She unbuttoned her own coat, wondering what his reaction would be as she took it off. She thought she’d caught a glimmer of interest in his eyes earlier just before he gave her that brief kiss, but then he’d apologised and she’d wondered if she’d imagined it.
She let the coat slide down her arms and handed it to the waitress, then took her seat and made herself comfortable before raising her gaze to Dion’s, just in time to see his eyes lift from her breasts to her face. He gave her a wry smile before taking the menu from the waitress.
Megan studied her own menu, her heart continuing to race. She’d brought the wardrobe with her that she’d bought especially for the holiday, determined to wear the clothes even though there was nobody there to appreciate them. The chic black dress clung nicely to her breasts before flaring out at the hips. It had a fairly low, crossover bodice, and the pretty lace of her new black bra showed occasionally above the material. Clearly, Dion had noticed too.
Both of them wanted only a light lunch, but because of the cold weather they both ordered potato soup with mushrooms and homemade rustic bread. Dion asked to see the wine list and asked for a bottle of Bollinger Les Vieilles Vignes Francaises. Megan nearly had a fit when she saw the price.
“Dion!” She gasped as the waitress nodded at his good taste and walked away.
“What?” He looked genuinely puzzled at her shock.
“Didn’t you work out the exchange rate? That costs hundreds of dollars.”
He looked amused. “Yes, little Miss Provincial, I know what the exchange rate is. I thought we were celebrating.”
“Yes, but…” Words failed her. She’d never spent more than twenty dollars on a bottle of wine.
“My treat,” he said firmly. “I haven’t seen you forever. I want you to have a good time.” His eyes met hers. Was it her imagination, or did a mischievous twinkle appear at the words ‘good time’?
“Well, well.” She leaned back in her seat and played with her napkin. “Clearly you’ve done very well for yourself.”
He laughed. “I’ve done okay. Part of the job is taking out clients for business lunches. You soon get to know the good wines and spirits.”
“So you’re just a salesman then?”
He shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“Dion, I’m teasing you. Don’t you remember how I used to tease you? I bet you’re fantastic at it.”
He smiled and visibly relaxed. “I do okay.”
“Oh come on, don’t be modest,” she said. “Tell me about the company.”
Chapter Seven
So she listened as he told her about how he’d started by going out with the technical reps to learn the ropes, and how he’d quickly learned everything there was to know about paper sizes and storage and what brand would likely cause the most faults, and how to placate the customers who grew irate when they couldn’t get their magazines or brochures to print. And how he discovered he had a talent with people—how he calmed even the most furious customers and kept their business, even though occasionally they threatened never to buy from the company again.
Because of his success, his father transferred him to sales, and there he learned the business behind the business. Remembering tiny details about customers’ wives’ and children’s names, taking interest in their problems, making the effort to always return calls personally and never palm them off—these things enabled him to make a name for himself, and gradually his clientele grew.
Their soup arrived, and while they ate he told her that one of the older sales women had taken him to fancy restaurants to teach him which foods to choose to impress customers. Reading between the lines, Megan pressed him a little, and he admitted the woman had seduced him, and he’d given in.
“She was quite a bit older than me.” He trailed his spoon in the soup and watched the pattern it made. His gaze came up to hers and he frowned. “I was very young, only twenty, and she was very attractive.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” The tug of jealousy at his words surprised her, though. Did she think he’d have stayed celibate over the past eight years?
He shrugged and poured her another glass of champagne. “I’m not declaring myself completely innocent. I knew she was married. I’m not proud of what I did.”
She said nothing. He spoke like a man in his forties, and he was only twenty-six. For a moment he seemed weighed down, and she wondered what a strain the job had on him. Salesmen were notorious for having health problems. Long lunches and rich food, too little exercise and the pressure of performance at work. At least he looked like he took care of himself—he wasn’t overweight, and he obviously went to the gym.
“What happened?” she asked, sensing the story didn’t have a good ending.
“My father found out and sacked her.” He pushed his dish away. “He knew we’d had an affair. I guess he blamed her. He gave me all her customers. I felt terrible, for a while. But, well, he’d never have her back at the firm, so in the end I thought I might as well make the best of it. I worked my socks off with all the clients. It worked. I’ve now got the most clients in the company.”
“So you put your champagne skills to work on the customers?” she teased.
He smiled. “Yeah. You could say that.” He fiddled with the stem of his glass. The issue with the older woman obviously still bothered him.
“So what’s this about a takeover?” she asked, trying to lift his mood.
He brightened and began telling her about the Czech company he’d courted, which they were probably going to buy out before New Year. “I’m meeting their board of directors tomorrow,” he said. “We should shake hands on it before the end of the day.”
“That’s great.” She leaned back as the waitress took their dishes, and nodded at the offer of a dessert.
“The thing is,” he continued, “my father’s close to retirement, and he’s not a well man. If I make this deal, I think the board are going to make me chief executive.”
“Wow.” That impressed her. The large firm with branches across Europe would be a huge responsibility for such a young man. “You’ve done so well for yourself.”
“I suppose.” He grinned, obviously excited about the prospect of running the company.
She sipped her champagne and rubbed her nose as the bubbles tickled it. “Are you happy?”
He studied her, amused now. “That’s a very chick thing to ask.”
“Well, I am a chick.”
“Clearly.” He took a swallow of his own wine, his eyes teasing.
“So? Are you happy?”
He shrugged. “I think so.”
“You don’t sound sure.” She smiled as the waitress approached, and ordered an almond tiramisu with marinated cherries. He ordered honey cake, and they sat back and surveyed each other.
“I’m excited about the takeover,” he said. “Confident about my chances at the company. Looking forward to the challenge.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
He gave her a wry, slightly exasperated smile. “Yes. I guess I’m happy enough.”
She had to ask. “Is there a special someone?”
He dropped his gaze to his glass. “No. Not at the moment.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he remained silent. Was he thinking about the older woman? Probably not, because he’d said that had happened six years ago.
“Was there?” she asked.
He sighed. “I went out with a girl for a few years. Lauren.”
“What happened?”
He twirled his glass, still not raising his eyes. “She wanted more than I was willing to give.”
“She wanted to get married?”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “Yes.”
“Have kids?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t want to?”
“No.”
“With her? Or just in general?”
He said nothing, and she couldn’t guess his thoughts.
“I know I
’m being nosy,” she said. “Change the subject if you want. But I’m just interested. I haven’t seen you for ages and you’re gorgeous and I can’t work out why you’re still single.”
His eyes met hers, and his lips started to curve. “Are you flirting with me, Miss Green?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Sorry.”
“It wasn’t a complaint.” His smile widened, the twinkle reappearing in his eye. Then he sighed and stretched out his legs. “I don’t know what went wrong. I just wasn’t ready. I was only twenty-five, and making my way up in the company. I work sixty hour weeks sometimes—there’s hardly time for a wife, let alone a family. Maybe when I’m older… Me and kids don’t mix. Sometimes I think I might never settle down.”
He looked sad and resentful at the same time, obviously frustrated that this Lauren hadn’t understood. He’d liked her, but she’d asked for more than he was willing to give. Had he loved her?
Megan’s gaze lingered on his wide shoulders, his thick dark hair. She imagined sliding her fingers into it, pulling his head down to kiss him.
Stupid, stupid Lauren to have pushed him too far, too soon.
He sat relaxed in his chair, one arm hooked over the back, so casually sexy it made her ache. Cody had been so different. He was a computer technician, and she admitted to herself now that he was actually rather dorky, into online games and sci-fi conventions. He had liked a bit of culture though, and they’d met at an art exhibition and got talking, and dated for a while before moving to the bedroom. They’d never set the bed alight, but she’d enjoyed sex well enough, although after seeing him with the bimbo she’d realised how lacklustre their own sex life had been.
She couldn’t put all the blame on Cody, though. Although it had hurt that he’d appeared so passionate with the other woman, she had to admit to herself that he’d never fired her up either. Their sex life had been gentle and tender, grown from affection, and it had never progressed beyond that. He’d never made her heart flutter when he walked into the room.
What would it be like to go to bed with a guy like Dion? She watched as he poured the last drops of the champagne, noting the way his jacket stretched across his shoulders as he leaned forward, how his long fringe fell across his forehead. Why had he kissed her on the bridge? She pressed her lips together, remembering how he’d bent his head and touched his lips to hers, the same way as he had all those years ago the night of the party.
How would it feel to have the sort of sex she’d seen Cody having with that woman? The sort she’d seen in the movies, where a couple ripped off each other’s clothes before they even got to the bed, where they seemed out of their minds with passion. She’d always puzzled whether that sort of desire was real or a figment of movie makers’ imaginations, and hadn’t been able to envisage getting carried away with a man to that extent.
But for the first time she imagined feeling that way, with Dion.
He looked up and met her eyes, but instead of looking away she held his gaze. How would it feel to make love with this man? To have him kiss her, touch her, fire her up her senses?
There was no possibility of anything serious. They lived on opposite sides of the world, and clearly he didn’t want to be tied down. The next day he’d be off sorting out the takeover and then he’d return to England, and she’d be on the plane back to New Zealand.
But they had tonight.
Her heart raced, and something must have shown in her face because he tipped his head to the side and looked at her more intently, amused and interested at whatever he saw in her eyes.
“So enough about me.” He gave a quick smile to the waitress as she delivered their dessert, then scooped a piece of the honey cake and chewed thoughtfully as he watched Megan sample her tiramisu. “Tell me about your love life.”
She snorted and sucked the chocolate off the spoon. “Nothing to say. I’d heard university was supposed to be full of sex and drugs, but I never saw any of it.”
He grinned. “You sound disappointed.”
“I was! I waited ages to get stoned and ravished, but nothing happened. I got good grades though.”
He laughed and offered her a spoonful of the cake. “This is lovely,” he said. “Try some.”
She met his gaze. Intense, challenging. This was the sort of thing lovers did, not two friends who hadn’t seen each other for years.
Tingling all over, she leaned forward, closed her lips over the spoon and tasted the cake.
“Mm,” she said, licking her lips. “Lovely.”
He dragged his gaze to her plate and nodded at her tiramisu. “What’s that like?”
“Yummy.” She scooped some up. “Try it.”
He did the same, closing his mouth over the spoon and removing the dessert. She dropped her gaze and took another bite herself. Why did it turn her on to think he’d eaten off the same spoon? Her blood raced around her body, and her nipples tightened.
Jeez, get a grip. It’s only chocolate.
Even so…
He finished his cake and leaned back in his chair. Linking his fingers, he gave her a mischievous look, so like the young Dion she’d known that it made her catch her breath.
“So Cody was your first boyfriend?” he asked curiously.
She played with her glass. “The one and only.”
He looked suspicious. “You’ve only been with the one guy?”
“You think I’m lying?”
“I think you’re far too pretty to have let only one man get his hands on that sexy body of yours.”
She widened her eyes. “Dion! Now who’s flirting?”
He grinned. “Is that an objection?”
She giggled. “No.” She’d drunk too much champagne. But she liked talking like this.
She was so wary about flirting with men. In spite of her words, she’d been very cautious in college. There’d been stories of one girl who’d played around and got herself into serious trouble when she invited attention she didn’t want, and that had horrified Megan. Although deep down she thought she may be an extrovert, her disorder made her more circumspect than she might otherwise have been. She’d kept away from parties and concentrated on studying, and as a result didn’t have quite the same, relaxed affinity with the opposite sex that most of her friends had.
So it was nice to open up a little for once, because flirting with Dion was safe. Okay, so they hadn’t seen each other in a long time, but even so, the way he’d taken care of her when he’d seen her distress told her he hadn’t changed that much.
He finished off the last drops of champagne in his glass. “Do you want another bottle?”
“Cripes, no, I’ll be flat on my back if I have another glass.”
“In that case I’ll order two.” Their eyes met and they both laughed. “Come on then.” Dion signalled to the waitress for the bill.
Megan lifted her bag onto her lap and fiddled with the clasp. “Will you let me pay half?”
“Megan, for God’s sake.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “I want…” He hesitated and looked at her fingers. “I need to say sorry.”
“What for?” she said, puzzled.
“For what happened at the midwinter party.”
She bit her lip. All these years she’d dreamed about him kissing her, and he regretted it. “It’s okay,” she said, a little icily. “It doesn’t matter. Forget about it.”
She went to pull her hand away, but his fingers tightened and refused to let go. When she looked up, his gaze was fixed on her, intense.
“I don’t regret it,” he said firmly, as if reading her mind. “I’d do the exactly the same thing again. I’d been wanting to kiss you for ages, and when I saw you standing out the deck, singing away…I had to do it.”
Her face grew warm. He’d been wanting to kiss her for ages?
“So why do you need to say sorry?” she whispered.
He leaned forward, lacing their fingers together. “Because of the way I left. Because I didn’t stay in touch. I wanted to
—I rang every day for the first two months to talk to you.”
She stared at him. “I did not know that.”
“I always got your dad or Sean. Your dad yelled at me and hung up. Sean would talk to me, but he refused to hand me over to you.”
Resentment boiled in her stomach. Her brother had never told her this. “Why?” she said furiously. “Why would he do that?”
Dion shrugged. “You were only fifteen. I guess he didn’t want you in contact with a guy three years older living on the other side of the world. And I was going to university, so I suppose they decided it was pointless. Your dad thought I betrayed his generous offer to look after me, that I took advantage of you. I didn’t see it like that, but I understand how it must have looked to him. I hadn’t exactly been a model student.”
Her lips curved. “You were a rather naughty young man.”
He grinned. “And you loved me for it.”
She hesitated, but at that moment the waitress came over with the bill, so she leaned back as Dion fished out his credit card and handed it over.
Did he know just how crazy she’d been about him at the time?
Chapter Eight
All of a sudden depression swept over her. It had all happened years ago, when she was still practically a child and he was ninety-nine percent hormones. It didn’t mean anything now.
The waitress brought their coats over and he held hers so she could slip her arms through. He put his on, and they walked up the stairs back into the Old Town Square.
The mid-afternoon sun shone through the clouds, and the square bustled with people. The snow had stopped for a while, but the tops of all the stalls forming the Christmas market were dusted with white.
The huge tree in the centre hadn’t yet been lit, but in front of the statue of John Hus a group of men and women were singing carols, their joyous voices joining with the ambience of the restaurant and somehow spiriting them back hundreds of years.
“Are you okay?” Dion indicated the people milling about in front of the stalls.
In truth, she felt okay with him beside her, but she knew he must have other things to do so. “I’m fine. Thank you for a lovely lunch, Dion, I really enjoyed it.”
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