skirt when John swung her up in his arms and placed her gently on the seat.
She was an adult woman and he had picked her up with no more effort than if she had been a child.
Again, she had to marvel at how quickly the man could move. She was still adjusting her coat when the driver’s door opened and closed quickly, letting in a swirl of cold air. He turned on the ignition.
“Where are we going?” she asked when they reached Brandon Avenue.
He cast a quicksilver glance at her. “Where you wanted.” Though he didn’t say the words aloud, his tone said “of course”.
Suzanne blinked. “Comme Chez Soi?”
He shrugged. “That’s right.”
She gave a half laugh. “You were able to get reservations at Comme Chez Soi on a Friday night?” There was a permanent two-week waiting list. A last-minute Friday night reservation was impossible.
They were moving into the downtown district and she could see his clean, hard profile more clearly. His face was hard, set. “I persuaded them to make room for two more, yeah.”
He’d persuaded…she caught her breath. He’d been armed. Had he pulled a gun on them?
Suzanne brought her fist to her mouth. “Oh my God, John, what did you do to them to get them to give you a table?”
He laughed, a rough low sound. “Not what you’re thinking, honey. I stopped by and gave the maitre d’ a note with a dead president on it.”
Happy the darkness disguised her pink cheeks, Suzanne looked blindly out the window.
‘Honey.’ He’d called her honey. It meant absolutely nothing of course. But her heart had taken a violent leap in her chest. She folded one hand over another and took deep breaths to calm herself down.
It was like being in a cave, just the two of them. A dark cave cut off from the rest of the world. Traffic was light and the sidewalks were deserted. The big machine rode silently through the streets, leaving an arc of water in its wake. The soft whir of the windshield wipers kept time with her heartbeat.
He drove fast but well. She felt utterly safe in a secure cocoon.
“It’s raining really hard,” she said finally. He hadn’t spoken a word in the last ten minutes. She had to learn to make conversation with this man, without her voice or her hands trembling. The weather seemed a safe topic.
“Par for the course here,” he grumbled. “Rains all the time.”
For a moment, she was charmed at the thought of big, bad John Huntington being disgruntled by some rain, as if he was made of spun sugar and would melt. “Well…” she teased gently. “Not all the time. There’s the odd sunny day. Or two. You’re not from around here, are you?”
She couldn’t place the accent in his deep voice. Not western, for sure.
“No, ma’am.”
He looked over and their eyes met. His gaze had such power in it Suzanne had to look away. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.
Say something, you idiot. “So, um, where are you from?”
He was silent a moment as he negotiated the tricky intersection off Harrison. “From all over and nowhere in particular. My dad was in the Navy and I grew up on Navy bases. Then when I was old enough to enlist, I followed in his footsteps. I’ve lived on most of the naval bases in this country and a good many abroad. Most of them sunny,” he added wryly. “When I took early retirement, I needed a home base of my own. Weather didn’t factor too much into the choice.”
“So…why Portland?”
“Don’t really know.” He shrugged. “A lot of people told me what a great place it was. I’d met Bud years ago when he was a marine. He said there were good hunting and fishing and sailing close by. Seemed as good a place as any.”
“Bud said he didn’t even know you were in town.”
“Yeah. I thought I was going to build my business up slowly, have time to see my pals, maybe fish and hunt some. Instead,
She was an adult woman and he had picked her up with no more effort than if she had been a child.
Again, she had to marvel at how quickly the man could move. She was still adjusting her coat when the driver’s door opened and closed quickly, letting in a swirl of cold air. He turned on the ignition.
“Where are we going?” she asked when they reached Brandon Avenue.
He cast a quicksilver glance at her. “Where you wanted.” Though he didn’t say the words aloud, his tone said “of course”.
Suzanne blinked. “Comme Chez Soi?”
He shrugged. “That’s right.”
She gave a half laugh. “You were able to get reservations at Comme Chez Soi on a Friday night?” There was a permanent two-week waiting list. A last-minute Friday night reservation was impossible.
They were moving into the downtown district and she could see his clean, hard profile more clearly. His face was hard, set. “I persuaded them to make room for two more, yeah.”
He’d persuaded…she caught her breath. He’d been armed. Had he pulled a gun on them?
Suzanne brought her fist to her mouth. “Oh my God, John, what did you do to them to get them to give you a table?”
He laughed, a rough low sound. “Not what you’re thinking, honey. I stopped by and gave the maitre d’ a note with a dead president on it.”
Happy the darkness disguised her pink cheeks, Suzanne looked blindly out the window.
‘Honey.’ He’d called her honey. It meant absolutely nothing of course. But her heart had taken a violent leap in her chest. She folded one hand over another and took deep breaths to calm herself down.
It was like being in a cave, just the two of them. A dark cave cut off from the rest of the world. Traffic was light and the sidewalks were deserted. The big machine rode silently through the streets, leaving an arc of water in its wake. The soft whir of the windshield wipers kept time with her heartbeat.
He drove fast but well. She felt utterly safe in a secure cocoon.
“It’s raining really hard,” she said finally. He hadn’t spoken a word in the last ten minutes. She had to learn to make conversation with this man, without her voice or her hands trembling. The weather seemed a safe topic.
“Par for the course here,” he grumbled. “Rains all the time.”
For a moment, she was charmed at the thought of big, bad John Huntington being disgruntled by some rain, as if he was made of spun sugar and would melt. “Well…” she teased gently. “Not all the time. There’s the odd sunny day. Or two. You’re not from around here, are you?”
She couldn’t place the accent in his deep voice. Not western, for sure.
“No, ma’am.”
He looked over and their eyes met. His gaze had such power in it Suzanne had to look away. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.
Say something, you idiot. “So, um, where are you from?”
He was silent a moment as he negotiated the tricky intersection off Harrison. “From all over and nowhere in particular. My dad was in the Navy and I grew up on Navy bases. Then when I was old enough to enlist, I followed in his footsteps. I’ve lived on most of the naval bases in this country and a good many abroad. Most of them sunny,” he added wryly. “When I took early retirement, I needed a home base of my own. Weather didn’t factor too much into the choice.”
“So…why Portland?”
“Don’t really know.” He shrugged. “A lot of people told me what a great place it was. I’d met Bud years ago when he was a marine. He said there were good hunting and fishing and sailing close by. Seemed as good a place as any.”
“Bud said he didn’t even know you were in town.”
“Yeah. I thought I was going to build my business up slowly, have time to see my pals, maybe fish and hunt some. Instead,
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