Fearless. Fern Michaels

Anna said, wanting to ask for another drink.

      Ryan took a bite of his salmon, dropping his fork. “This is cold.” He forced himself to swallow the rest of the salmon.

      “Yes, the menu said it was served chilled,” she reminded him.

      “Well, I guess this is on me since I was distracted,” he indicated.

      “It’s not for everyone. Why don’t you ask Donal for something else?” Anna pointed at his plate.

      He shook his head. “I’m not really hungry. The salad was enough.”

      Feeling silly sitting there with him watching her eat, she took a few more bites of the salmon, then pushed her plate aside. “A shame you don’t like this, as it’s excellent, just as Donal said.”

      The bubbly waiter returned to the table, offering a variety of desserts, but neither indulged. “Thanks, Donal. You can tell the chef the salmon was fantastic. And the salad was, too,” Anna said. The waiter removed their plates and gave a slight bow.

      “So, you want to watch the dancing contest? Together?” Ryan asked, as they left the main dining room.

      “As long as we’re just watching. Like I said, I’m not much of a dancer.”

      “I haven’t danced since”—he paused—“my wedding day.”

      Anna didn’t know how he expected her to respond, so she said, “I think that’s the dance one always remembers most.”

      “That was a very long time ago, and I’m here with you now,” he said, then took her hand in his, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to do. She didn’t mind either.

      “What do you think about skipping the contest and going to my cabin for an espresso?” she asked, feeling so light-headed that she wondered if she’d manage to make it to her room.

      “I think it’s the best idea I’ve heard all evening,” Ryan answered.