through me as he turns me by my hip to face him. I gaze at his mouth, wanting to taste it, and I don’t know how to answer. My voice is low when I finally say, “I’m not sure.”
Berch takes my face in his hands and leans down. He whispers, “Perhaps I need to convince you.”
I grasp his arms to steady myself when Berch Lindholm’s lips meet mine and he finally kisses me. My fantasies flash through my mind, but the real thing is better than I imagined. It’s as if he knows what I like, and our tentative nibbles make way for something hungrier as our tongues join in. My hands move up his arms, and I grip strong biceps, wishing I were touching skin instead of soft cotton.
He breaks away and sighs. “Raven.”
I touch my lips lightly and smile. “Berch.”
“Come. I’m making you dinner.”
“Right.” I take a deep breath and grab the glass he hands me. “Dinner.”
When we get to the kitchen, I’m put to work cutting a sweet onion and sautéing it to caramelize while Berch dresses red snapper with a variety of spices. He asks, “Have you heard from Morgan Stanley?”
I push an onion ring with my tongs and watch the oil coat the translucent slice. “Not yet.” And part of me hopes I don’t, because then I would have to leave Berch. I shake the thought, because that would be giving up.
“If you want a job here, I have a friend who works for a firm downtown. I’d be happy to get you an interview.”
Berch has rolled up his sleeves, and the muscles in his forearm flex as he lifts the tray of fish to make his way out to the grill. The idea of those arms holding me instead clouds my mind, and I say, “Maybe.” Why would I leave now that I have something started with the man I’ve wanted all my life? “Make that a strong maybe.”
I’m rewarded with a huge grin. “I’ll take that as a challenge and do my best to change your answer to a yes.”
What am I saying? I’m not the kind of girl to let go of a career goal for some guy. Even if it’s the one I’ve wanted all my life.
CHAPTER SIX
W e eat in front of a fire, and the flames make shadows dance along the walls. I sigh as I push my plate away. “That was the most delicious meal I’ve had in a long time. You put my cooking skills to shame.” I lean back in my chair and swirl the wine in my glass.
“That was a team effort. You make a mean salad.”
I grin. “My placement of the goat cheese and onions was amazing, wasn’t it?”
Berch’s voice lowers, and I lick my lips as he speaks. “I think it was the way you drizzled the honey.”
I’m tempted to yank him onto the table and have him for dessert. I clear my throat as I stand to clear the dishes. Berch follows my lead and says, “Just leave them on the counter. I’ll clean later.”
Plates clash as I set them down, and Berch catches me around my waist before I can return to the table. He pulls me against his chest. “About that honey—” He places his mouth on mine and kisses me. This time it doesn’t start off tentative. No, this kiss is an invitation to more, and I’m breathless when he stops.
Berch says, “Let’s sit by the fire. It’s confession time.”
The leather couch we sink into threatens to swallow me up in a comfortable embrace, so I perch on the edge to give Berch my full attention.
He takes my hand and turns my palm up. His warm finger tickles as he lightly traces a line. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Kind of. I mean, I believe that there are things that will happen to a person no matter what they do.”
“Do you remember the first time you saw me?”
I shake my head, because I’m sure it was before I can remember.
“I do. We were at the playground, and I was drawn to you. I didn’t know why, but I had to be near you, and I let you play with my trucks.” He grins. “That’s a big deal for a three-year-old.”
“I bet.”
“At dinner that night, my father asked about my day, and I told him I met the girl who would be my wife.” He
Berch takes my face in his hands and leans down. He whispers, “Perhaps I need to convince you.”
I grasp his arms to steady myself when Berch Lindholm’s lips meet mine and he finally kisses me. My fantasies flash through my mind, but the real thing is better than I imagined. It’s as if he knows what I like, and our tentative nibbles make way for something hungrier as our tongues join in. My hands move up his arms, and I grip strong biceps, wishing I were touching skin instead of soft cotton.
He breaks away and sighs. “Raven.”
I touch my lips lightly and smile. “Berch.”
“Come. I’m making you dinner.”
“Right.” I take a deep breath and grab the glass he hands me. “Dinner.”
When we get to the kitchen, I’m put to work cutting a sweet onion and sautéing it to caramelize while Berch dresses red snapper with a variety of spices. He asks, “Have you heard from Morgan Stanley?”
I push an onion ring with my tongs and watch the oil coat the translucent slice. “Not yet.” And part of me hopes I don’t, because then I would have to leave Berch. I shake the thought, because that would be giving up.
“If you want a job here, I have a friend who works for a firm downtown. I’d be happy to get you an interview.”
Berch has rolled up his sleeves, and the muscles in his forearm flex as he lifts the tray of fish to make his way out to the grill. The idea of those arms holding me instead clouds my mind, and I say, “Maybe.” Why would I leave now that I have something started with the man I’ve wanted all my life? “Make that a strong maybe.”
I’m rewarded with a huge grin. “I’ll take that as a challenge and do my best to change your answer to a yes.”
What am I saying? I’m not the kind of girl to let go of a career goal for some guy. Even if it’s the one I’ve wanted all my life.
CHAPTER SIX
W e eat in front of a fire, and the flames make shadows dance along the walls. I sigh as I push my plate away. “That was the most delicious meal I’ve had in a long time. You put my cooking skills to shame.” I lean back in my chair and swirl the wine in my glass.
“That was a team effort. You make a mean salad.”
I grin. “My placement of the goat cheese and onions was amazing, wasn’t it?”
Berch’s voice lowers, and I lick my lips as he speaks. “I think it was the way you drizzled the honey.”
I’m tempted to yank him onto the table and have him for dessert. I clear my throat as I stand to clear the dishes. Berch follows my lead and says, “Just leave them on the counter. I’ll clean later.”
Plates clash as I set them down, and Berch catches me around my waist before I can return to the table. He pulls me against his chest. “About that honey—” He places his mouth on mine and kisses me. This time it doesn’t start off tentative. No, this kiss is an invitation to more, and I’m breathless when he stops.
Berch says, “Let’s sit by the fire. It’s confession time.”
The leather couch we sink into threatens to swallow me up in a comfortable embrace, so I perch on the edge to give Berch my full attention.
He takes my hand and turns my palm up. His warm finger tickles as he lightly traces a line. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Kind of. I mean, I believe that there are things that will happen to a person no matter what they do.”
“Do you remember the first time you saw me?”
I shake my head, because I’m sure it was before I can remember.
“I do. We were at the playground, and I was drawn to you. I didn’t know why, but I had to be near you, and I let you play with my trucks.” He grins. “That’s a big deal for a three-year-old.”
“I bet.”
“At dinner that night, my father asked about my day, and I told him I met the girl who would be my wife.” He
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