Laura noticed his eyes first, of course. It was impossible not to; they were a brilliant blue in an otherwise unremarkable face.
"Gerald said you were exquisite," he said softly. "For once, he wasn't exaggerating."
Laura looked down at her salad. She never believed compliments, and so never knew how to respond. "How long have you known Gerald?"
"Since university," Michael said. "Never mind the actual number."
English accent, but he'd been in the U.S. a long time. Still, the polished vowels made her a little weak in the knees. Gerald would have known that, of course, would have known to find her a professional man, someone with something to lose if things turned ugly.
Gerald knew everything, really, and Laura wondered what it was about her that made him think she and Michael would be a good fit.
Dinner first.
The restaurant was only half-full, and the hostess had tucked them away in a quiet corner, probably thinking they were on a date.
And they were, kind of. They'd seen each other before, at the play parties Gerald loved to throw. He'd taught her the game, a thousand years ago, and they'd remained good friends.
"You're a lawyer?" she asked.
"Isn't everyone in Washington a lawyer?"
Nice sidestep.
"Not me," she said. "I'm a writer."
"Gerald mentioned that," he said, leaning back to let the waiter set their plates down. "A magazine, I think?"
Some kind of fish for him, some kind of pasta for her. She never noticed food when she ate with others; she wouldn't eat half of it, and wouldn't taste any of it.
Too self-conscious, she could hear her last master say critically. Too timid.
"Yes. Nothing you've heard of." She hated her job, didn't even read what she wrote any more. But it paid well. She took a bite, chewed, swallowed. Lobster ravioli.
"Try this," Michael said, offering her a bite of food from his plate.
His first test. She felt her face grow warm as she leaned forward to accept it. Could he tell?
He gave no sign, but speared a ravioli from her plate and popped it in his mouth. "Excellent choice."
"Have you been here before?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized her question could be taken any number of ways.
He smiled, acknowledging the undertones. "Yes, once or twice."
She smiled back, and wondered if he meant the restaurant or the discreet first meeting.
"Try the wine," he suggested. "It's very good."
Laura took a sip and was surprised to find she agreed. She didn't usually like white wine. It all seemed to be too dry or too sweet. "It's nice," she said, and took another sip.
"You prefer red?" he asked.
"I'm not really a wine person," she said, half-apologetically. "I think my taste buds might be defective."
He smiled again, warmer this time. "I doubt you have any defects at all," he said, and offered her another bite of his fish.
She blushed, but took the food. "Thank you. It's wonderful." She could actually taste it.
He liked the blush, she could tell. "They always do a good job here," he said.
They ate the rest of their meals in silence, but it was comfortable. The tight feeling in her stomach disappeared, and she found herself enjoying her food.
The waiter re-appeared when Michael signaled for more wine. "Do you still serve that dessert? Chocolate Indulgence, I think?"
The waiter smiled. "Of course, sir. Two forks?"
"One," Michael said. He smiled at Laura. "I expect you to eat half."
He stretched his legs under the table, and his knee brushed against hers. The tiniest shiver went through her.
"I'll have a bite," she agreed, trying not to stare at his hands. It was ridiculous how badly she wanted him to touch her.
