Persuading Spring: A Sexy New Zealand Romance (The Four Seasons Book 4) (11 page)

The tuna steak was delicious, the wine
fresh and flavorsome, the setting sun warm, and the atmosphere pleasant. Aaron
wasn’t sure why it was so important to him that the evening went well, but he
couldn’t suppress a glow of pleasure that Bridget appeared to be enjoying
herself.

He’d had a hard time concentrating all
afternoon, buoyed up by the idea of seeing her at the end of his working day.
It had been a long time since he’d looked forward to the evenings. Years ago,
maybe, when he was first married to Nita, before she got too homesick and she
was still enjoying the novelty of living in the bay. Certainly, as the years
had gone by and her resentment had grown, he’d found excuses to stay at the
surgery and limit his time at home. He wasn’t proud of it, but when he’d known
that as soon as he walked through the door the arguments would begin, it hadn’t
made him eager to finish his day.

Since she’d left, going home had been a
different experience. He’d sold the family house they’d shared and given her
half the proceeds, and he now rented a much smaller place on a hill overlooking
the ocean. He paid for a cleaner, and it was much nicer coming home at night to
a peaceful place where everyone was happy to see him.

Having two dogs waiting for him was great.
Having a sexy woman waiting to have dinner with him was even better.

Bridget was gradually relaxing in his
company, and although she wasn’t exactly laughing inanely at everything he
said, her smile appeared more readily than it had over the weekend, and her
body had released some of its tension.

He couldn’t ignore her suggestive comment
or the light in her eyes whenever she looked at him, but he knew he mustn’t
read too much into it. It was difficult, though. His body didn’t want to listen
to his brain. He’d thought her beautiful in the hotel, but here, tonight, he
found it difficult not to stare at her all the time. She’d tamed her hair into
a braid that fell over one shoulder, leaving several tendrils to curl
enticingly around her temples. Were they natural? He wanted to reach across and
slip them through his fingers to see if her hair felt as silky as it looked.

Her eyes were free of the elaborate makeup
that had turned her into a panda, but she looked better for it. Her clear skin
had flushed a little from the wine or the warm sun. She’d worn some kind of
lipstick or gloss that had given her lips a shine when they’d first met. As
she’d eaten it had disappeared, but now she’d finished her meal she sat back
and retrieved a clear tube from her bag, slicked it across her lips, and
pressed them together in the age-old female gesture that made him want to lean
over and kiss her.

He swallowed hard and focused on the
dessert menu. At this rate he’d end up with indigestion and a raging hard-on to
end the evening, and although his erection might be hoping for some action, it
wasn’t going to get any, so it might as well stop bothering him.

He thinks you’re going to seduce me and
ravage me.
Jeez. No wonder he was having trouble
concentrating.

“What are you going to have?” She put down
her menu and smiled at him. “I’m having the Tiramisu.”

He laid the menu aside. “I’ll just have
coffee. I’m not a dessert kind of guy.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You don’t like Tiramisu?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”

Comically, her eyebrows rose even higher.
“I’m sorry, I think I misheard you then. You’ve never had Tiramisu?”

He chuckled. “I don’t have a sweet tooth.”

“Yes, but… it’s Tiramisu! How could you
have got to—how old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“—thirty-four and never had Tiramisu?”

She looked completely baffled, as if he’d
said he’d never seen the sun or tasted water.

Now he was most amused. “I don’t know.”

“You haven’t even had it… you know?”

“What?”

Her eyes took on a sexy, impish glint.
“It’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac.”

“Seriously?”

“Have you never seen Sleepless in Seattle?”

“No.”

“Oh my God. My brain’s going to explode.”

He began to laugh. “Clearly I need
educating.”

“Damn straight. Well, let’s start with
this. During the Renaissance, Venetians made Tiramisu to eat with their lovers
because they thought it gave them energy during sex.”

“I see.” Just the mention of sex starting
his heart racing again.
For fuck’s sake.
He felt like a
sixteen-year-old. It was only because he hadn’t had slept with anyone for two
years, eleven months, and twelve days. Not that he was counting or anything.

“Maybe you should initiate me,” he said. He
watched her moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue and then realized how
she might have interpreted that. “With the Tiramisu I meant, not the sex bit.”

She leaned forward, her gaze resting on his
mouth. “You don’t want sex?”

“I…” His brain had gone blank, his lips
refusing to move as she studied them as if she was thinking of kissing him. “I’m
a guy,” he managed eventually. “Of course I want sex. But not with you. I mean,
I do,” he added desperately, “of course I do… I mean, I don’t want to…” He saw
a twinkle appear in her eye and gave up.

“You’re very sweet,” she said.

“I don’t like that word,” he grumbled.
“Makes me sound like a wuss.”

“Absolutely not. Tiramisu is sweet. It’s
also rich and dark and sexy, and it melts on your tongue and tastes heavenly.”

“I’m not rich,” he said weakly.

She laughed. “That’s the least of my
worries.”

The waitress came to take their orders and
gave them a puzzled look as they both tried not to laugh while ordering their
Tiramisu. When she’d gone, Bridget leaned on the table again and put a hand on
his arm. “I’m so sorry. I’m teasing you, and that’s not fair when you’ve been
so nice to me.”

“I don’t mind.” He was having more fun
tonight than he’d had for a long time. “I’m enjoying myself. You’re a lovely
girl and I’m flattered that you’d come out to dinner with me. But I don’t want
to take advantage of you when you’ve had a tough time and are emotionally
vulnerable. As much as I want to kiss you, I know that wouldn’t be the right
thing to do.” His words held an air of desperation.

She tipped her head to the side. “You don’t
think I know my own mind?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

They studied each other for a long moment.
His pulse raced, but he made himself sit still and wait for her to speak. The
sun had almost sunk below the horizon, flooding the ocean and sky with a
beautiful palette of oranges, purples, and reds. The waitress stopped to turn
on the deck heater, and a pleasant warmth washed over them.

Something seemed to be hanging in the air
between them like a sparkling mist, full of promise and anticipation. He was
afraid to breathe out in case he blew it away.

“You look anxious,” she said.

He picked up his wine and took a mouthful.
“These are unusual circumstances. We don’t know each other very well. You said
that Mal had been your only boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t slept with anyone else since I
met Nita, and not even her for years.”

“You haven’t been with anyone else since
you broke up?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “The separation was hard. Life
with her wasn’t easy, but I missed her, and I missed my son. I suppose for a
long time I hoped it was temporary and we’d get back together again, but even
when I knew that wasn’t going to happen, it took me a long while to get over
it. Maybe I still haven’t. I don’t know. I’ve needed that time on my own to let
everything settle, and I know it sounds incredibly corny, but to find myself
again.”

“But you think you’re ready?”

He turned his wine glass around by the
stem. “I haven’t even thought about it until now.” The notion of dating again
at his age had horrified him. Like most guys, he loved sex, but he’d never had
a one-night stand, and paying for it was out of the question. Part of him had
wondered whether he might stay single. He knew not all relationships ended in
disaster, but the idea of starting again, of beginning that slow, laborious
dance of getting to know someone and discovering all about them, hadn’t
appealed at all.

The last thing he would have expected was
to be sitting there having dinner with a beautiful woman who—if he wasn’t
mistaken—was coming on to him something rotten.

The waitress came out with their desserts
and placed them on the table. Aaron picked up a spoon and dipped it into the
creamy mixture. Normally, he’d choose cheese and biscuits to finish off a meal
rather than something sweet, but as he sampled his first taste of the chocolate-and-coffee-flavored
creamy dessert, he could see what Bridget had been on about.

“Mmm.” She licked her lips as she
swallowed. “That is just heavenly.”

“It’s not bad.” He had another spoonful.

“There is something seriously wrong with
you.”

He laughed and took a sip of wine. “Maybe.”
He watched her lips close around the spoon, the dreamy look on her face as she
swallowed. Dear God. His mind was turning everything to sex.

She dipped the spoon in again, and then her
gaze drifted out to sea, focusing on a spot way off in the distance.

“Are you thinking about Mal?”

She looked back at her dessert. “Yes.”

“Do you feel guilty being here with me?”

Her gaze came back to him, and he was
surprised to see determination, not sadness, in her eyes. “Guilty? No. I owe
him no loyalty. I was thinking about how different my life could have been in
another dimension. I could have been sitting in a hotel in Vanuatu, newly
married, with a lifetime ahead of me with him by my side.” She met his gaze and
crossed her eyes.

He laughed. “You don’t miss him?”

She ate a spoonful of dessert thoughtfully,
then sighed and sat back. “Will you promise not to think I’m a terrible person
if I admit something to you?”

“Of course.”

“Over the past week, once the humiliation
and embarrassment died down, the strongest emotion I felt was relief.”

His eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Yes. Isn’t that terrible?”

“It’s honest.”

A touch of pink appeared in her cheeks.
“You must think me incredibly hard and unfeeling.”

“Honey, I’m amazed you’re not sticking pins
in a voodoo doll of him. I’d be shocked if you weren’t relieved at that lucky
escape.”

“I’m aware it must sound a little like sour
grapes, as if I’m saying that now he doesn’t want me, I never wanted him in the
first place, but I swear that’s not it. I spent days walking along the beach,
letting everything settle, like waiting for a storm to die down. And the more I
thought about it, the more I realized that a lot of what I was feeling in the
first few days was connected with everyone else, and what they must be thinking
of me.”

“I was like that after Nita and I
separated,” he admitted. “It’s difficult to admit a relationship has ended. I
felt a failure. I thought that I must have been a terrible husband, and maybe I
hadn’t paid her enough attention, or told her I loved her enough.”

“That’s right.” She looked relieved that he
understood. “I suppose most people’s first reaction is to assume they’re in the
wrong. And look, I want to say that it wasn’t all Mal’s fault. What he did to a
woman he’d been with for so long was cruel and unkind, but I know I pressured
him into getting married.”

She held her hand up as Aaron tried to
protest. “I’m not being self-pitying, just truthful with myself. I should have
seen that his reluctance to commit meant we weren’t right for each other, and
he should have been honest with me too and told me how he really felt. I do
think he loved me, in his way, but we were convenient for each other. We’d been
together a long time, and we stayed together out of habit more than anything. It’s
nice not to have to worry about dating—to have a partner on call for social
occasions, for companionship, for sex. But that’s not a good enough reason to
get married. I know that now.”

“I know what you mean. I believe that if a
relationship is in trouble, a couple should do everything they can to make it
work. The divorce rate is so high nowadays, I’m sure, because people give up at
the first sign of trouble. Although it’s natural to feel guilty, I believe that
I did everything I could to make Nita happy, short of actually moving to
Spain.”

“Do you wish you had now?”

“No. My home is here. I help my sister with
her kids sometimes if her husband’s working. My parents aren’t getting any
younger. I like it here, and I don’t want to leave. Relationships are—to a
certain extent—about compromise, and I was happy to compromise on what food I
ate, what color to paint the walls, and what we did socially. It was always me
who gave way in almost everything to keep the peace. But leaving the country
was one thing, fair or not, that I couldn’t bring myself to do.”