“I possess no magical power to cast spells.”
“Perhaps you’re unaware of your power.”
“I have no special powers, Ethan. In fact, I’m quite ordinary.”
Ethan gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “Define ordinary for me.”
Faith felt a rush of warmth sweep over her as her gaze met Ethan’s. Why did she find him so vaguely disturbing? What was there about him that sent her pulses spinning, her heart slamming against her ribs and her response to him so bewildering that it frightened her?
“I’m single, thirty and I have no children. I worked briefly as a model, but gave it up to go to culinary school. I’m a professionally trained pastry chef and I own a tiny patisserie known as Let Them Eat Cake.”
“Where did you grow up?” Ethan asked.
“Mount Vernon.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No. I’m an only child, but I have two first cousins whom I think of as my sisters. Any other questions?” she asked after a comfortable silence.
“No. But I beg to differ with you, Faith. You’re anything but ordinary. In fact, I’d think of you as quite extraordinary because you must be very good at what you do or you never would’ve met my cousin. WJ is anything but impulsive. He told me that he had you checked out thoroughly before agreeing to become your client. He showed me a list of recommendations from your clients that include A-list actors, hip-hop artists, high-profile athletes and the Euro-elite.”
The heat in her face intensified. “You had me checked out?”
“No, Faith. WJ had you checked out. I’d never do that because that would’ve destroyed your mystique. When I asked WJ for your number he launched into a monologue about how you’d exceeded what you’d proposed in your contract. I believe it was the edible souvenir boxes that did it.”
“He paid me well for my services.”
“But you didn’t include the souvenirs in your contract.”
“That’s my personal trademark,” Faith said, smiling. “I try to include a little extra something for my clients. Enough talk about me…” She didn’t finish her statement when the sommelier approached the table. Ethan ordered a bottle of 1996 Taittinger Comtes de Champagne Rosé. As soon as the sommelier left, their waiter came over and introduced himself. His slight Italian accent was music to her ears.
Faith focused on the dinner menu with specially created dishes highlighting Northern Italian cuisine. She ordered breaded tuna steaks with peas and artichokes with prosciutto. Ethan chose lasagna with pesto sauce and a capon salad with walnuts.
Leaning back in his chair, Ethan angled his head. “Where did you learn to speak Italian?” Faith had ordered in Italian.
Faith took a sip from her water goblet, peering at him over the rim. “I’m not that fluent in Italian.”
“But you ordered in Italian.”
“I spent some time in Italy and France to perfect my knowledge of Italian and French cuisine, so I picked up a few words.” She’d returned to Rome last spring to attend the wedding of a childhood friend to an Italian restaurateur. She took another sip of water. “I have a confession to make.” Sitting forward in his chair, Ethan stared at her. “I went to twelve years of parochial school, and—”
“You studied Latin,” he said, completing her statement. “I’m also a product of a parochial school education. In fact, my parents teach at a Catholic college in Pennsylvania.”
“Did you attend a Catholic college?” Faith asked.
Ethan picked up his goblet and drank deeply before setting it down on the cloth-covered table. “No. I went to a military academy.”
Propping her elbow on the table, Faith rested her chin on the heel of her hand and wrinkled her nose. “I knew you were a military man.”
He frowned at her. “You don’t have to sound so smug about it. Now, if you can guess which one I went to, you’ll get a gold star.”
“I want more than a gold star, Ethan,” she crooned.
Ethan’s gaze was riveted on his date’s face as the invisible wall she’d erected to keep him at a distance suddenly vanished with her seductive teasing. “What do you want?”
Faith knew she’d stepped into a trap of her own choosing as she asked herself the same question. What did she want from Ethan? Did she want from him what she hadn’t gotten from the other men she’d dated?
“If we go beyond tonight’s brief encounter, then I want…”
The seconds ticked off as Ethan waited for Faith to finish her statement. “You want what?”
“I want trust. I want to be able to trust you.”
Ethan hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He didn’t know why, but he felt like shouting. What she was asking was possible and doable. “And you will,” he said after an interminable pause. Raising her goblet, Faith touched it to his. Smiling, he followed suit, touching her glass. “We will not lie, steal or cheat, nor tolerate among us anyone who does. Furthermore, I resolve to do my duty and live honorably, so help me God.” Throwing back his head, he laughed softly when he saw an expression of confusion freeze her delicate features. “It’s the U.S. Air Force Academy’s honor code.”
Faith recovered quickly. “Don’t tell me you’re a flyboy?”
“Hel-lo. The proper term is pilot, dessert lady.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You just blew it, Ethan McMillan. I was going to bake you something special but—”
“Please don’t punish me, sweetness.” He put his forefinger to his lips before touching hers. “I’m sorry I called you dessert lady.”
A sensual smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “Apology accepted.”
They were the last words they exchanged as the sommelier returned with a bottle of chilled champagne and a crystal bowl filled with ice. Reaching for a corkscrew, he quickly and expertly uncorked the bottle, poured a small amount into a flute and handed it to Ethan. He repeated the gesture with Faith, who sipped the premium wine, holding it in her mouth for several seconds before swallowing.
She stared at her dining partner. He still hadn’t sampled the champagne. “It’s good.”
“We’ll take it,” Ethan said to the sommelier. The wine steward filled the flutes, then backed away from the table. Holding the stem of the wineglass between his thumb and forefinger, he extended it toward Faith. “To trust.”
She nodded. “To trust.”
* * *
Faith couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed sharing dinner with a man. Her former dates were predisposed to monopolize the conversation by extolling their virtues, believing she was impressed with their achievements. A few times she’d sat silently, counting the number of times they used I or me repeatedly. One had used the pronoun more than two hundred times in less than ninety minutes. And when he called to invite her out again he couldn’t understand why she’d rejected his offer of another date.
However, it was not the case with Ethan. It appeared as if he was reluctant to talk about himself. It was only after her subtle urging that he disclosed he was thirty-eight, the middle child and an only son of college professor parents. He told her that he’d graduated from the air force academy, trained as a fighter pilot at Andrews Air Force Base and had flown sorties in the Middle East. There came a swollen silence before he admitted to leaving the air force to become a commercial airline pilot; however, he’d remained a reservist until he celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday, retiring with the rank of major.
Faith glanced up at him through her lashes. “Do you still fly?”
“I do occasionally,” he admitted truthfully. He’d piloted corporate clients for a while until he reconnected and hired two former air force pilots with whom he’d graduated flight school. “Do you like flying?” Ethan asked Faith.
Her head came up and she met his eyes. “It’s okay.”
“Just okay, Faith?”
“It’s the fastest mode of transportation when you want to get somewhere in a hurry.”
“That it is,” he agreed.
Ethan put down his fork and touched the corners of his mouth with his napkin. He stared out the window at the lights in the many office buildings towering above the streets, avenues and canyons that made up Manhattan island rather than at the woman sitting across from him.
“Would you like to learn to fly?”
“No!”
He turned to look at her, seeing a flash of fear in her eyes. “I’d make certain nothing will happen to you.”
“Can you guarantee it one hundred percent?” Faith retorted.
Ethan shook his head. “No, I can’t.”
“Then, my answer remains the same. No.”
He and Faith made a toast to trust, and that was what he wanted her to do—trust him. Trust him not to cheat on her if they were to have a relationship, and trust him to keep her safe whenever they were together. Placing his napkin on the table, Ethan extended his hand. “Come, let’s dance.”
Faith, waiting until he stood up and came around the table, placed her hand in his outstretched palm. The orchestra was playing a slow number that had everyone up on the dance floor. Within seconds of finding herself in Ethan’s embrace, she felt as if she belonged there.
The arm around her waist tightened until their bodies were molded from chest to thigh. His tailored clothing concealed a lean but hard muscular body. Her body went completely pliant as she sank into the tall, athletic physique. She was suddenly jolted into an awareness of how long it’d been since she’d permitted a man to hold her. What she refused to think of was how long it’d been since she’d slept with one. And, if she were truly honest with Simone, she would’ve admitted to having only two serious relationships.
The first one had been with a male model, and the second was her pastry chef instructor. What made their relationship more palatable and ethical was that the much-older man had waited until she graduated, then approached her. He was fifteen years her senior, and two years after they’d lived together, Faith decided it was time to end their liaison because he didn’t trust her. Whenever she interacted with a younger man or men, her lover turned into someone she didn’t know or recognize. Rather than risk becoming the statistic from a crime of passion, she moved out of his Upper East Side apartment and into the Greenwich Village studio. It was another three years before she agreed to date again, but with disastrous results. It was as if all of the losers had lined up to take a number to date Faith Whitfield.
“What perfume are you wearing?” Ethan asked close to Faith’s ear.
“Why?” There was laughter in her query.
He spun her around and around in an intricate dance step. “You smell scrumptious.” This time she did laugh, the soft tinkling sound sending a shiver of wanting over him. “What’s so funny?”
“To me scrumptious translates into delicious.” She smiled. “Only food can be delicious.”
“I beg to differ, sweetness.”
“You’re going to have to make up your mind, Ethan. Am I sweet or delicious?”
Ethan stared at Faith’s face, committing everything about it to memory. He recalled her saying that he was superficial, but he was past caring what she thought. What he felt, was beginning to feel for Faith Whitfield had surpassed his obsession to become a pilot. Once he’d mastered flying a single-engine plane, then it’d become a fighter jet. He’d set goals and achieved most of them, but this was the first time in his life that the objective was a woman. His head came down slowly.
“What are you doing?” Faith whispered seconds before his mouth covered hers in a soft kiss. It’d happened so quickly that she would have thought she’d imagined it, if not for his quickened respirations.
A knowing smile parted Ethan’s strong, masculine mouth. “I just had to see whether you’re delicious or sweet.”
The kiss, though lasting mere seconds, left Faith’s mouth burning for more. She rested her head on his shoulder rather than meet his omnipresent gaze. “What did you decide?”
“You’re both,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
“You’re not playing by the rules, Ethan.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because brief encounters don’t include gratuitous kisses.”
Without warning, he dipped her, her head inches from the floor, his mouth inches from hers. “What if we change the rules?”
Smiling up at him, Faith shook her head. “That can only happen by mutual agreement.” Gracefully, as if he were a professional dancer, he eased her up and they stood in the middle of the dance floor smiling at each other. “The music stopped, Ethan,” she whispered.
He didn’t move. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Faith glanced over his shoulder to find everyone staring at them. “Ethan!” she gasped, totally embarrassed.
He blinked once, as if coming out of a trance. Looking around he saw countless pairs of eyes staring at him. The music started up again as the orchestra segued into another slow ballad. His entrancement with the woman in his embrace intensifying, Ethan rested his hand on the curve of Faith’s waist and pulled her closer. He lost track of time as they glided across the floor. It was only when the music changed into an upbeat tempo that he led her back to their table. All of his motions were fluid as he seated her, lingering over her head longer than necessary.
“Thank you for dancing with me.”
Staring up at him over her shoulder, Faith met his stare. “It was my pleasure.”
Reaching for her right hand, Ethan held it firmly within his grasp and rounded the table, not letting her go, because although they weren’t dancing he didn’t want to let Faith go. He sat down, meeting her gaze. They’d spent nearly three hours at the Rainbow Room drinking champagne, sharing an exceptional three-course dinner and dancing together. Dining sixty-five stories above the pulsing, electrifying, crowded pedestrian and vehicular Manhattan traffic was like being whisked away to a make-believe world where only the two of them existed.
Her lashes lowered and he noticed Faith glancing at his watch under the French cuff of his shirt. “Are you ready to leave?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Pushing back his chair, he rounded the table and eased her to her feet. “I hope you enjoyed our brief encounter.”
An intimate smile trembled over Faith’s lips as she leaned into Ethan’s warmth and strength. “What do you think?”
Ethan went completely still. The woman he wanted to kiss until he lost his breath, the woman who’d unknowingly twisted him into knots had become a teasing siren that made him feel a stirring of desire he was unable to ignore.
“Would you think me a superficial buffoon with an over-inflated ego if I said yes?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” She held up a hand. “And, before you ask me, the answer is yes, I will go out with you.”
He bit back a smug grin. He wanted to tell Faith that he felt good when he was with her, and that he wanted to spend more time with her. “Thank you.” The two simple words conveyed an emotion so foreign that he wasn’t able to identify or explain it. Curbing the urge to kiss her, Ethan took a step backward. “Let me settle the check. Then I’ll take you home.”
* * *
Ethan opened the door and glanced around. The lowest setting on the lamp on the bedside table cast a soft glow throughout the Greenwich Village studio apartment. Reaching for Faith’s hand, he pressed the keys to her palm, pulled her gently inside, closed the door and eased her to his chest.
“May I call you?”
Faith stared over Ethan’s shoulder before she closed her eyes. He felt so good, smelled so good. She smiled, wondering why he sounded so tentative because she’d told him that she would go out with him again.
“Yes, you may.”
“I’m going to be on the West Coast next week, but I promise to call you—”
“You don’t have to call me until you get back,” she said softly, cutting him off.
Easing back, Ethan stared down at Faith staring up at him. “Is that
what you want?”
There came a beat of silence before she answered his query. “No, Ethan, it’s not about what I want but what’s practical. There’s the three-hour time difference, and I don’t want you to feel that you’re obligated to call me.” A mysterious smile curved her mouth. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
His smile was slower in coming, dimples slashing lean cheeks. “You’re not going to accuse me of neglecting you?”
Justine had complained constantly whenever he was scheduled for a bicoastal or international flight, because it meant he’d be away for days. Her continuous badgering that he wasn’t giving her enough attention or that she was fearful to be left alone forced him to check into a local hotel whenever he returned home rather than attempt to explain why he spent most of his waking hours in the air.
Faith rolled her eyes at the same time she sucked her teeth. “Of course not. I don’t need you to entertain me.”
“I knew there was something I liked about you when I first saw you.”
“Yeah, I know,” she drawled.
“But you don’t know,” Ethan countered, his smile still in place. “It’s not only your face and other obvious assets, but also your spunkiness and independence.”
Faith wanted to ask Ethan what other assets he was referring to, but decided not to broach the subject. She didn’t know Ethan and he didn’t know her, and she didn’t want to say or do anything to upset their fragile association. She’d admitted to wanting to date him because he presented himself as the total package. Not only was he good-looking, but intelligent and socially adept. A man’s looks weren’t as important to her as intelligence and manners.
It’d been drummed into her head by Edith Whitfield that if a man didn’t possess a modicum of home-training then she should keep walking. And it didn’t matter the size of his bank account, level of education or social standing because to her mother good manners was the defining factor when forming a relationship with the opposite sex.
Edith, a former showroom model, who’d recently celebrated her thirty-fifth wedding anniversary to Henry Whitfield, professed she knew she was going to marry Henry the moment she was introduced to the tall, handsome man who was Malcolm Whitfield’s identical twin brother. Her prediction was manifested because two months later they drove to Virginia and eloped, much to the consternation of her new mother-in-law, who refused to address Edith directly until after she’d presented her with another grandchild.
The Sweetest Temptation Page 8
