you two to drink?” a white-coated waiter asked.
“Would you like to order the drinks, too?” Nathan grouchily asked.
“If you’d like me to,” she shot back, smiling at his obvious bad humor.
“I’ll have a Perrier with a twist,” he snapped without asking what she wanted.
“And you, ma’am?” The waiter turned to her after raising an eyebrow at Nathan’s rudeness.
“The same,” she said and smiled. Once the waiter disappeared, she picked up her menu. “Nathan, are you going to scowl all the way through lunch?”
“I don’t appreciate being forced into this.” He pointedly glanced at his menu.
“Forced?” A perfectly arched eyebrow rose. “Look at the two of us. I’m not even half your size.” She lowered her menu to the table and met his hooded eyes. “If you really wanted to decline, you could have easily done so.”
Of course he could have declined, but he hadn’t wanted to; therein lay his problem.
“Maybe I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” he countered.
“How sweet.” She suddenly smiled.
“I am not sweet,” he quickly denied.
“We’ll see,” she softly promised. At his silence, she continued, “Nathan, it’s just an innocent lunch.”
“Nothing is innocent with you, Marcy Johnson,” he surmised and then suddenly smiled.
“Just plain Marcy,” she corrected. “You have a gorgeous smile.” She rested her chin on her clasped hands. “Why do you frown so much?”
“I don’t frown,” he disagreed. “I just don’t walk around grinning like an idiot all day long.”
She gazed into his deep chocolate eyes and was immediately lost. Lord, this man just frazzled her until she didn’t know her own name.
“No one could ever accuse you of being an idiot,” she charmed, sitting back in her chair. “Tell me about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell,” he quickly countered, taking a grateful sip of the drink that was placed in front of him.
“Are you two ready to order?” their waiter asked.
“What are you going to have?” Nathan decided to be a gentleman this time.
“You order for me,” she suggested.
“I don’t know what you’d like.”
“Oh, I think you can figure out what I’d like,” she naughtily countered, eliciting a nervous cough from their waiter and slight chuckle from her date.
She was a breath of fresh air, and he absurdly wanted her like he had wanted no other woman. He’d love to see her by candlelight dressed to kill, smiling only for him as he took her into his arms to dance. Whoa, take it easy, man. You won’t be alone with her again, especially not for a romantic dinner—got it?
“The waiter’s waiting, Nathan,” Marcy interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll have the shrimp platter, and the lady will have the coq au vin.”
“I’ve always wanted to try that,” Marcy said, approving his choice.
“I like it. I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I will. If I don’t, you’ll share your shrimp with me, won’t you?”
“Don’t count on it.” He shook his head.
“I’m sure I could persuade you.” She leaned forward and trailed a finger lightly across the back of his hand before picking up her glass and taking a sip of water.
“It might be fun to let you try,” he admitted, smiling slightly.
“That’s the spirit,” she approved, glad he was loosening up. “You were going to tell me about yourself,” she reminded.
“Like I said, there’s not much to tell,” he reiterated, barely disguising a sigh at her tenacity.
“I doubt that,” she said as she lowered her drink to the table. “Lawyer for the State Department—you must have a dozen interesting tales.”
She didn’t know the half of it. What would she say if she knew he had spent the past ten years of his life as a member of an officially nonexistent military unit that not even his family knew about? He could relate stories of danger and intrigue that would rival the plot of any movie—if he could talk about his Black Ops job that is, which he couldn’t.
“My job’s confidential.”
She noted his fingers tightened around his glass. Doesn’t like to talk about his work, she mentally noted—strange and intriguing.
“Are you enjoying being home?” she asked, changing subjects, and his fingers noticeably relaxed.
“Yes,” he said and nodded. “It’s great to be back.”
She absently slid fingers through her silky hair, and he hid a groan, longing to do the same thing; he knew from experience how incredibly soft it was. His mind wandered to the one time he had touched her hair, had held her in his arms and tasted her incredibly sweet lips—a week ago on New Year’s Eve.
Staring at the vibrant woman sitting across from him only intensified the seeds of dissatisfaction with his life. His job was necessary, and he knew he made a difference, but he was growing tired of the necessary secrecy, weary of running around from one side of the world to the other—most of the time with little or no notice. He was fed up with having nowhere to really call home and more importantly of having no one to share his life with.
His country had always come first before everything. He didn’t regret his years of service, but perhaps it was time for some serious reevaluation. Maybe he was just getting old; after all, he was thirty-one, and his priorities had naturally changed. A dissatisfied soldier was a dangerous one, and there was no denying the fact that he had become increasingly dissatisfied of late and meeting Marcy had really emphasized that fact for him.
“Nathan?” Marcy touched his hand and called his name more forcefully, “Nathan!”
“Hmm?” He snapped out of his disturbing introspection.
“Where were you?” She pretended to pout. “Am I so boring that I can’t hold your attention?”
“Marcy, no one would ever call you boring.” He laughed and she joined him. “I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“Nothing important,” he assured. “What were you saying before I spaced out?”
“I was asking if you’ve missed New York.” Her well-manicured fingernails played with the ends of a napkin.
“Very much,” he admitted, wanting to cover those long, feminine fingers with his, pull her into his lap and...
“Are you involved with a woman?” she asked out of the blue.
“That’s rather personal, isn’t it?” He fought back a grin, realizing he had smiled more today than he had in the four years he had been away from home, and the reason was sitting across the table from him.
“Not as personal as I plan to get,” she promised, and he could do nothing except chuckle. “Well, are you?”
“No, my job takes up all of my time.”
His words were music to her ears. He was free, and she was determined that when all was said and done he would be hers.
“It’s just a job, Nathan,” she whispered.
“A career,” he corrected. An increasingly burdensome career.