Italian Doctor, Dream Proposal. Margaret McDonagh

in her thoughts that she had not noticed that the taxi had stopped.

      Rico opened the door and climbed out, taking her hand again when she joined him on the pavement. Having thanked and paid the taxi driver, they walked a few yards along the seafront, enjoying the early evening sun glinting off the expanse of the bay.

      ‘Were we followed, Agent Linardi?’ she murmured, pretending to look around and continuing their charade.

      A sexy smile curved Rico’s mouth. ‘I think we have given them the slip for now, Agent Baxter. We can discuss our secret mission while we eat.’

      Inside, the restaurant was inviting and warm, with muted lighting, soft background music and a welcoming ambiance. Ruth appreciated Rico’s innate good manners as he helped her off with her coat before removing his jacket. He rested a hand on her hip, keeping her close to him. So close she felt his body heat and was aware of and aroused by his heady, masculine scent.

      ‘One of the hotel staff recommended this place,’ Rico told her when they had been shown to an alarmingly intimate and secluded table in a quiet corner at the back of the restaurant.

      Ruth manufactured a scandalised expression. ‘You compromised our mission?’

      ‘Do not worry.’ Rico leaned closer, his voice dropping. ‘My informant will not give us away.’

      The return of the waiter with menus and a basket of bread sticks curtailed further silliness, and Ruth sat back to assess the selection of dishes available.

      ‘If the food is not to your taste, we can go somewhere else,’ Rico offered, reverting to his normal voice.

      Ruth shook her head. ‘No, this is lovely,’ she assured him, her mouth watering as she made her choice from the menu.

      She liked the fact that Rico asked her opinion. Even when she had asked him not to, Adam had always arrogantly ordered for them both when they had gone out, and she had hated that. Not only had she been perfectly able to make decisions for herself, but he had invariably picked things she did not enjoy and had then had the effrontery to take umbrage if she had not liked something or had asked to change it. Rico, by contrast, treated her with respect, and as an equal,

      They sat at the small, attractively set table, out of sight of the other diners in the restaurant. Rico was at right angles to her and so close that his leg brushed against hers. His hand toyed with her fingers or rested on the back of her chair, touching her shoulder, her neck, stroking her hair, and the attention was flattering but overwhelming, keeping her on a knife-edge.

      After discussing the food and wine, and discovering that they had similar tastes, they gave their orders to the waiter. Ruth felt relaxed and able to talk to Rico about anything. And he made her laugh as no other man had done. He showed no sign that he found her brains intimidating, something she had encountered so often in the past. It was a refreshing experience and eased some of her tension. Not that she could ever forget or escape the awareness that increased each minute she spent with him. The sexual desire was unfamiliar, scary, yet undeniably exciting. She was completely out of her depth and the only life raft she could cling to was Rico himself—the very cause of her venturing into uncharted waters in the first place.

      ’