“Ordering?” she said carefully.
“Yes. Ordering,” he said, his eyes blazing darkly at her, kicking off a fresh wave of heat inside her.
He raised a hand, snapped his fingers, and called the waiter. “This beautiful woman will have another martini. Make hers dirty this time. And I’ll have a gin and tonic.”
Damn, he wasn’t joking when he said he liked to order. He liked to pick and choose too, and that was exactly what Scott had said she should let a man do. So Casey didn’t protest the second martini, even though she preferred them of the French variety.
“As you wish, sir,” the waiter said and scurried off.
Grant flashed a smile at Casey, a lopsided grin that was full of charm and something else . . . something strong and commanding. “You should know that I will be thinking about you when I’m in Asia.”
She swallowed and blinked. He’d been flirty, but now he was downright direct. Perhaps her luck was changing. “You will?”
“When I return, I hope we can not only do business, but also finally spend more time together. Would you like that?”
“I would,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes.
“Excellent. Let’s make it a date in July. You can come back here, and we will have dinner together.” He moved closer, reached for a lock of her hair, and twined it around his finger. “But, let me pursue you,” he whispered.
Let me pursue you.
The words rang in her head, along with his earlier ones. Like ordering, and why don’t you let me tell you how I see this working? Then the way he liked it so much when she’d said please.
The message was loud and clear. Grant Abbot liked his women to be demure. He didn’t want an alpha female. He didn’t need a mirror to his dominant side.
Casey had no clue whatsoever how to be that woman.
She didn’t have a submissive bone in her body.
CHAPTER THREE
New Orleans, evening . . .
All through dinner she hadn’t been able to get Grant Abbot off her mind. Not as she and Nate shared an appetizer of oysters. Not as she worked her way through a delicious niçoise salad while he ate the Chilean sea bass. And not even through a round of celebratory champagne he’d ordered for them during dinner at Poisson, a small French bistro in a white¸ two-story house with large picture windows that looked out onto the bustling and busy Bourbon Street. Inside, a torch singer crooned in the corner of the restaurant.
Casey was half present¸ and half hanging out four hours ago.
She hadn’t gone into the meeting with Grant expecting anything more than the chance to close a deal. Sure, in the back of her mind she’d hoped for more. Now she had a . . . well, a potential someone. A beau, maybe? A prospective love interest? At the very least, she had a date on her calendar a month from now.
But her suitor spoke a language she barely understood, and it was one she was sure Nate could decipher. She was dying to tell him all about Grant. They’d shared plenty before, and he knew the ins and outs of her stalled romantic life. Still, she’d been looking for the right moment to spill the strange details.
Perhaps over dessert, because the waiter appeared with a chocolate lava cake that looked so delicious her mouth watered.
“Your Molten Pleasure,” he said, using the official name of the dessert while grandly setting it on the white linen tablecloth, before returning to the kitchen.
“My chef said this is the best lava cake in town, and that’s saying something, because the one we have at the hotel is pretty damn fantastic,” Nate said.
“You’re getting me all excited now,” Casey said as she picked up her fork, ready to dive in. She pointed to the cake as he finished off the remainder of his champagne. “You’re going to have some, right?”
He laughed and nodded, his amber eyes even warmer than usual when he smiled. He had one of the best smiles she’d ever seen. Plus, he had great teeth—straight and white, the best kind to have. “Yes. I’m going to have some. I just wanted to finish my drink first.”
She dipped her fork into the soft cake and brought it to her lips. But before she bit down, she flashed back to Grant’s words, and the way he’d ordered her drink. Taking control. Wanting to decide. Could she truly do that? Could she hand over the reins like he wanted? As Nate dug into the cake, she sniffed an opportunity. An odd one, but an opportunity nonetheless.
She set down her fork.
He eyed it curiously. “I thought you were excited to eat it?”
She swallowed, then spoke softly. “I have a request,” she squeaked out.
“You want me to ask her to play the Pina Colada song?” he said, gesturing to the sultry singer in the slinky cream-colored dress, gripping a microphone tight as she sang about love gone wrong.