The Blind Date (2 page)

“You shouldn’t have done this, Ryan,” she said in a low voice.

“It was six years ago.” The exterior lights cast shadows on the ground in the darkness so she saw him when he moved closer. “I would think,” he said, his voice equally low behind her, “that after six years, you could find a way to . . . I don’t know . . .” He sighed. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I know what I did was wrong, but we had something. Didn’t we?”

He moved in front of her, and she had no choice but to look at him. It brought him into such close proximity that she could smell his cologne. The same scent, containing hints of sandalwood and vanilla. It brought back even more memories. She looked him in the eyes, standing only a couple of inches shorter in her heels. She maintained eye contact despite the tremor in her belly.

“No,” she replied. “We had the opposite of something.
Nothing
. Because you thought it fine to play games.”

“I wasn’t playing games.”

“What would you call it then? Having your cake and eating it, too?”

Ryan ran his hand over his dark brown hair. “I wouldn’t call it that, either.”

“You used me.”

“
No.
” His mouth set in a grim line, he stepped close. “That was never my intention. You have to believe me. Can we sit down and talk? We’re both already here.”

She shook her head, not only to deny him but also to clear it.

“Do you want me to beg?” He lowered his voice. “Have dinner with me. You know you want to stay, no matter how much you despise me. I know how much you enjoy French food, and William said this is your favorite restaurant. That’s why I picked this place.”

He’d remembered how much she loved French food. But would it really only be dinner? It hadn’t been that first night.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and she fought the urge to give in to the temptation chipping away at her resolve. She glanced back at the door. “This
is
my favorite restaurant.”

She’d started the downward slide into dangerous territory, justifying why it should be okay to sit down and have dinner with a man whose presence had her tangled in knots. Who, as he said, she should despise, but couldn’t because of a different emotion which she refused to acknowledge.

He touched her arm above her elbow, and she pulled away from him. “No touching.”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “No touching,” he agreed.

They eyed each other. She wavered, and he waited. She remained quiet, hesitant, and he waited.

The urge to walk away was weaker than her curiosity. She wanted to hear what he had to say and find out how he’d been over the years.

“Appetizers and drinks only,” she said, feeling the need to state conditions so she’d have some level of control over the way the evening progressed.

“No problem.” The lazy smile she’d become familiar with in Chicago returned. It made him look as if he had a secret he relished keeping to himself.

“I mean it.”

“I’m not arguing.”

Shawna tossed another hard look his way before she stalked back into the restaurant ahead of him. The hostess smiled a greeting when she saw them, giving no indication she’d seen them in an altercation minutes ago.

They followed the young woman into the dim interior toward their reserved table. Ryan brought up the rear. She felt his hot gaze on the back of her head, and it took great effort to walk steadily across the carpeted floor.

The dim lights and candles gave the impression of warmth and coziness in the large restaurant. The mouth-watering aroma of heavy sauces and fresh herbs reminded Shawna why she loved this place.

She’d been here many times before, but she never grew tired of the food, the ambiance, or the Parisian landmarks painted on the walls. The images brought back memories of the summer she spent in France and the rented room above the bakery where she’d spent the best three months of her life.

There was the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe at the end of the Champs-Élysées, and the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, located at the highest point in the city. If she wasn’t so upset about seeing Ryan, she’d sigh with nostalgia like she always did.

“Your server will be with you in a minute,” the hostess said.

Ryan couldn’t take his eyes off Shawna.

What were the chances that William Wallace’s sister-in-law was Shawna Ferguson? He’d met William at a local bar and they’d become friends, meeting up every so often to drink beer and debate politics, argue over sports, or bemoan their problems with the fairer sex. Sometimes all of the above. During all that time, he’d had no idea they were related and had only found out a few weeks ago.

When William had mentioned the name Shawna, and at Ryan’s request followed up with a photo of his sister-in-law, Ryan had stopped breathing, unable to believe his luck. She’d been in his thoughts numerous times over the years, and he’d given up any chance of ever seeing her again.

Now, here she sat, across from him.

She had bangs now, and the overhead light picked up the reddish tones in the dark brown strands, reminding him of the colorful striations in the cherry wood at his woodworking shop. Reminding him, too, of how he’d wound his fingers in her hair to hold her in place while he drove into her.

With her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, he could drink in her features. Physically, she hadn’t changed over the years. Smooth, dark skin, a somewhat pointy nose, and her mouth . . . It had been the first thing he noticed when he’d gotten close enough to see her features that first day. Pouty, generous. The kind of mouth a man wanted to take his time kissing.

So many parts of her were generous. Her breasts, for example, which he now had a good view of because she’d removed her sweater. The material of the short-sleeved dress looked like it had been melted over them, prominently displaying the luscious mounds in all their glory.

He shifted in the chair to alleviate the tightening in his pants.

Then of course, there was her generous behind, which he’d enjoyed seeing, whether covered in a pair of tight jeans or when he’d had the pleasure of watching her slip from the hotel bed to the bathroom. He couldn’t decide which view he liked best—watching her coming or going.

A pair of sultry brown eyes beneath long lashes looked up at him from the menu. “Do you know what you want?”

Ryan leaned back in the chair, keeping his gaze on her. He hated the way they’d parted, but he had no one to blame but himself. He’d been young, foolish, and a coward.

“Yes. I know exactly what I want.”

From the moment he’d seen her, he’d known.

Chapter Three

Chicago, Friday, six years ago

From his position at the end of the aisle at the Food Mart, Ryan watched the young black woman at the other end flip through a magazine. She looked a couple of years younger than his twenty-four.

Impeccable in a blue dress that showed off her hourglass figure, she had a Coach purse hung over one shoulder and wore a pair of patent leather pumps shiny enough to double as a mirror. Her dark brown, shoulder-length hair looked lustrous and silky, covering most of her face. Lucky for him, he’d seen her when she first walked in and had received the full effect.

Other than a quick glance, she hadn’t paid attention to him, but he couldn’t say the same. He’d been watching her ever since she entered the store and had yet to work up the nerve to approach.

Shaking his head, he walked away.

He wasn’t exactly dressed to impress, unshaven in an old T-shirt, worn jeans, and a baseball cap turned backwards. She’d probably take one look at him and laugh.

Ryan went two aisles over and picked up the toiletries he’d come in to purchase and then headed for the check-out. At the front, he saw her standing in line. He went to the other cashier and waited behind an elderly woman with a cane, counting out her payment in quarters.

The young black woman laughed and said something to the male cashier. He couldn’t hear what she’d said, but he’d heard her laugh well enough, and he liked the sound of it. From his sideways grin, it looked like the cashier was flirting with her.

Ryan looked at the elderly woman beside him. Her wrinkled fingers trembled as she counted.

“One, two, three, four—four dollars. One, two, three, four—five dollars.”

He and the cashier made eye contact, and the young woman smiled apologetically.

His gaze shifted again, and he saw the object of his attention had finished her purchase and headed on her way out the door.

“One, two, three, four—seven dollars.”

A wave of panic seized him. He couldn’t let her walk away. He had to take the chance, even if he risked being laughed at. Besides, if she brushed him off, soon he’d be back in Oklahoma and would never see her again.

“One, two, three, four—nine dollars.”

What did he have to lose?

“Sorry,” Ryan muttered to the cashier. “I’ll be back to get those.” Abandoning his items on the conveyor belt, he turned sideways and slid past the senior citizen, rushing to the revolving door.

Outside, he looked left down Michigan Avenue, then right—and that’s when he saw her. Heart racing, he quickened his steps and walked up beside her. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said cautiously.

“I don’t usually do this, and I wish I’d thought of a line before I approached you, but I . . . I saw you and followed you and wanted to meet you.”

She kept walking, but a small smile hovered around her mouth. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw you, too.”

“You did?” Progress already. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “What did you think?”

“I thought the whole hat to the back thing doesn’t work unless you’re a hip-hop artist or in a boy band.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” He twisted the brim of his hat to the front. “What else?”

“Are you really following me?”

“I’ve been following you since we were in the Food Mart.”

“Should I be worried?”

“I’m harmless.”

She looked him up and down but didn’t say a word. They walked along in silence. He’d acted before thinking, and he rummaged through his brain to think of what to say next.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“You first.”

“Ryan Stewart.”

“Shawna.”

“I’ll never forget that name. Do you have a last name?”

“Yes, but I’m not giving it to you.” They slowed to a stop in front of Saks Fifth Avenue. “Well, Ryan Stewart, as flattering as it is to have a man follow me from the Food Mart, I have to go now. My lunch break’s over, and I have to get back to work.”

Ryan stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What do you do here?” he asked, trying to prolong their time together. “If I wanted to get a gift for someone, would you be the person to speak to?”

“I could help, but you’d be better off talking to one of the seasoned sales reps. I’m finishing up my summer job here, and I work in visual merchandising.”

“Summer job? Do you live in Chicago, or . . . ?”

“I’m a Southern girl, and I . . . look, I have to go. It was really sweet of you to say hello.”

“Have dinner with me,” he blurted as she turned away.

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“As a hostage situation.”

Her eyes darted away so he couldn’t read her thoughts. A light breeze blew hair across her face, and he almost reached up to brush away the fine strands that caressed her cheek and wrapped around her neck. She tucked the fluttering strands behind her ear.

Her brow furrowed. “Why me?” she asked. “Out of all these women walking around out here.”

“There are other women out here?” Ryan looked around at the pedestrians as if seeing them for the first time. “I didn’t even notice. I only have eyes for you.”

A beat later, they both burst out laughing.

“Good one,” Shawna said. “Have you used it before?”

“First time. I thought of it on the fly. Good though, right?” He stopped grinning and looked her in the eyes to make sure she knew how serious he was. “But I meant it. Let me buy you dinner.”

“Ryan, I’m not interested in seeing anyone right now. You seem very sweet, but I’ll be leaving in a couple of days, so I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He couldn’t let her get away. She had to say yes. He’d come to Chicago to clear his head, and somehow he knew she’d play an important role in helping him finalize the decision he’d been struggling to make.

“It’s only dinner.” He could see her waver as she shifted from one foot to the other and tucked her purse closer to her body. “When do you get off?”

She laughed nervously. “This is ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. You have to eat and I want to feed you. Makes sense to me.” He hoped that by keeping the conversation light, she wouldn’t overthink it and slip from his grasp, leaving him standing there with no way to see her again. “What kind of food do you like?”

Shawna shook her head in defeat. “French cuisine is my favorite.”

“And when do you get off?”

“At six.”

“I’ll be here at five-fifty, waiting.”

“If you’re not, it’s no big deal.” She shrugged.

He fixed his gaze on her face. “I hope that’s not true.”

She hesitated, tilting her head slightly, brown eyes observing him as if trying to figure him out. She obviously still doubted his sincerity.

“I’ll see you at six, Ryan Stewart.”

Chapter Four

Present day, Atlanta

Somehow, Ryan had charmed Shawna into accepting his invitation to dinner that day. She could tell some of the charm was still there, though she noted differences in him that came with age. He still had an easygoing, affable personality, but his face had matured and he had bigger muscles, causing him to exude an overt masculinity that called out to her femininity.

She closed her menu when the waitress arrived. After some prodding from Ryan, she’d decided to order a meal instead of an appetizer. Yet again he’d gotten his way. He’d reminded her of where they were, and she couldn’t resist placing an order for one of her favorite dishes.

She chose the salmon with
beurre blanc
and roasted vegetables, while Ryan opted for a meal of steak medallions with potatoes and
haricot verts
. To start, they each ordered a cup of the French onion soup.