LITMIR.BIZ

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that.”

      “I know.”

      He couldn’t help but laugh. “Honest, too.”

      “I find it makes things less complicated that way.”

      Yeah, he remembered that about her. So what would she have to say about his subterfuge? That he planned to put everything into seducing her, into making her fall in love with him?

      “So, you just had a spare evening gown hanging around in your luggage?” He drew her toward the front door, her heels clicking on the smooth tiles.

      “I have a girlfriend who’s a fashion buyer for David Jones.”

      “Handy.”

      “Indeed.” Her lips curved again, matching his smile, and his heart did a little flip at the thought of the coming evening.

      * * *

      Emily stared out the window as they crawled past an unobtrusive town house, light from a subdued neon sign streaming down onto the sidewalk. “We’re eating at Maxfield?”

      “Yep.”

      “George Evans’s restaurant? The guy who won last year’s Master Chef?” They turned the next corner.

      “Yep.”

      “And you got a table on short notice?”

      “Yep.”

      “Are you going to say anything else other than ‘yep’?”

      “Yep.” He gave her a wink before pulling into a spare parking spot. She waited, enjoying the view as he came around the car, opened her door and offered his hand. She took it, swung her legs out and rose fluidly.

      They walked hand in hand to the restaurant, the warm intimacy sending a steady thrum of delight over her skin. How could she calmly sit and eat a meal and not succumb to the desire of ripping his clothes off when he was so very close?

      She thought back to ten years ago and how she’d sensed his interest the first time he’d come striding into her coffee shop. Lucy and Maz had fallen over themselves to serve him, but he’d focused on AJ, those dark, brooding eyes somehow detecting her lust concealed beneath her efficient barista facade. The next day he’d asked for her number. That night she’d ended up in his bed.

      Just like tonight. Excitement surged at the thought.

      He squeezed her hand, smiling down at her.

      “Why are we having dinner again?” she asked, letting out a breath.

      “Because I’m hungry.”

      “Very funny. But that’s not what I meant.”

      “I know. And we’ll get to that soon enough. But right now, can you just enjoy the evening?”

      With a small huff, AJ could do nothing but nod.

      * * *

      The minutes dragged by, painful, boring moments in which they were seated, given menus and the wine list and then left to decide.

      Matt folded his menu and turned his attention to her. “So, you have a sister.”

      “Emily, yes.” She rearranged her cutlery, aligning it perfectly with her plate.

      “Older or younger?”

      “Younger.”

      “And your parents? Are they—?”

      “Not in the picture. Ever.”

      When she put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, his gaze latched on to the tiny butterfly pendant at her throat as it swung gently, glinting in the light. “Matt, look, I’d prefer we don’t talk about my past.”

      He brought his eyes back to her and frowned. “I’m just trying to get a conversation going here.”

      “I know. But those people are off-limits.”

      Those people? Matt’s brow ratcheted up but he said nothing. Take your time. You deal with setbacks and plan deviations every day. This one is no different.

      “You and Emily are close.”

      He heard her small sigh before she laid her arms on the table, cupping her elbows. “Now, yes.”

      “And before?”

      “We hadn’t talked in years. But we’re good now.” She waved a casually dismissive hand, but the deliberateness of the gesture sent up a red flag. He stored that snippet away for future reference.

      “So where did you grow up?”

      “Lots of places. Look, Matt—”

      “Sydney? Brisbane?”

      “Perth. I don’t think—”

      When he leaned in he didn’t miss the way she ever so slightly leaned back. “Humor me, AJ. I just want a little background.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I really know nothing about you.”

      “You know enough.”

      “No, I don’t.” He focused on repositioning his wineglass in order to give her time to work out an answer without feeling the pressure of his scrutiny. “For example, where did you go to school? Did you have any pets when you were a kid? What’s your favorite movie? Book?”

      When he finally glanced up, she was staring at him so hard, it almost felt like a rebuke. Yet he held firm and finally she said, “I stopped counting schools after six. We couldn’t afford to feed ourselves, let alone any pets. I must’ve seen The Wizard of Oz a hundred times. And my favorite book? The Magic Faraway Tree.”

      “Enid Blyton?”

      She nodded. “I always wanted a tree like that.”

      “Didn’t every kid?” He smiled.

      AJ remained grim. “No, I really wanted one.”

      Before he could reply, a waitress appeared. “Are you ready to order?”

      He clamped his mouth shut and gave the waitress a neutral smile.

      They ordered. When they were alone again, silence reigned. Matt watched the way AJ’s gaze dropped, her eyelashes fanning down over her cheeks. She tucked her hands under the table and leaned forward, forearms pressed against the table edge. She still didn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing solely on the fractured light streaming through the blue glass water bottle centered on their table.

      “So.” He poured a glass of water. “You’re an artist.”

      She glanced up. “You could say that.”

      “People buy your stuff, right? So I’d say that makes you one.” He pointed to her glass, and she nodded. They both watched him pour, the awkward tension punctuated only by the soft glug of water filling the glass. “What medium do you work in?”

      “I don’t mind oils but much prefer watercolors.” She wrapped her fingers around her glass and pulled it across the table. “They dry quicker and the customers don’t have to wait long.”

      “Did you study art at uni?”

      “No. All self-taught.” She took a sip of water. “Story of my life, really.”

      He was ready with a dozen more questions but he clamped his mouth shut instead.

      A few more moments passed, moments in which she refused wine, then casually cast her eye around the restaurant, observing the diners, the staff, the decor. And he, in turn, took his time and studied her with leisurely pleasure. The curve of her cheek that he knew was just as soft as when he’d first touched it. The delicate earlobe full of sensitive nerves that made her alternately shiver then gasp. The stunning hair that curled around his fingers with a life of its own.

      When

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