Chapter 8 #2
When Lexi and Quentin were alone again, she asked incredulously, “When did you plan all this? You’ve been tied up with the trial since we got back from our trip!”
He gave her an amused look. “I know how to multi-task.”
“Obviously.” She swept an awed glance around the room. “This is absolutely amazing, Quentin. The paintings, the terrace, the music. Even the French-speaking waiter. I feel like we’re back in Burgundy.”
“Good,” he said softly. “That was the point. Since we didn’t get a chance to visit one of those world-renowned restaurants while we were in France, I figured I’d make it up to you.”
Her heart expanded even more. “But it wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who harangued Asha into letting me and Michael cook dinner for everyone on our last night there.”
“I know.” Quentin smiled wryly. “And I was really looking forward to that meal you promised me when we got home.”
She gave him an abashed grin. “Rain check?”
“Definitely.” Eyes glinting with mirth, he gently swirled his glass and nosed the wine as she’d taught him.
“No choking,” she warned, and they both laughed.
A thought occurred to her. “Wait a minute. How are we having French food? This isn’t even a French restaurant.”
Quentin smiled lazily. “I know. But they had this great room with a view, and they were able to accommodate my needs on short notice. As for what we’re eating tonight, it pays to have more than one friend who’s a chef.
Mike pulled some strings for me, so I think you’ll be very pleased with what we’re served. ”
Enthralled, Lexi shook her head at him. “You know you’re not playing fair, right?”
“I never said I would.” He raised his glass to her. “To Burgundy.”
She smiled softly. “And unforgettable memories.”
They clinked glasses and sipped, gazing at each other. Soft candlelight flickered across Quentin’s strong, handsome face and illuminated his hazel eyes. She’d always taken for granted how remarkable his eyes were, how arrestingly beautiful and mesmerizing. Now she found herself drowning in them.
“What’re you thinking about?” Quentin murmured.
“Your eyes,” she admitted. “They’re incredible.”
“So are yours. I can’t stop thinking about them.” His voice dipped low. “Or the rest of you, for that matter.”
Her belly quivered. She drank more wine.
“Your eyes are the first thing I noticed about you when we met,” Quentin told her.
She was surprised. “Really?”
He nodded, idly tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. “It was freshman year, and we were at that off-campus party. It was crowded—”
“So you found a cozy corner to make out with some girl,” Lexi interjected with a wry smile.
“Don’t interrupt.”
“Sorry.”
“Anyway,” Quentin continued pointedly. “Yes, I was in a corner getting better acquainted with a young lady—”
Lexi snorted at that. “‘Better acquainted.’”
Quentin scowled. “Are you gonna let me finish?”
“Sorry.” She bit her lip to stifle a grin. “By all means. Please continue.”
“Thank you.” Humor tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“As I was saying, the young lady and I were getting better acquainted. But as I leaned in to make my move, something else caught my eye. I glanced up, and there was this pretty little tenderoni moving slowly through the crowd. She was searching for someone, and I took one look into her eyes and hoped it was me.”
Lexi stared at him, her insides tingling with pleasure. They’d reminisced about their first meeting many times over the years, but this was the first time she’d ever heard this version.
“She had the most beautiful, exotic eyes I’d ever seen,” Quentin continued softly. “I won’t lie. They took my breath away. And when the rest of her face came into view, it only got better. Our eyes met, and she gave me this sweet, shy smile—”
“Before she saw the girl in your arms, who definitely was not smiling when she realized you had a wandering eye.”
Quentin grinned sheepishly. “Well, anyway, to make a long story short, the tenderoni’s smile quickly turned into a frown, and with a disgusted roll of those stunning eyes, she moved on without a backward glance.
Later, when we were introduced to each other by Mike—who’d apparently made a better first impression than I had—the tenderoni laughed at one of my jokes.
And that’s how I eventually won her over. ”
Lexi chuckled, nibbling on a piece of Chaource cheese. “Yep. That sounds about right.” She hesitated, then couldn’t resist adding, “I didn’t know that was your first impression of me. You never hit on me after that night.”
Quentin looked amused. “Is that a question or a complaint?”
She blushed. “Neither. I’m just making an observation.”
He chuckled, low and soft. “For starters, you made it perfectly clear what you thought of my, ah, wandering eye. I figured I’d only be setting myself up for rejection if I tried to make a move on you.
And once we got to know each other better, I realized that having your friendship was more important to me than trying to get you into bed. ”
Lexi gazed at him, her heart constricting. “I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Quentin.”
“Naw,” he guffawed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m pretty sure I’ve said much sweeter things than that.”
She laughed, even as his previous words echoed through her mind. She was searching for someone, and I took one look into her eyes and hoped it was me.
She shivered convulsively. The man definitely had a way with words.
Reaching for another piece of cheese, she gave him a small, whimsical smile. “Just out of curiosity, what was the second thing you noticed about me?”
Quentin’s eyes glinted wickedly. “Your ass.”
Sputtering with indignation, Lexi threw her cheese at him.
They were still laughing and teasing each other when the waiter returned with their meals.
He set the plates on the table with a flourish and identified each dish: wine-poached salmon with black truffles, cognac shrimp with beurre blanc sauce and foie gras with figs.
Lexi was delighted with the classic French food, which she and Quentin proceeded to share, sometimes eating from the same plate at the same time.
They talked throughout dinner. Even after all these years, Lexi marveled that they never ran out of things to say to each other.
There was a natural flow to their conversation, the relaxed camaraderie shared by two people who could complete each other’s sentences, even when they chose not to.
At the same time, Lexi couldn’t help wondering how it was possible to feel so comfortable with a man who set her blood on fire.
They’d just finished dessert—an exquisite parfait glacé aux marrons—when a romantic Viennese waltz began playing in the background. Suddenly Lexi was transported back to the night of the masquerade ball.
Quentin rose from his chair and rounded the table to stand over her, his hand outstretched to her. “I believe you still owe me a dance.”
Her heart thudded at the deep, intoxicating timbre of his voice. In the far recesses of her mind, she knew she should just thank him for the wonderful dinner and call it a night while she still could.
Instead she smiled, placed her hand in his and murmured, “I believe you’re right.”
Quentin led her out to the middle of the floor and drew her into his arms. She melted at once, curving her arms around his neck and settling her head against the broad wall of his chest. The dramatic difference in their heights should have made their dancing awkward.
But they swayed together as easily and gracefully as if their movements had been specially choreographed by the great George Balanchine.
Years of practice, Lexi rationalized. They’d danced together a thousand times over the course of their friendship. But tonight was different. She felt it as surely as Quentin did.
“When was the last time we did this?” he murmured, his cheek resting against the top of her head.
“Danced together?”
“Yeah.”
“Michael’s wedding.”
“Then it’s been too damn long.”
A secret thrill of pleasure curled through Lexi, and she smiled.
His strong, muscled thighs rubbed against hers as he turned her slowly in a circle, keeping one hand at the small of her back and the other firmly around her waist. She could feel his steady heartbeat, the lift of his chest with every breath he took.
She relished the warmth of his body surrounding her.
She didn’t want the romantic waltz to end. She didn’t want the night to end. She was completely caught up in the profound perfection of the moment.
So she didn’t mind when the hand at her waist urged her closer. She simply closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. A moment later Quentin ran his other hand up her back, a whisper of sensation against the silk of her blouse. Her breasts tingled, her nipples puckering against his hard chest.
She felt his breathing change at the same time hers quickened.
She lifted her head and stared up at him. Though the lights were dimmed low, there was no mistaking the flare of hunger in the glittering eyes that stared back at her. Her heart thumped against her breastbone.
Cradling her face between his hands, Quentin brushed his lips across her forehead, her closed eyelids, her nose and her cheekbones before claiming her mouth. Lexi trembled, her senses reeling from the fiercely tender assault. She kissed him back, hungrily seeking the heat and flavor of his mouth.
As their tongues tangled sensually, he stroked a hand down her body and cupped her bottom. She moaned. Her blood poured through her veins like heated wine, leaving her feeling flushed and slightly intoxicated.
As Quentin gently kneaded her butt, she leaned up on tiptoe until her aching groin cradled the hard, thick bulge of his erection. He groaned, holding her tightly against him while his mouth devoured hers with searing intensity. Her heart thundered, squeezing the air out of her lungs.
“Lex,” he whispered raggedly. “I want you. Tell me what I have to do to have you.”
The words jarred her back to reality.
She tore her mouth from his and stared up at him.
The raw hunger on his face mirrored the desire rampaging through her body.
She wanted him, wanted him so badly she shook with it.
It would have been so easy to surrender to temptation, to go home with him and let him make love to her.
She ached to feel his body joined with hers, possessing her.
But it was too dangerous.
“I—I can’t,” she stammered, shaking her head.
“Lex—”
Quentin took a step toward her and she retreated backward. “I’m sorry. This was such an incredible evening. Everything was perfect. But I can’t do this, Quentin.”
He stared down at her, his eyes smoldering with sexual need and frustration.
“I should go.” It was more plea than declaration.
He held her gaze for another long, electrified moment, then heaved a resigned breath and muttered, “At least let me walk you to your damn car.”
She knew better than to argue.