The Wrong Sister(53)
“At least you don’t look offended,” she said with relief. “I hope I didn’t sound too sharp.”
“Live for the moment,” he replied with a barely discernable shrug. “After Jan became so terribly sick I decided I’d go after everything I really wanted. And tonight I wanted dinner with a view of you across the table. Anything more is a bonus.”
“Which you won’t be getting.”
He smiled, still with apparent good humor. “Live for the moment, as I said. We’ve several more days here. You might change your mind.”
Fiona shook her head, hating herself for doing it.
“Don’t bet on it,” she said, pleased to see their next course arriving to provide a distraction.
Morsels of the most delicious foods New Zealand had to offer followed each other in a leisurely progression.
“Bluff Oyster Consommé en Croute,” the waiter announced, setting down small white ramekins of thin seafood soup topped with a golden pastry crust.
“Prime Fillet of Angus Beef on Anna Potatoes with Onion Marmalade.” Fiona cut into the juicy pink meat and marveled at its tenderness. Sipped the rich ruby Shiraz that accompanied it, and knew she was close to heaven.
“Pan-fried Snapper Fillet with Tomato and Red Wine Beurre Blanc.” She flaked the moist fish apart with her fork and closed her eyes to appreciate the delicate flavor.
“Asparagus on Mint and Green Pea Cream.”
“Breast of Poussin on Risotto with Capsicum Couli.” She scraped up every last grain of the delicious risotto and sighed with bliss, then noticed Christian’s indulgent expression.
“It’s all just so good,” she lamented. “I could eat a lot more of that last one.”
“Then order it for lunch tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Could I? What have you got planned?”
He shook his head slightly. Fiona watched the light and shade move across the strong planes of his face.
“Nothing at all. We could take Nic down to the beach. It’s a good flat sandy walking surface—if your knee’s up to it?”
“It’s fine now,” she said, basking in the warmth of his eyes, and wanting more than ever to reach out and touch him. His earlier comment about changing her mind meant it would be just so easy!
“Grilled Figs Wrapped in Prosciutto with Honey, Truffle and Blue Cheese Sauce,” their attentive waiter announced.
“Truffles,” she murmured once he was out of earshot. “I’ve tried them in France, but not often.”
“If you survive the excitement of fresh truffles we could drive a short way down to the river tomorrow instead of going to the beach,” he teased. “There are some good swimming holes, and Nic could paddle around in the shallows?”
Like a normal family holiday, Fiona thought, feeling her heart contract with longing. As though we’re a married couple with our longed-for child.
How I wish.
They discussed beach versus river until the next course arrived.
“Vanilla Bean and Buttermilk Panna Cotta with Berry Compote under a Sugar Cage.”
Her eyes grew wide at the artistic arrangement of the dessert. “Oh Christian,” she sighed. “How can I wreck such a beautiful thing?”
“Have some of mine then,” he said, spooning up Panna Cotta and berries from his own portion, leaning over, and nudging it against her lips. In a split second the air came alive with hot forbidden yearning again.
Fiona opened her mouth, eyes drawn to his. The amused affection was gone; now his intense gaze was dark with desire. His pupils blazed wide and black. She fell into their dangerous depths, then found she couldn’t draw back as his hand settled against her nape, pulled her closer and held her still as he teased her with the spoon. The smooth cool silver slid along her lower lip and the luscious berry perfume wafted up, sweet and rich.
She parted her lips a little further on an indrawn breath and he gently pushed the spoon in, waited until she’d closed her lips around it, and slowly withdrew it. His eyes never left hers, and Fiona knew all too well that this tiny intrusion into her body was his hopeful prelude to an altogether more passionate invasion. How would she ever resist?
Later, after excellent coffee and hand-made chocolates, Christian carried a sleeping Nicky in his arms as they returned to the car.
“Will you drive Blondie? Save me waking her? Keys are on the left.”
Fiona slipped her hand into his jacket, and he chuckled. “Pants pocket. Are you feeling brave enough to invade my trousers?”
She shot him a glare.
“Bastard,” she said, although without venom. The dinner wines had relaxed her considerably. Her resolve was still strong, but if he was determined to tempt her like this...? She pushed his jacket aside to locate the pocket opening, and inserted her hand.