The Prince's Secret Baby. Christine Rimmer

expression. “Because I want to know you, Sydney. Come to lunch with me. We can begin to remedy this problem.” She opened her mouth to tell him that as far as she was concerned there was no problem and lunch was out of the question. But before she got the words out, he scooped up the heart-shaped dish. “This way.” He gestured with his free hand in the direction of the nearest cashier stand.

      She went where he directed her. Why not? The casserole was a good choice. And he was so charming. As soon as the clerk had rung her up, she could tell him goodbye and make him see that she meant it.

      The clerk was young and blonde and very pretty. “Oh! Here. Let me help you!” She took the casserole from Rule and then kept sliding him blushing glances as she rung up the sale. Sydney sympathized with the dazzled girl. He was like something straight out of a fabulous romantic novel—the impossible, wonderful, hot and handsome, smooth and sophisticated lover who appears out of nowhere to sweep the good-hearted but otherwise perfectly ordinary heroine off her feet.

      And did she actually think the word lover?

      Really, she needed to get a grip on her suddenly too-vivid imagination.

      “This casserole is the cutest thing. Is it a gift?” the clerk asked.

      “Yes, it is,” Sydney replied. “A wedding gift.”

      The girl slid another glance at Rule. “I’m sorry. We don’t offer gift wrapping in the store anymore.” She spoke in a breathy little voice. Rule said nothing. He gave the girl a quick, neutral nod and a barely detectable smile.

      “It’s fine,” Sydney said. Like her grandmother, she not only bought gifts personally, she wrapped them, too. But she didn’t have time to wrap this one if she wanted to give it to Calista before her wedding trip. So she would need to grab a gift bag and tissue somewhere. She swiped her card and signed in the little box and tried not to be overly conscious of the too-attractive man standing beside her.

      The clerk gave Sydney the receipt—but she gave Rule the Macy’s bag with the casserole in it. “Here you go now. Come back and shop with us. Anytime.” Her tone said she would love to help Rule with a lot more than his shopping.

      Sydney thanked her and turned to him. “I’ll take that.”

      “No need. I’ll carry it for you.”

      “I said I’ll take it.”

      Reluctantly, he handed it over. But he showed no inclination to say goodbye and move on.

      She told him, “Nice chatting with you. And I really have to—”

      “It’s only lunch, you know.” He said it gently and quietly, for her ears alone. “Not a lifetime commitment.”

      She gazed up into those melting dark eyes and all at once she was hearing her best friend Lani’s chiding voice in her head. Seriously, Syd. If you really want a special guy in your life, you have to give one a chance now and then….

      “All right,” she heard herself say. “Lunch.” It wasn’t a big deal. She would enjoy his exciting, flattering attention over a quick sandwich and then say goodbye. No harm done.

      “A smile,” he said, his warm gaze on her mouth. “At last.”

      She smiled wider. Because she did like him. He was not only killer-handsome and very smooth, he seemed like a great guy. Certainly there could be no harm in giving herself permission to spend a little more time with him. “So. First I need a store that sells gift bags.”

      He held her eyes for a moment. And it felt glorious. Just standing there in Macy’s, lost in an endless glance with a gorgeous man. Finally, he said, “There’s a mall directory, I think. This way.” And then he shepherded her ahead of him, as he had when he ushered her to the cashier stand.

      They found a stationery store. She chose a pretty bag and some sparkly tissue and a gift card. The clerk rang up the sale and they were on their way.

      “Where to?” she asked, as they emerged into the mall again.

      “This is Texas,” he said, his elegant face suddenly open and almost boyish. “We should have steak.”

      He had a limo waiting for him outside, which didn’t surprise her. The man was very much the limo type. He urged her to ride with him to the restaurant, but she said she would follow him. They went to the Stockyards District in nearby Fort Worth, to a casual place with lots of Texas atmosphere and an excellent reputation.

      An antler chandelier hung from the pressed-tin ceiling above their corner table. The walls were of pine planks and exposed brick, hung with oil paintings of cowboy boots, hats and bandannas. The floor was painted red.

      They got a table in a corner and he ordered a beautiful bottle of Cabernet. She refused the wine when their waiter tried to fill her glass. But then, after he left them, she gave in and poured herself a small amount. The taste was amazing, smooth and delicately spicy on her tongue.

      “You like it?” Rule asked hopefully.

      “It’s wonderful.”

      He offered a toast. “To smart, observant, determined women.”

      “Don’t forget prickly,” she reminded him.

      “How could I? It’s such a charming trait.”

      “Nice recovery.” She gave him an approving nod.

      He raised his glass higher. “To smart, observant, determined and decidedly prickly women.”

      She laughed as she touched her glass to his.

      “Tell me about your high-powered job,” he said, after the waiter delivered their salads of butter lettuce and applewood smoked bacon.

      She sipped more of the wine she shouldn’t really be drinking, given she had that big meeting ahead of her. “And you know I have a high-powered job, how?”

      “You said the wedding gift was for ‘someone at the office.’“

      “I could be in data entry. Or maybe a top executive’s very capable assistant.”

      “No,” he said, with confidence. “Your clothing is both conservative and expensive.” He eyed her white silk shell, her lightweight, fitted jacket, the single strand of pearls she wore. “And your attitude …”

      She leaned toward him, feeling deliciously giddy. Feeling free and bold and ready for anything. “What about my attitude?”

      “You are no one’s assistant.”

      She sat back in her chair and rested her hands in her lap. “I’m an attorney. With a firm that represents a number of corporate clients.”

      “An attorney. Of course. That, I believe.”

      She picked up her fork, ate some of her salad. For a moment or two they shared a surprisingly easy silence. And then she asked, “And what about you? What do you do for a living?”

      “I like variety in my work. At the moment, I’m in trade. International trade.”

      “At the moment? What? You change jobs a lot, is that what you’re telling me?”

      “I take on projects that interest me. And when I’m satisfied that any given project is complete, I move on.”

      “What do you trade?”

      “At the moment, oranges. Montedoron oranges.”

      “Montedoran. That sounds exotic.”

      “It is. The Montedoran is a blood orange, very sweet, hinting of raspberry, with the characteristic red flesh of all blood oranges. The skin is smooth, not pitted like many other varieties.”

      “So soon I’ll be buying Montedorans at my local Wal-Mart Supercenter?”

      “Hardly. The Montedoran is never going to be for sale in supermarkets. We won’t be