Out of Character. Diana Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ with diners dressed from casual to semi-formal. The hostess spent the entire walk flirting with Mark then left Jillian with a menu and him with a suggestive smile.

      To his credit, Mark didn’t watch her saunter away. He helped Jillian into a black and taupe chair then sat down on her right. They spent several minutes studying the menus and ordering.

      “Did you always want to be a doctor?” Mark asked.

      “When I was a kid I actually wanted to own a pet store,” Jillian admitted. “Mostly because I wanted a dog, and my mom refused to get one.”

      “Why did you give up on the pet store idea?”

      She wrinkled her nose. “I worked in one during high school. Although I still want a dog. I’m getting one as soon as I pay off enough school loans that I can afford to rent a place with a yard.”

      “What made you pick ER medicine?” Mark lips curved slightly. “I’d think an admitted control freak would choose something more predictable.”

      A familiar question. “I grew up in a Chicago neighborhood where nobody went to a doctor unless they had to. ER doctors were the only ones anyone ever saw. Besides, ER’s are usually a lot calmer than on TV, and we’re trained to keep control when things go wild.”

      Their waitress delivered a glass of cabernet to Jillian and a beer to Mark.

      Mark sipped his beer then set the glass on the table. “Chicago’s a great city. Is your family still there?”

      Jillian shook her head. “My parents are both dead, and my only brother’s in Philadelphia. What about your family?”

      “Everyone lives in Connecticut.” He grinned. “Which is close enough to New York for all of us, even though we get along. Have you ever been married?”

      “Never. What about you?”

      “I was. My wife died six years ago.”

      “I’m so sorry. How?”

      Pain flashed over his features. “A car accident. I’d rather not talk about it.”

      “I didn’t mean to pry.”

      “You weren’t.” Mark looked down at Jillian’s hands. “You said you broke a finger skiing. Which one?”

      “The little one on my left hand, so I didn’t get much sympathy.” She wiggled the offending finger. So what if she’d smashed it in a locker inside the lodge? Her agitation about skiing had caused her clumsiness, making it a skiing-related injury.

      “That must have hurt.” He took her hand, examining her finger as he stroked it with his thumb.

      Shivers shot up her arm, across her shoulders, down her spine. “Uh-huh.”

      “It looks a little crooked.” He stroked her palm, his thigh pressing against hers.

      Her breath caught. “Uh-huh.”

      The waitress set a plate of crostini with three spreads on the table.

      Jillian jerked her hand and thigh away from Mark’s.

      Mark slathered some of the red spread on a piece of toasted bread and took a bite. “Excellent.”

      Jillian followed his example, more out of nervousness than hunger. He was right. It was a superb combination of roasted red peppers, balsamic vinegar, almonds, and cilantro.

      Mark sampled the dark brown spread next. “Try this.” He held his bread to her mouth, an intimate gesture that made her stomach clench.

      She savored the wild mushrooms. “Delicious.”

      He nodded, his eyes on her lips.

      Her mouth went dry. It had definitely been too long since she’d been close to a man. She grabbed her glass and gulped cold water. “Movies.”

      “What about movies?”

      “Do you like them? I mean movies?” She’d sounded as flustered as she felt.

      “I love movies.” Mark had clearly decided to take pity on her. “Did you see…”

      * * * *

      Mark paid the bartender for two mineral waters then picked up both bottles with his left hand. It was almost 11:30. Unbelievable. He’d only planned to have dinner with Jillian, but he’d enjoyed talking with her so much they’d gone to a nearby bar afterwards. Then again, his opportunities for pleasant conversation had been rather limited lately.

      Scanning the room, he worked through the crowd to their table. His right hand rested close to his gun. He set the bottles on the table and sat down.

      “How did you break your leg?” Jillian asked.

      “My leg?”

      “The reason you haven’t been skiing for a while. I realize it can’t compete with a broken finger, but—”

      “Sorry. I was thinking about something else.” Mark got to his feet. “How much I’d like to dance with you.” He’d forgotten all about his pretend broken leg. Hopefully dancing would distract her from his slip. He draped his sport coat over the back of his chair, taking care to conceal his gun, and extended his hand.

      He led Jillian onto the packed dance floor, keeping his sport coat in view. He hated leaving his gun, but she might have noticed it. He took her in his arms.

      His body reacted with a vehemence that surprised him. He usually wasn’t attracted to petite, serious-minded blondes. He pulled Jillian closer.

      She sighed and relaxed into him, resting her cheek on his chest. The scent of her hair, cherries with a hint of vanilla, stiffened a part of him he’d have sworn couldn’t get any stiffer. Jesus, you’d think he was back in high school. But he’d graduated long ago and had the self-control of the Pope when he needed it. As soon as this song ended, he’d plead jet lag, walk her to her car, and send her home with a kiss on the cheek.

      He enjoyed holding her until the last guitar and keyboard chords faded, and the band announced a fifteen-minute break. “I should go. I’m a little tired.” He said the words, but didn’t release her.

      “A two-hour time difference can throw you off. Especially at this altitude.”

      He nodded. The last couple on the dance floor was always conspicuous, but she felt so damn good he didn’t want to open his arms. Although Jillian wasn’t his usual type, something about her obviously was.

      Sure, he had a self-imposed rule about avoiding women while he was working, but he’d swear no one had spotted him, and his sixth sense about that was virtually infallible. He’d spend a couple mutually satisfying hours with Jillian without putting her at risk. Anyone later learning he’d been with her would conclude he’d had a one-night stand when he’d realized nothing was going down tonight.

      “I’m only tired of the crowds,” he whispered against her hair. “Would you come back to my townhouse for a while? I’ve got a terrific chardonnay СКАЧАТЬ