New York, Actually. Sarah MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
you carrying?”
She’d walked right into that. “We were talking about you.”
“But now I’d like to talk about you. Or do you always deflect conversation when it becomes personal?”
“I don’t deflect.” She sighed. “All right, maybe I do. Sometimes. You asked me if my dog is my most meaningful relationship. The answer is yes, right now he is. I’m enjoying the simplicity of my life.”
“So are you avoiding intimacy?” He mimicked her question and she gave a reluctant laugh.
“Definitely. And I’ve never been happier.”
“So if we carry on seeing each other, are you going to be analyzing my every move?”
“We’re not going to carry on seeing each other. We’re having a conversation in the park, that’s all.”
“You already know me better than the last three women I dated, and you’re telling me that’s it?” He was smiling, and it was the smile that proved her downfall. That and a late night updating Ask a Girl, which had left her tired and lowered her defenses.
Sleep deprivation had a lot to answer for.
She sipped her tea, almost spilling the last of it as Brutus nudged her leg.
“Sit.” Daniel gave the dog a severe look. “This animal is out of control.”
“He needs to know who is boss.”
“He thinks he’s the boss. It’s a problem we’re addressing.”
“Brutus!” Molly said his name firmly but the dog didn’t even turn his head. “Maybe it’s not a behavioral problem. Is there something wrong with his hearing?”
“Not to my knowledge. Why?”
“Because he doesn’t seem to know his own name. It’s unusual for a dog to ignore his name, even if he ignores the command that goes with it. Hey—Brutus.” She pulled a dog treat out of her pocket and the dog’s head turned like a whip. “You know your name when there’s food involved. Why doesn’t that surprise me? How long have you had him?”
“Not long. How long have you had Valentine?”
“Three years.”
“Is that when you moved to New York?”
Molly reminded herself that thousands of people moved to New York every day. He wasn’t likely to take her picture and do an image search. “Yes.”
“What brought you to the US?”
Romantic disasters.
Professional and personal humiliation.
She could have given him a list.
“Career advancement. And I have family here. My dad is American. Born in Connecticut.”
“Career? For a moment I wondered if it was heartbreak.” He studied her face. “So do you think you’ll go back at some point?”
“No.” She kept her smile in place and her tone light. “I love New York City. I love my job, my apartment and my dog. Going back doesn’t interest me.”
“How about dinner?” Daniel reached down and stroked Valentine’s head. “Does that interest you?”
Molly watched, transfixed, as those long, strong fingers caressed her dog. Her pulse sped forward. Her insides tumbled and turned. And still she stared at those hands, watching as he seduced her dog with easy, comfortable strokes.
He’d asked her something. What was it? Why was it so hard to concentrate around him?
Dinner. That was it. Dinner. “You’re asking me to dinner?”
“Why not? You’re good company. I’d like to buy you something other than Earl Grey tea.”
There had been a time when she would have been tempted. She certainly would have been flattered. What woman wouldn’t? But that time had passed.
“I’m pretty busy right now.” She sprang to her feet, clumsy in her haste, and stepped on Valentine’s foot. He gave an outraged yelp and leaped away. “Sorry.” Racked by guilt, she stooped and kissed his head. “Sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?” Valentine wagged his tail, endlessly forgiving. “I should go.” She was aware that Daniel was watching her, his blue gaze speculative and a touch amused.
“I’m assuming you don’t have a fatal allergy to food, so I’m going to take that personally.”
“I don’t date guys I meet in the park.”
“How is it different from dating a guy you meet in a bar?”
“I don’t date them either.”
He finished his drink and rose, too. He was more than a head taller than her, his shoulders wide and powerful. His hair gleamed in the early morning sunshine. “What are you afraid of?”
“I turn you down and you assume I’m afraid? Isn’t that a little arrogant? Maybe I simply don’t want to have dinner with you.”
“Maybe. But then there’s the alternative possibility. That you do want to have dinner with me, and that is freaking you out.” Brutus nudged his leg, hopeful of another game, but Daniel kept his gaze fixed on Molly.
Awareness seeped through her skin and sank deep. “I’m not freaked out.”
“Good. Do you know the little French bistro two blocks from here? I’ll meet you there at eight. It’s a public place, so that should satisfy your ‘is he a stalker or a serial killer’ worries.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is salsa dancing.”
“Salsa dancing?”
“I go Tuesday and Friday nights whenever I’m free.”
“Who do you dance with?”
“Anyone. Everyone. It’s pretty casual.” And hot, sweaty, sexy and fun. Harmless fun. Nothing deep. Nothing serious. Nothing that made her feel the way she felt when she was with Daniel.
“So you’re happy to dance with strangers, but you won’t have dinner with one. How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is Wednesday.”
“And Wednesday is…? Tango?”
“Wednesday is Italian cooking class.”
“You’re learning Italian cooking?”
“I started recently. I want to make tortellini as well as my neighbor. If you’d tasted his tortellini, you’d understand.”
“Thursday?”
“Thursday is spin class.”
“I never understood the point of cycling hard to get nowhere. Saturday? Don’t tell me—Saturday is quilting.” The paths around them teemed with joggers, walkers and people pushing strollers, but they were focused on each other.
“Saturday I keep free. I usually meet up with friends.”
“Great. Eight o’clock Saturday it is. If you don’t want to meet me in a restaurant, you can cook. I’ll bring the champagne.” He was comfortable and relaxed, whereas she felt as if she was floundering in the deep end of a large swimming pool.
“If you want to eat dinner with me you can join me at Italian cooking class.”
He shook his head regretfully. “Italian cooking is Wednesday, and Wednesday is poker night.”
“You play poker? Of course you do.”
“Why ‘of course’?”
“Ruthless killer instinct combined with the ability to mask your emotions. I bet you’re good.”