One Secret Night

by Yvonne Lindsay

  He named a Greek restaurant farther down Rundle Street. “It’s not far.”

  “Then let’s walk,” she said, slipping one small hand into the crook of his free arm. “It’s a beautiful evening.”

  Ethan slung the pack over one shoulder, hardly caring for the creases it would generate in his Ralph Lauren Black Label suit.

  “That wasn’t your usual haunt, was it?” Isobel asked, nodding her head back toward the pub they’d just vacated.

  “That obvious?” he asked with a smile.

  For a moment he withstood her silent perusal as she eyed him carefully. The sense that she was checking him out in more ways than one made his blood begin to hum in his veins, sending warmth spreading out to his extremities.

  “Yes,” she answered succinctly.

  Intrigued, he pressed her as to why.

  “A few things,” she said as they came to a stop at a street crossing and waited for their signal. “But mainly it’s your demeanor. You’ve got this air about you. Some would say that it’s probably wealth and privilege but I think there’s more to it than that. You look like you aren’t afraid of hard work.” She took both of his hands in hers and turned them this way and that, examining them carefully before letting them go and tucking her hand back in the crook of his arm. “Yes, well tended but not in a prissy way. And yet there’s an air of entitlement about you, or command, if you’d rather think of it that way. You’re willing to work hard, but you’re used to giving orders and having them immediately obeyed.”

  Ethan gave a short bark of laughter. “And you can tell all that just by looking at me?”

  She shrugged—a delicate motion of her slender shoulders. “You asked,” she replied simply. “Are we crossing?”

  Her question reminded him that they were supposed to be going to dinner. He took a minute to clear his mind as they strolled across the intersection and down the sidewalk. How had this happened? he wondered, supremely conscious of her hand nestled at his elbow and the feminine sway of her hips as she walked along beside him. How had he gone from having a drink to unwind, to escorting a woman he’d only just met to dinner? How long had it been since he’d acted on impulse like this?

  The answer to the last question was simple. Never.

  * * *

  Isobel felt the tensile strength of the forearm beneath her fingers and relished the tingle of anticipation it set up deep inside. The finely woven wool of Ethan’s suit—she’d missed catching his last name in the noise back at the bar—was just a veneer to the man who wore it. Her senses fizzed with the same sense of excitement she got when she knew she’d captured a particularly good photo—that prickling spider-sense that she was on the verge of something greater than she’d experienced before. And, having made it a lifestyle choice to grab every moment and make it a worthwhile one, dinner with Ethan was just the ticket.

  She wasn’t the kind of girl who was free with her favors, but she wasn’t one to let the opportunity to spend a fun evening with an attractive man fall by the wayside, either.

  Her instincts had told her he was straight up—that she had nothing to fear from him—and instinct had never let her down before. Besides, she had little reason to believe that anything would happen beyond an entertaining meal together. This guy was totally not her type. Too self-assured, too dominating and too darn good-looking for her equilibrium. Still, the evening promised to be interesting, if nothing else.

  They arrived at the restaurant and she was immediately struck by the deference paid to him by the staff. After they were seated at the table, her pack secured safely on the floor between them, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, reaching for his water glass and taking a long draw of the sparkling liquid. No mere tap water for him.

  She dragged her gaze from the movement of the muscles in his tanned throat and reached for her own glass, lifting it to her lips.

  “It’s amazing. You just take it all for granted, don’t you?” she eventually said.

  The look of puzzlement that crossed his face, pulling his heavy dark brows together, was all the answer she needed.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “They treat you like royalty,” she said with a small laugh. “And you don’t even notice.”

  “I’m a regular, and I tip well,” he replied, looking a bit put out.

  “It wasn’t a criticism,” she said softly. “I’m sure they respect your patronage.”

  It only took a second for her double entendre to hit its mark, whereupon he surprised her by chuckling out loud.

  “You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

  Isobel shrugged. “I believe in calling a spade a spade, even when it’s a face card.”

  “So you gamble?” he probed.

  “Only when I know I’m going to win,” she conceded, looking down at her menu rather than meeting his dark-eyed stare across the table.

  She thought for a minute of her last assignment. Her photography work gave her a chance to capture and highlight the best in people—and the worst. She was good enough to catch plenty of both, and not everyone was pleased with the results. Her most recent job had turned dangerous when the nation she’d been visiting had politely, but firmly, requested she remove herself from within their borders. It was clear that if she ignored them, their next request would not have been so civil.

  On that particular assignment, she’d taken a gamble and she’d thrown in her hand before things got uglier. But she’d be heading back, as soon as she completed her next cookie-cutter job—one of the dull but easy assignments that gave her a measure of financial security. The new catalog shoot would be a walk in the park compared to her usual work and even though it wasn’t as challenging on a social or emotional level as her preferred projects, it would ensure she had sufficient funds to head back to the war-torn country she’d just left to finish what she’d started.

  “Do you win often?”

  His voice was soft, like velvet, and she felt something deep inside her answer its challenge.

  “As often as I can.”

  “It’s hardly gambling when it’s a sure thing,” he commented before picking up his menu.

  “You can’t blame me for playing it safe.” She nodded toward the printed card in his hands. “What do you recommend?” she asked.

  “Everything’s good here but the lamb, in particular, is my favorite.”

  “Good. I’ll have that then.”

  He closed his menu and put it down. “Just like that? You don’t want another half an hour to peruse your choices and change your mind a half dozen times?”

  “Why? Is that what you usually do?” she teased, knowing full well the answer would be an emphatic no.

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “I prefer not to waste time. I’ll order for us both.”

  “Thank you. I’d like that.”

  She watched carefully as he called the waiter over and placed their order, including a bottle of wine. Again the staff showed him that same respect they had before.

  “You must tip really well,” she mocked with a laugh. “I swear that guy was about to offer you his firstborn child.”

  “Hardly,” Ethan responded drily before realizing that she was still teasing. “Ah, I see, you think it’s fine to bait me? Okay then, I’ll bite. Since you’re clearly not in the habit of bribing waitstaff into providing good service, what do you do with your money?”

  “My money?” Isobel pulled a face. “What I don’t use for travel I try to use to help support worthy causes.”

  “Seriously?” His face pulled into a frown. “That’s very philanthropic of you.”

  “I barely make a difference,” she said, a note of sadness creeping into her voice as she remembered the helpless futility of some of the people she’d tried to
help. “For myself, I’ve learned to need very little.”

  “What about when you grow older? How will you support yourself then?”

  “I’ll worry about that when it happens.” His frown deepened, prompting her to ask, “You don’t approve?”

  “I didn’t say that. Different strokes. I’m involved in a family business. We work together, socialize together—we’re all striving for a common goal. With the business we have, we’re looking forward to the future every day. I can’t imagine just living in the day and not planning ahead. But then, as a family business, there are plenty of other peoples’ futures at stake than just my own.”

  “I’m the only one affected by my decisions,” she said simply, “which definitely has its advantages.”

  Ethan smiled back at her, and she knew that in some way, even if it was small, he probably envied her freedom. Most people did, but without realizing that it came with its own personal cost at the same time. Ethan clearly had a network of people to help and support him, while Isobel was very accustomed to being on her own.

  She took advantage of the companionable silence between them to study him some more. In the subdued lighting of the restaurant, his lean features were all shadows and light. His nose a long straight patrician blade, his upper lip narrow but with a perfect bow to it, the lower lip fuller, enticing. His hair was worn short and controlled but she could detect the faintest of hints of curl in it and she wondered what he’d look like if he let it grow out a bit more, let himself look a little less disciplined and a lot more wild. Her fingers itched to reach for her camera in her pack and to shoot off a series of pictures of him.

  The tingle that had started in her body earlier ramped up a notch, sending swirls of heat spooling through her belly and lower. The strong shadow on his jaw showed he was probably a two-shaves-a-day man, but somehow she knew she liked him better like this. Less polished, more primal. She squeezed her thighs together as a surge of desire arrowed direct to her core, and in that moment Isobel knew she was probably going to sleep with Ethan whatever-his-last-name-was tonight and, more, that she wanted to—very, very much.

  Two

  The food was delicious and she was glad she’d left Ethan to make their selections. She slipped up a little sauce from the edge of her plate with a finger and licked it off, her eyes closing briefly to enjoy the blissful flavor just that bit longer. When she opened them again, she caught Ethan staring at her. That earlier thrill of desire jolted through her again and she saw a flare of reciprocal interest light in his eyes.

  What would he be like as a lover? she wondered as she broke eye contact and reached for her wineglass. He wasn’t her usual type, which was probably a male version of herself—free-spirited, unfettered, casual. No, Ethan was definitely different. He exuded stability and strength, not to mention an unfair dose of sex appeal, and she found the combination fiercely compelling.

  “Tell me about your travels,” he said, leaning forward to top up her wineglass with a little more of the very fine merlot they’d enjoyed with their meal.

  So far they’d kept their conversation very general and superficial. So much so that neither of them really knew much about the other. Isobel preferred it that way. She didn’t like to share too much of herself—at least not more than she was prepared to. She found so many people were critical of her attempts to expose some of the better-kept secrets regarding atrocities against children and families overseas. It was safer, she’d found, to be judicious with the information she shared.

  She found it easy to fill the next hour with flip conversation of some of the funnier exploits she’d experienced. Ethan leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily at her recitation of her reaction to a giant centipede coming out of the hole in the ground she’d been using as a toilet during a trip through Nepal. Her own lips turned up in response to his unfettered joy. He had a great laugh, she decided. She liked it when a man could really give in to mirth. It was, in her mind, a good indicator of just how much he’d give in to anything else he was passionate about. Right now, she hoped that was her.

  “Can’t say I have anything in my experience to equal or better that,” he said through his laughter. “And none of that puts you off or makes you want to take a more mainstream route?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You don’t really see the world as other people are forced to live it when you do that.”

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  “What?”

  “Forced. Aren’t most people living the life of their choice?”

  She gave him a pitying smile. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “I believe it’s up to each individual to choose his own path.”

  “In a perfect world, maybe. Not everyone has the privilege of a perfect world.”

  Ethan considered her words before responding. “You’re right. I’m being too general and thinking only in terms of here and my life, my choices.” His face suddenly became serious and she felt his withdrawal as if it were a physical thing when in reality, he was no farther away from her than he’d been two seconds ago. “Even I don’t have control over everything in my world.”

  He said it so bleakly, Isobel wondered for a moment what had happened to him that was so terrible. She reached across the table, pressing her fingertips lightly on the back of his hand where it rested on the pristine white tablecloth.

  “I’m sorry,” she said simply.

  “Why sorry?”

  “You strike me as the kind of guy who likes to be in charge of what happens.”

  “Yeah, I am,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “And at least I can be in charge of how I react to what happens, right?”

  They turned their conversation to more general topics after that, Isobel wringing more laughter from Ethan and reveling in the fact that she could. Seeing that glimpse of vulnerability in him had only made him even more attractive to her. It took a strong man to admit his weaknesses and she was hardwired to appreciate a strong man.

  They’d been lingering over their coffee and dessert when she saw Ethan look at his watch. Around them, the restaurant had all but emptied.

  “It’s getting late,” Ethan said. “Is there anywhere I can drop you off?”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. I’ll just check into the nearest hostel or hotel,” she answered blithely, though she was admittedly a little sorry that their evening was drawing to a close.

  The attraction she’d felt toward him all through the meal had only sharpened as she’d spent more time with him, and she wondered if perhaps he was too much of a gentleman to expect their evening together to lead to anything more. As much as she respected honor in a man, she wasn’t feeling particularly honorable herself right now.

  “You haven’t booked anywhere?”

  “No, I just flew in this afternoon. But it’s no problem. There are a few places within walking distance of here, aren’t there?” She could see Ethan bristle at the thought and she couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled from her at the expression on his face. “I can look after myself, you know.”

  “Like you did back at the pub?”

  “I would have shaken him off eventually.”

  “Yes, it certainly looked that way.” His delicious mouth firmed into a straight line.

  “Hey, it’s not a problem. I can get the restaurant to call me a cab if you’re that worried. I only need a place for a night, anyway.”

  * * *

  One night? One night of no questions, no answers. No recriminations. He would probably never see her again. One night of freedom, of passion. Ethan’s mind expanded on the idea with the velocity of bush fire and with more than a hint of its searing heat, as well. He spoke before he could overthink the situation and talk himself out of the idea that had bloomed in his mind. If she went for it, all well and good. If not, no harm, no foul.


  “Why not stay with me? I mean, I have an apartment here in the city. There’s more than enough room for you, as well.”

  To his surprise her smile widened.

  “I’d like that.” She hesitated a moment before continuing. “I’d like to stay with you tonight.”

  A knot of tension coiled tight in his gut. Did she mean what he thought she meant or had his simmering libido simply heard what it wanted to hear? In his whole life he’d never had a one-night stand—had considered them to be the mark of a person with little control, and even less respect for themselves. But his body burned in a way it had never burned before. Still, he felt obligated to be a gentleman about this.

  “I have a couple of guest rooms. You can take your pick.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” she replied softly. “Do you?”

  He swallowed and shook his head. “Not if you’re comfortable with that.”

  She laughed, the sound thrilling across his raw nerves like a soothing caress. “Oh, I expect to get really uncomfortable, don’t you? Come on, let’s go.”

  Ethan was unused to someone else taking the lead but he couldn’t deny the primal surge of attraction that flooded his body at her confidence. For once, the important decisions didn’t lie solely with him. He didn’t have to be the responsible one. He could just relax into doing what felt right. And this felt very, very right.

  Without taking his eyes from her face, he gestured to the waitstaff for their bill. It felt like forever before the account was settled, with his usual generous tip added. Then he was hefting Isobel’s pack up over his shoulder again. With his free hand he reached for her, threading their fingers together—the palm-to-palm contact hinting at the intimacy yet to come.

  The short cab ride to his apartment building was executed in silence, the distance between them in the backseat of the cab miles rather than mere feet. But the instant they alighted, Ethan drew Isobel to him again. She looked up at the midrise apartment building and flicked him a wicked smile.

  “Penthouse, right?”