Royal Seduction (6 page)

Determination resided on her pretty face, hinting that she was quite happy with the “thing” they were doing right now. But he pushed the issue by holding out his hand to her.

And after exhaling a quick, regretful sigh, she took it.

D
usk was falling as he headed out of the city on Highway 29. Riley didn't have to go far. Satisfaction took root in him when, rounding a slight bend in the road, he heard Catherine's sharp intake of breath.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

“That's Mount Hood.” He pulled to the shoulder and cut the engine. “In just a minute, you'll see why this is called Sunset Highway.”

The sun hung low on the horizon, and the alpenglow it cast on the snow-covered cliff face was a pink so deep that they both went speechless for several long moments. They sat in silence. The color intensified, diffusing from pink to mauve, and from mauve to a rich magenta. Once the sun had disappeared altogether, the icy precipice radiated an electric midnight blue.

Finally, twilight darkened the sky, and the brightest of
the stars became visible and twinkled overhead. The air in the car was still and quiet. Catherine's jasmine scent caressed each breath Riley took. But then his breath caught in his throat when he heard the erotic sound of fabric against leather as she shifted on the seat.

“Wow.” She turned to face him, speaking softly, almost reverently. “At first I was disappointed that we were leaving the city. But that was…amazing. Thank you for bringing me out here to see it.”

“You're welcome.” Riley turned the key and the engine roared to life. “We need to make a beeline back to Portland,” he told her, checking to see that the roadway was clear before making a tight U-turn. “I hope we don't hit any traffic because we've got dinner reservations in twenty minutes. I hope you like Italian.”

“I love Italian.”

During the drive back to Portland, they chatted about Catherine's workout routine, and Riley was pleased to hear that she found the clinic staff helpful and friendly.

He couldn't help but notice that her voice held a spark that lifted his spirits, a playfulness that he found enticing. This woman allured him, that was undeniable.

As it turned out, finding a parking spot was their biggest problem. They'd had to circle the block three times before finding an available space. Riley took Catherine's arm so they could hurry down the street to the restaurant. They arrived with barely a minute to spare. They were out of breath and grinning as they were seated at their table.

He ordered wine, and after he went through the tasting ritual, the waiter filled their glasses and left them alone to look over the menu.

“The antipasto is delicious,” he suggested.

Her pert nose wrinkled. “But the cheese and the olives
and the pepperoni.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “Lots of calories. I think I'll have a green salad.”

His eye traveled down the list of entrees. “I've had the shrimp with linguini,” he told her. “It's out of this world.”

“Shrimp are full of cholesterol.”

He arched his brows a fraction, but remained silent.

“I never knew that,” she said, “until I read about it in the clinic's nutrition book.”

Spying another of his favorites, he offered, “The ravioli with classic Bolognese is delicious. They make the ravioli by hand right back there in the kitchen.”

“Heavy cream, pancetta,” she read the ingredients aloud from the menu description. She looked up at him. “It's all so fattening.”

Frustration got the better of him. “But that's what makes it so good.”

Her mouth screwed up, and she muttered, “Tell me about it.”

“Catherine, splurging once in a while isn't going to kill you.”

She sighed. “You've never had a weight problem, have you?”

“No, I haven't. And I seriously doubt that you ever have, either. I'll go even farther out on the limb and say that about eighty percent of the people who visit the clinic don't have any real weight problems. The biggest problem, I think, is in their heads. In their perceptions of themselves.”

At that moment, the waiter arrived to take their order. With his feathers duly ruffled, Riley chose the antipasto and the shrimp linguini. And when it came time for dessert, he intended to order something rich and chocolaty, too.

“I'd like the house salad,” Catherine told the waiter. “Dressing on the side, please. And I'll have the spaghetti marinara with just a shaving or two of parmesan.”

“I'll be right back with your salads.” The waiter took their menus and retreated to the kitchen.

Riley picked up his glass and sipped his wine.

Catherine settled back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I see that I need to set you straight on a thing or two. I did have a problem with my weight when I was a child. I was a roly-poly little girl. And lonely, as well.

“I'm surprised that you'd demean the people who seek help from your clinic by diminishing the trouble they're having with self-control and with motivating themselves to exercise. Granted, being overweight isn't imminently life-threatening. But it leads to terrible health problems. You're a doctor. You know that. You have to know that those—”

“Hey, hold on.” He leaned toward her, setting down his glass on the table. “I was only trying to offer you a compliment. To me, you look fit.”

Hell, she looked more than merely fit. She was enough to make a man break every promise he'd ever made.

“To me,” he continued, “most of the people coming to the clinic look to be in perfect health.” He shrugged. “Yes, we do have clients who are overweight. Some are even obese. But for the most part, I can easily see the clinic turning into another trendy place where people come to make their perfect bodies even more perfect.”

He was simply attempting to explain his thoughts on the matter, but it was clear he'd only irritated her further.

“It's called keeping in shape. I'm surprised that you have so little compassion for those of us who really have to work at it.”

“I have plenty of compassion,” he assured her. He sighed, toying absently with one corner of the pristine white linen napkin neatly folded in front of him. “I have to admit that I never, in my wildest imaginings, expected to be managing things at a health clinic.”

“Ah, so your blasé attitude toward those with weight problems has less to do with the people who come to the clinic and more to do with you?”

He picked up his glass and took another swallow. “Calling me blasé is a little harsh. Let's just say that, with all the intensive and extensive training I've had, I expected to be treating gunshot wounds and heart attacks, not checking triglycerides and prescribing jumping jacks.”

The annoyance that had tightened her jaw muscles waned and some unreadable emotion cast shadows in her sparkling blue eyes. Curiosity, maybe? He couldn't be sure. But the waiter arrived with their salads and he spent a few moments filling their water goblets and grinding fresh black pepper for them.

Once the man had left them alone once again, Riley raised his wineglass and said, “To an evening filled with fun and laughter and good food.”

Her fingers slid around her own glass and she touched the rim of it to his. “And to new friends, too. May they become good ones.”

The sudden husky quality of her voice took him off guard. One moment she'd been piqued. The next she'd seemed inquisitive. And now? Well, now whatever it was that hummed in the air was steamy enough to wilt the romaine on their plates.

Her gaze seemed to darken even as he stared. “Of course,” he murmured. “To new friends.”

Without breaking eye contact, they drank deeply.

An hour and a half later, they were back in the car.

“Dinner was lovely,” Catherine said.

“I worked at the restaurant for a while as a kid. I bused tables, washed dishes, anything they needed me to do.” The owners had taken a gamble on him, and in doing so had given him a second chance. He'd spend the rest of his life feeling grateful. But he preferred that Catherine—and everyone else he'd ever meet—never know the details of that part of his life. In fact, he planned to do all he could to keep his secrets to himself.

Before she could inquire further, he said, “Do you like music? Are you up for listening to a little jazz?”

“Oh, I love jazz.”

Riley could feel excitement pulsing off her in waves.

“I'm having such a great time tonight, Riley. Thank you.”

Her effusive appreciation made his chest swell. He was reaping far too much pleasure from making this woman happy.

The parking lot of Midnight Blues was nearly packed. Riley pulled his sports car into one of the few remaining spots at the very rear of the lot.

When they entered the club, the sultry strains of a clarinet weaved with a saxophone's smoky, soulful notes. A double bass was the glue that held the warm harmonics together.

Catherine tossed her evening bag down on an empty table and caught his hand in hers.

“Riley…”

The pleading in her tone and the scorching heat of her skin sliding softly against his hit him like a one, two sucker punch to the jaw.

“Can we dance?” She gave his fingers a tug, sending a message that she didn't intend to take no for an answer. “Please?”

 

The boldness she flaunted appalled Catherine. She'd been trained to be modest and reserved. If she were back at home, she'd have squelched the brashness that continued to nudge her and fill her with confidence she didn't normally have.

There was something about Riley. Something that liberated her. Something that made her feel not only limitless, but uninhibited, too. Her family would be shocked by her behavior, she was certain. But they were far away. Thank God!

Out on the dance floor, she twirled toward Riley, and his arms settled around her as if they'd been dancing partners a thousand times before. One of his strong hands clasped hers, and the other snuggled down low at the small of her back.

He smelled…

“Nice,” she murmured, closing her eyes to enjoy him.

Like sandalwood and citrus.

Catherine splayed her palm against his chest and was surprised by how firm his pecs were beneath his dress shirt. Her heart pattered like a butterfly's wings. Flipping and fluttering.

“The music is nice,” he said, thinking he was agreeing with her statement.

She only smiled up into his handsome face for a second before closing her eyes again.

They swayed and turned and rocked. The smooth tune seemed to fuse the two of them into one being, and they moved as a solitary unit.

Instinct had her pressing her temple to his cheek. “You're a good dancer,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

Each time he spoke, she felt the sexy vibration under the flat of her hand. Being pressed against him so tightly thrilled her more than anything else she'd ever experienced in her life.

Her insides were jittery and she decided the feeling was pure anticipation, the keen expectation of what the remainder of the night held in store. But she gently prodded the eagerness away. If she focused too much on what might happen later, she would miss the truly romantic moments taking place in the here and now.

Leaning back a fraction, she looked up into his face. Strong bone structure formed sharp angles she found more than just a little attractive. She zeroed in on his mouth.

She'd seen it formed into a firm slash that gave the impression he was displeased. And those lips all too often turned down into a frown. But at this moment, there was a softness there. A suppleness that had her wanting to explore.

How would his lips feel against hers?

Catherine's pulse quickened when she thought about the end of their evening. Would he kiss her good-night? That was the American tradition, wasn't it? For a man to kiss his date when he dropped her off at her door?

Royal protocol in Lextanya called for first dates to be chaperoned, and a chaste handshake was all any suitor was allowed. If the truth were to be known, Catherine had thanked the heavens for the strict etiquette many times over the years.

But tonight? Tonight she was grateful that no chaper
one was watching her every move. Tonight she was hoping—praying—for a kiss.

But would it be soft? Warm and moist? Firm? Slow and languorous? Or furiously ardent? If she had her druthers, she'd prefer to experience his kiss in each of those forms. The thought had her grinning.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Nothing she could tell him, anyway.

The music faded, and when they started back to their table, she kept hold of his hand. This nervy conduct was so new to her. It made her tremble with excitement. It also made her feel empowered.

By the time the band had started another set, Riley had ordered them drinks. A glass of champagne for her, a club soda for him.

The bluesy tune and the bubbly wine relaxed Catherine, and she looked around the darkened room. Men and women danced close; other couples sat at the small, round tables, their heads huddled together intimately. Some people were there on their own, some of those obviously on the hunt, while others seemed happy to simply enjoy the band.

The place was perfect, so was the night. She felt so lucky to be in Portland, far away from her controlling father and her selfish sister. Far away from the awkward situation of meeting that awful, skirt-chasing—

No, she told herself. She would not think about Étienne. She would not think about what awaited her at home. She would enjoy tonight. The music, the champagne…and Riley.

Once she'd fully banished the bad thoughts, she sighed, feeling as if she were in heaven.

“Somebody pinch me,” she said aloud.

Riley's invisible vibes drew her attention. A naughty twinkle flashed in his dark eyes.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he teased.

Catherine's laugh was throaty.

Immediately, though, he checked himself. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “That was a little forward of me. I usually wait until the second date before I start blatantly flirting.”