LITMIR.BIZ

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for a lot of women. But hey, we’re not making a video together, we’re friends having dinner. Tell me you’re eating more than salad.”

      She sighed and he guessed he wasn’t completely forgiven for being insensitive. “I was looking at the grilled salmon,” she said. “How about you?”

      “Lasagne,” he said promptly. “Not glamorous, but I’m sick of fancy food.”

      Her lips curved up. “Craving some of your mamma’s home cooking?”

      He laughed. “I told you about my family, didn’t I? Yes, I’ve eaten in many of the fine restaurants of the world, but there’s something about Mamma’s lasagne and spaghetti bolognese that can’t be topped.” He tapped his menu against the table. “If I order an appetizer, can I persuade you to at least taste it?”

      Her lips curved. “I can usually be tempted.”

      Those words, coming out of that sexy mouth, made his dick surge hungrily. He adjusted his napkin to hide the bulge in his lap. “Then, how about the paté? Or the oysters? Do you like oysters?”

      She shook her head. “I may not be a practicing Jew, but I still avoid certain foods like oysters. And paté’s too rich for me. Try again.”

      “That’s right, I’d forgotten you were Jewish.”

      “Goldberg?” She raised her eyebrows.

      “Yeah, right.” He laughed. “Okay, let’s see. How about funghi?”

      “That’s mushrooms, right?” She studied her menu. “Sautéed with garlic, lemon and basil. Mmm, that sounds good.”

      “Funghi it is.” And how wonderful that she didn’t steer away from garlic, another habit that was endemic among the women he worked with.

      The moment Rina put the closed menu down, Francesco was there, easing up behind her. He rested a hand on her chair, almost touching her shoulder. “Bella, the wine is to your liking? And you are ready to order dinner?”

      Rina tilted her head to smile up at him. “The champagne’s wonderful. And yes, we’re ready to order.”

      Fuck. Why was she giving her smile to Francesco? And wasn’t the guy the owner of the place? Why was he playing waiter?

      Was he hustling Rina?

      Francesco glanced over at him with a knowing smile then, behind Rina’s back, tapped his left thumb against his wedding band.

      Giancarlo let out a long breath. The guy was only being Italian, showing his appreciation for a beautiful woman. Giancarlo’s beautiful woman. And giving him special service, because he was a fellow Italian. Francesco’s behavior was a compliment.

      Damn, he wasn’t used to being jealous.

      He gave Francesco a rueful, apologetic smile, then gestured to Rina to go ahead.

      She ordered salmon and asked what it came with. When Francesco answered, “Rice and a selection of vegetables,” she said, “Could you leave off the rice and give me extra vegetables, please?”

      “Anything for you.”

      Giancarlo rolled his eyes. Then he said, “If you don’t like rice, why not get potatoes or pasta?” He slanted a grin at Francesco. “After all, you can have anything you want.”

      She gave a composed smile. “Thanks, but I prefer vegetables.”

      Giancarlo placed his own order, and then he and Rina were alone again. He watched her sip champagne, enjoying the sparkles in her eyes and in the wine, enhanced by the candlelight. “You’re lovely, Rina.”

      Her jaw tightened. “Giancarlo, it’s kind of cute when Francesco does the flattery thing. It’s part of his shtick, you know? But I’d rather you didn’t do it.”

      “It’s genetic with Italian men, to appreciate female beauty.”

      She raised her eyebrows. “Gimme a break.”

      “I don’t think so,” he said softly. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it.” He heard her breath catch and held her gaze across the table.

      She softened. Something inside her—the something that had been keeping her guard up—let go. He saw it happen when her eyes began to glow. With warmth, attraction, passion. Yes! He wasn’t alone in his feelings.

      He was about to reach for her hand when she blinked and the glow was gone. She sat back in her chair and folded her arms under her breasts, which plumped their abundance even more. That semisheer top was tantalizing. Was that a black lace bra he could glimpse underneath, or just his lustful imagination?

      His hands ached to cup those full breasts. He wanted to bury his face in them, suckle her nipples, hear her cry out. Rina’s breasts, as well as being the epitome of femininity, were sensitive, he recalled. Her entire body was responsive. She was as well crafted and tuned as the finest of musical instruments and, for the first time in ages, his fingers itched to play.

      So did his dick. If he didn’t stop thinking about making love with her, he was going to embarrass himself.

      She shook her hair back from her face. “What do you want from tonight?”

      He almost groaned. If he told her the truth, would she run? Pazienza, he cautioned himself. “What you said in your e-mail. To see you, catch up.”

      “That’s not how you’re acting. You keep, uh, kind of…Oh damn, never mind.”

      What had she been going to say? Flirting? “What do you want, cara?” he asked.

      She made another of those little catch-breath sounds and glanced away. “I w-want—” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “I thought we’d talk about what we’ve done since we last saw each other.”

      He noted she’d said, “I thought,” and not told him what she wanted. “And reminisce about that summer at Banff?” he asked. If they did, she’d have to remember how great they’d been together. He might have been an inexperienced kid, but there was one thing he was confident of: he’d satisfied his girl.

      Rina tugged on the end of her scarf and the whole thing began to slip, but she caught it and wrapped it tighter around her neck. “That was a fun summer. I’d been looking forward to it all year.”

      Okay, he’d accept her diversion. For now. “Me too. Though I was terrified.” He grinned at the thought of the boy he’d been. “I was in such a hurry to get away from my small village, Domodossola, and big extended family. But the moment I got to Banff I was homesick.”

      “You were lucky to have a home to be homesick about.”

      “Your father was with the army—no, air force—wasn’t he? I remember you saying you moved a lot.”

      She nodded. “I’ve lived on Forces bases all over the place. God, I’ve had enough travel to last me a lifetime. Dad was training fighter pilots in Cold Lake, Alberta, the year I went to Banff.”

      “And now you’re in Vancouver. What brought you here, and do you plan to stay?”

      “I am so staying.” She said it with total conviction. “Along with all the places we lived, we also did a lot of tourist-type travel. Vancouver stuck in my mind. The ocean, the mountains. Cosmopolitan, yet beautiful and not overdeveloped.”

      “I can see that. Just from the few days I’ve been here.”

      She nodded happily, accepting his compliment of the city she so clearly loved. “A decent symphony orchestra too. Anyhow, when my parents died—”

      “Oh, Rina, I didn’t know.” He’d reached over to cup her hand in both of his before he even thought. “I’m sorry. When did it happen?”

      She didn’t pull away, and he savored the feel of her warm hand between his as she said, “Right after Banff.

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