Authors: Rose Connelly
“Don’t be an idiot.”
Mira reached out a hand and grabbed the flowers before he could drop them.
“Would I be spiteful enough to get dress
ed
for the evening and meet you at the door just to tell you I’m not going?”
“I don’t know, would you?”
He walked forward, forcing her back through the door.
She
lifted her free hand and stopped his advance.
“I’m going to dinner with you, but only because I’m hungry so don’t get any ideas.
I won’t be one of your women and
I don’t remember inviting you into my house so you can just stay right
where you are
while I
go back inside and
put these flowers in some water.”
“That’s clear enough,” he replied with a barely controlled grin.
Usually, he preferred ‘his women’ to be the non-emotional, accommodating type but, for some reason, he found Mira’s attitude refreshing and
highly
amusing.
While Mira was busying herself with the flowers
he
took the opportunity to gla
n
ce around.
From his years in the building and design industry he knew that much could be discovered about a person from their choice of décor.
It would be interesting to see what Mira chose to surround herself with.
From his position just inside the front door
he
could see most of the living room and a small slice of the kitchen.
He was vaguely disappointed to see that there was very little personality in the large, open area.
White walls, unadorned by any artwork or pictures, made the s
pace appear sterile and empty, a
feeling that was barely negated by the sparse amount of furniture.
There was one long, low coffee table made of some dark wood and a
few
ubiqui
tous wood
en
stool
s
sitting at the glossy
breakfast bar.
The only real spot of color was a large, comfortable looking sofa upholstered in a bright
, garish red.
She either didn’t consider this place home, liked a bland environment, which he immediately dismissed, or hadn’t had time to decorate.
It would be interesting to figure out which one it was.
“So did you gain any deep insights into my psyche?”
James almost jumped as Mira suddenly appeared next to him.
“Perhaps,” he said.
“Are you ready to go?”
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out the door.
“Keys,” he demanded.
With her free hand Mira fished around in her bag and handed him the house key.
“Yo
u know,” she said in irritation.
“
You
need to stop dragging me around as if I’m some puppy.
I am a fully grown, mature woman and perfectly capable of walking by myself.
I’ve been doing it for years.”
“I’m
perfectly aware of how mature you are.”
His heated gaze roamed slowly over her jean clad form
,
causing gooseflesh to rise on Mira’s arms.
“However,” he continued.
“
If I let you go how c
an
I
be
sure th
at you’ll go where I want you t
o?”
He tightened his grip and pulled her down the walkway.
“I might actually decide to go with you of my own free will, but if you don’t give me a choice, you’ll never know will you?”
They reached the car and James placed her in the passenger seat before rounding the hood and sliding in.
“There is that, but what if you chose wrong.
No, I think it’s safer to hold onto you.”
The car started up with a throaty growl.
Mira huffed and crossed her arms.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a control freak?”
“It’s been mentioned a time or two.”
He glanced over and grinned at her.
“Buckle up.”
The car shot away from the curb and Mira immediately reached for the radio.
She cycled through the stations until she found one that was playing loud rock music
. Just
what she needed.
Queen’s ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ blared out of the speakers
.
She sang along
, her voice barely drowned out by the radio
.
“Are you trying to damage your eardrums?” James shouted.
“We’re supposed to be on a date and that usually involves talking.
Turn that down.”
“I never actually agreed to a date,” Mira yelled back, “and I don’t want to talk to you right now.
Besides, this is a great song.
Why don’t you just sit back and enjoy it.
Live a little.”
With a barely audible sigh James gave up and tried to concentrate on driving.
The
place
was a bit out-of-the-way
,
down several dark
,
winding roads and he needed all his concentration.
He tried to block the sound
of the radio
but, by the time they pulled into the parking lot, he was tapping his fingers and humming under his breath
.
The restaurant wasn’t the kind of place that Mira had expected James to take her too.
She had thought he would try to impress her with his wealth and sophistication by bringing her to an upscale, expensive place
. She
had been wrong.
Instead
,
they were seated at
small, round table that wobbled slightly and was covered by a faded tablecloth that had probably been a deep, rich burgundy at one point.
The intensely sweet and spicy smells emanating from the kitchen, however, were enough to make her taste buds tingle in anticipation and her mouth water.
She
hadn’t eaten since lunch and she was starving.
James watched the intense concentration on his dinner partner’s face and decided to a wait a while before trying for any type of dialogue.
It would be nice to think that the intensity was focused on him, but
unfortunately she seemed oblivious to his admiring gaze.
She did, however, look ready to pounce on the server who was delivering food to a nearby table.
The loud growling of her stomach brought Mira out her daze and she realized that she was poised to spring.
She relaxed her tense muscles and focused her gaze on the table.
“Hungry are you?
We’d bett
er get you fed before you start gnawing
on the chairs.”
James chuckled with amusement as her stomach rumbled again.
She
quickly looked up and narrowed her eyes in annoyance.
“A proper gentleman,” she said, “would have politely ignored the noise and asked the waiter to bring us an appetizer.”
“I never said that I was a true gentleman, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Wit
h an imperious wave of his hand
he
summoned a waiter to their table and Mira was soon
ravenously devouring
a delicious piece of Nan bread.
After she had consumed two of the delicious
rounds
of flat bread,
she
sat back and looked at James.
“Now that I’m not starving,” she said, “is there something in particular that you wanted to talk about?”
“Did you know,” he asked rhetorically, “that y
ou’re the first woman that I’ve
met
in a long time
who
doesn’t seem afraid to enjoy her food.
Most of the women I date merely pick at their meals.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
she
asked suspiciously
.
“Because it sounded like you just called me a pig
and, anyway, I’ve already told you this is not at date
.”
“A pig.” He
leaned forward
and looked at her in consideration.
“
Y
ou would look cut
e
with pointed ears.”
When she glared at him pointedly he sobered up.
“Actually,” he said.
“I find your
appetite
very refreshing.
It’s nice not to feel like I’
m committing some kind of offens
e by
openly
enjoying my food.
You must have had a tolerant
mother.
Mine slapped my hand if I even put my elbows on the table.
”
“Tolerant,” she laughed
,
“is not a word that I would apply to my mother.
I loved her dearly, but she had
very
strict ideas on what was and was not proper behavior.
I can remember sitting in a corner for half an hour one day when I came in with dirt on the hem of my Sunday dress.”
“So, you were a young
rebel
.”
He
leaned forward and place
d
his hand on top of hers
.
“
It’s a shame that your mother isn’t around to see the beautiful, confident woman that you grew up to be.”
“Now that,” Mira said softly as a delicious tingle
traveled
up her arm, “is a proper compliment.”
A discrete cough sounded above them and
she
immediately sat back and pulled her hand away.
It would be way too easy to be drawn under James’ spell she realized, but she couldn’t let that happen until she was sure that she was more than just another conquest to him.
With that thought in mind, she
carefully steered the dinner conversation into less personal channels.
James let her get away with that tactic until she had finished her curry and laid down her fork.
In fact, he reluctantly acknowledged, he had also needed the time to recover.
Not only had touching her hand given him more pleasure than he usually got from kissing another woman, but he had also inadvertently let something slip about his childhood.
He
rarely
thought about that period of his life let alone talked about it.
It made him remember his
life before his mother had died and before he had seen his father in the harsh light of reality, when he still saw the man as an unsung hero
.
Those times were long gone
however
and he had no wish to revisit them.
Something about Mira, though, made him feel
too
comfortable.
It was almost as if he had always known her.