Holiday Kisses. Gwynne Forster

She evidently didn’t know that he enjoyed a kind of celebrity status, and that made him feel special. What a joy it was to go out with a woman who agreed to have dinner with him because she liked him and not because of his reputation.

      “I’ve never been here alone,” she said, “so I haven’t had that option.” She sat forward, devilishness dancing in her eyes.

      “You’d only have to walk in here and look unhappy. Maynard would rush to you and get you whatever your heart desired.”

      “You’re joking. I think I’ll try it one day. I’ve never been made to feel queenly. Not that I’ve minded, but it seems to wear well on the women who get that treatment.”

      He looked hard at her. The woman was almost as frank as he. A straight talker. He liked that, and he liked her more and more. “The guys you’ve known must have been a few bricks short of a full load. Where did you study dentistry?”

      “New York University. Where did you study and what? Actually, I’m more interested in what than where.”

      It was a fair enough question, since he obviously knew more of her schooling that she did of his. “Howard University undergraduate, and I majored in Philosophy. Then I got a degree in journalism.” If she didn’t probe, he wouldn’t mention his law degree from Harvard.

      “If I knew how to whistle, and if we were in the woods, I’d whistle,” she said. “As a philosophy major, I’ll bet you were what we used to call, ‘loaded.’”

      “I can hold my own. What was your undergraduate major?”

      “Chemistry. I began my freshman year by majoring in boys, but when I discovered that all the guys were in school to major in girls, I lost interest in the fun. I was orphaned the summer after my sophomore year, and that changed everything.”

      “I’m sorry. Do you have older siblings?”

      “I don’t have any siblings, so it was kind of rough. But let’s not linger on that.”

      He looked at his watch. Precisely seven o’clock and a perfect opportunity to change the topic. “It’s time to claim our table. If you’re still enjoying the drink, leave it there, and we’ll get another at the table.”

      She followed the maître d’ to their table and gasped in awe at the sun, a big, round red disc sinking into the Patapsco River. He had seen it from that table before, but somehow, it looked different, more magnificent as he stood beside her. If it was an omen, he wasn’t sure that he welcomed it.

      Being comfortable with a man of whom she knew nothing about other than where he worked and what he’d told her should have made her question her sanity, but she could read people, and she liked what she saw in this man.

      He asked her which chair she would prefer to sit in, something new in her dating experience. “I like to face the door,” she said, “but I suppose it would be better for you to sit in that chair so that you can see the waiters approach.”

      “You’re the most thoughtful person I know,” he said. “I usually prefer to face the door. Thanks.”

      The waiter took their orders. Both of them chose the Maryland crab cakes. For a first course, Kisha ordered a sampling of barbecued shrimp, baby back ribs, scallops and buffalo wings.

      “Are you going to eat all of those ribs?” he asked her.

      “Tell you what, you give me half of your Portuguese pancake, and I’ll give you one rib, two shrimp, a scallop and one buffalo wing. It’s too much for me anyway.”

      “Sure you don’t mind?” he asked, but he was already dividing their appetizers. “Gosh, this is a real treat,” he said. “I get to have both of my favorites. Choosing is always a problem.”

      “Here’s something to commemorate your promotion. Congratulations,” she said, watching him closely.

      “You brought me a present? Really?” His eyes widened, and his face creased into a smile. “Can I open it?”

      “Why not wait till later? I hope you’ll like it.”

      “I know I will. I love presents. Any kind of present. Thanks.”

      They finished their meal, walked out into the night air, and he held her hand while they waited for the parking attendant to bring his car. He walked with her to the front door of her house, opened the door with her key, entered with her and flicked on the light in the foyer.

      “This was wonderful, Kisha. I want to see you again. I want to get to know you.” His gaze seemed to bore through her.

      I should say something, she thought, but nothing came to mind. His elegant style, his charm and good looks were reducing her to a simpleton. She told herself to get it together. “I enjoyed the evening, too, Craig.” She opened her bag, got a business card and wrote her home phone and cell phone numbers on the back of it. “I look forward to hearing from you. I work late some nights, so if you don’t get me here, call my cell.”

      He gave her his business card. “I’ll call you tomorrow evening. Thanks for a most pleasant evening. Good night.”

      “Good night, Craig.”

      She closed the door. “Well I’ll be damned. Not even a peck on the cheek,” she said aloud. She’d have to think about that. True, she took a chance when she allowed him to come inside, but she wasn’t one for making out in public. She had expected a light kiss, since he didn’t seem the type to make a nuisance of himself. But a simple good-night and may I see you again? Would miracles never cease!

      She sat on the sofa in the darkened living room and kicked off her shoes. Would she have kissed him? Probably. A sensible woman did not get involved with a man who looked like Craig Jackson, a towering Adonis with long-lashed dreamy eyes, a well-toned body and a voice that could lull a woman into a stupor. She rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. She had needed that to remind herself of her resolution to never again fall for a man who looked too good to touch.

      Chapter 2

      Craig sat in a big beige leather lounge chair in his living room with a bottle of cold beer numbing his fingers. He shook his head from side to side, wondering what he’d been thinking. He didn’t have time to get involved in a relationship with Kisha Moran or with any other woman. He knew that if he did, he’d focus on the relationship, giving it everything he had, and if he did that, his career goals would slide down the drain. In his business, a man had to be on his toes every waking minute. He had to keep his eyes open and his wits sharp, or he’d spend the rest of his life as a lawyer. Opportunities were rare. You didn’t have any friends at work, because it was every man for himself. He let out a long, sharp whistle. He’d been with her three times, and he’d need a hell of a lot of willpower to prevent himself from trying to see her again.

      He looked at the small, elegantly wrapped package that she had given him in the restaurant along with her softly spoken congratulations.

      He opened the package and gazed at its contents. He had several palm-size tape recorders, but when he read the information on the side of the small box, he gasped. None of his old recorders were equipped to download to his desktop computer.

      He telephoned her. “Kisha, this is fantastic. Where did you find it. I didn’t know anybody had made one of these. This is…I’m speechless.” He actually whispered the words.

      As if she’d given him a little nothing, she said, “My receptionist’s brother works for the company that makes them. They will begin marketing it next month. I ordered it from the company.” It wasn’t the cost, but her thoughtfulness in finding something unique and especially useful to him that made the gift so special to Craig.

      It wasn’t Kisha Moran’s beauty or that suggestive body of hers that seemed to make his clock tick faster and louder. Physically attractive women were a fixture in his life. What set her apart was the sweet softness of her personality, her intelligence and