarding a guy? Besides, she was on the verge of taking on one of the most important projects in her life. She didn’t need complications. She didn’t want to exchange phone numbers, then wait on a call that never came. Bottom line, she didn’t want a relationship. She wanted a memory. Did she want to know who he was?

“No.”

“You can be tough on an ego,” he said.

Right. His ego seemed fully intact. “Maybe I don’t want to spoil this evening by finding out your name is Bert and you manage a tampon factory in Boise.”

“Most domestic tampon production is in Detroit.”

She’d been tongue-in-cheek with her example but totally serious in her reluctance to kill the night’s fantasy. Had she, in one of those weird cosmic turnarounds, hit the nail on the head? “Are you…”

He smiled. Heat suffused her face and neck as she realized he’d got her.

“No. I just made that up. I’m not from Boise or Detroit, and my name isn’t Bert. If you don’t want to know who I really am…” He leaned forward and brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. A warm, melting heat flowed through her. “Why don’t you give me a name? Who would you like for me to be, Eve?”