She balanced the heavy menu against the tabletop, holding it with one hand. Then she dropped the other to her lap, covering Zach’s. “Stop,” she hissed under her breath. “Please.” The word came out on a desperate squeak.
His hand stilled. But then he turned it, meeting hers, and his thumb began a slow caress of her palm.
A new wave of desire flowed through her.
She could pull away anytime she wanted. But she didn’t want to pull away. Lord help her, she wanted to savor the sensation, feel the raw energy pulse through her body. And when his hand turned back, and the caress resumed on her thigh, she didn’t complain.
“The salmon,” he said decisively, closing his menu and setting it aside.
Susan pulled her menu against her chest, speaking over the top. “The dill sauce is to die for.”
Ray gave his wife’s shoulder a quick, friendly caress. “It’s beyond me why she doesn’t weigh three hundred pounds.”
“I have a great metabolism,” Susan said, adding a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t do nearly enough exercise to deserve all those desserts.”
Zach turned to Kaitlin, his fingertips still working magic as he spoke. “And what do you want?”
The double entendre boomed around them both.
Her gaze was drawn to the depths of his eyes, knowing there was no disguising her naked longing. “Risotto,” she managed to say.
“And for dessert?” He pressed more firmly against her inner thigh, his palm sliding boldly against her sensitized skin.
“I’ll decide later.”
He gave a slow, satisfied smile, and a gleam of attraction turned his gray eyes to silver.
Just as she was tumbling completely and hopelessly under his spell, Lindsay’s words came back to haunt her. Do you think there’s a slim possibility it was a distraction?
Oh, no.
He was doing it, again.
And she was falling for it, willingly, and all over again.
Humiliation was like ice water to her hormones. She steeled her wayward desire, letting anger replace her lust.
“No dessert,” she told him sternly, dropping her hand to her thigh and firmly removing his.
“Crème brûlée,” said Susan. “Definitely crème brûlée for me.”
Zach’s gaze slid to Kaitlin for a split second. But then he obviously decided to give up. Distraction was not going to work for him this time. His behavior was reprehensible, and her lapse in judgment was thoroughly unprofessional. What would it take for her to learn?
Thankfully, Susan launched into a story about a recent business trip to Greece.
Kaitlin forced herself to listen, responding with what she hoped were friendly and intelligent answers to Ray’s and Susan’s questions, then asking about their trip to London and their new ski chalet in Banff, as appetizers, dinner and then dessert were served.
Zach didn’t touch her again, luckily for him. Because by the time the crème brûlée was finished, the check arrived, and Ray and Susan said their good-nights, Kaitlin’s mood had migrated to full-on rage.
As the waiter cleared the last of the dishes, smoothing the white linen tablecloth, Lindsay and Dylan appeared.
Lindsay plunked herself next to Zach, the briefcase between them, while Dylan sat much more reluctantly across from Kaitlin.
“They stole your briefcase,” Lindsay said without preamble. “They stole your briefcase.”
Kaitlin had presumed that was what happened. She immediately turned an accusing glare on Zach. There was no need to voice the question, so she waited silently for his explanation.
“It was in my trunk,” he pointed out in his own defense. “My trunk.”
Lindsay opened her mouth, but Dylan jumped in before she could speak. His blue eyes glittered at Zach. “Seems there are some finer points of the law you may not have taken into account here.”
“They’re my drawings,” Zach stated.
The waiter reappeared, and conversation ceased. “May I offer anyone some coffee?”
“A shot of cognac in mine,” said Lindsay.
“All around,” Zach added gruffly, making a circle motion with his index finger.
Kaitlin wasn’t inclined to argue.
“They are my drawings.” Her words to Zach were stern as the man walked away.
“I paid you to make them,” he countered.
“You both paid her to make them,” Lindsay pointed out in an imperious tone.
“I wouldn’t argue with her,” Dylan muttered darkly.
Lindsay shot him a warning look.
He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by her professorial demeanor as he stared levelly back. “I had a math teacher like you once.”
“Didn’t seem to do you any good,” she retorted.