The Prince's Secret Baby. Christine Rimmer

I’m getting nervous.”

      “Getting? Syd. You look wonderful and you are going.”

      “What if he doesn’t show up?”

      “Stop it.” Lani squeezed her shoulders. “Go.”

      Rosewood Mansion at Turtle Creek was a Dallas landmark. Once a spectacular private residence, the Mansion was now a five-star hotel and restaurant, a place of meticulous elegance, of marble floors and stained-glass windows and hand-carved fireplaces.

      Her heart racing in mingled excitement and trepidation, Sydney entered the restaurant foyer, with its curving iron-railed staircases and black-and-white marble floor. She marched right up to the reservation desk and told the smiling host waiting there, “I’m meeting someone. Rule Bravo-Calabretti?”

      The host nodded smartly. “Right this way.”

      And off she went to a curtained private corner on the terrace. The curtains were pulled back and she saw that Rule was waiting, wearing a gorgeous dark suit, his black eyes lighting up when their gazes locked. He rose as she approached.

      “Sydney.” He said her name with honest pleasure, his expression as open and happy as her little boy’s had been when she’d tucked him into bed that night. “You came.” He sounded so pleased. And maybe a little relieved.

      How surprising was that? He didn’t look like a person who would ever worry that a woman might not show up for a date.

      She liked him even more then—if that was possible. Because he had allowed her to see he was vulnerable.

      “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said softly, her gaze locked with his.

      Champagne was waiting in a silver bucket. The host served them.

      Rule said, “I took the liberty of conferring with the chef ahead of time, choosing a menu I thought you might enjoy. But if you would prefer making your own choices …”

      She loved that he’d planned ahead, that he’d taken that kind of care over the meal. And that he’d asked for her preference in the matter. “The food is always good here. Whatever you’ve planned will be perfect.”

      “No … dietary rules or foods you hate?” His midnight gaze scanned her face as though committing it to memory.

      “None. I trust you.”

      Something flared in his eyes. “Fair enough, then.” His voice wrapped around her, warm and deep and so sweet. He nodded at the host. “Thank you, Neil.”

      “Very good, then, your—” Neil paused almost imperceptibly, and then continued “—waiter will be with you shortly.” With a slight bow, he turned to go.

      “Neil seems a little nervous,” she whispered, when the host had left them.

      “I have no idea why,” Rule said lightly. And then his tone acquired a certain huskiness. “You should wear red all the time.”

      “That might become boring.”

      “You could never be boring. And what is that old song, the one about the lady in red?”

      “That’s it. ‘Lady in Red.’“

      “You bring that song to mind. You make me want to dance with you.”

      How did he do it? He poured on the flattery—and yet, somehow, coming from him, the sweet talk sounded sincere. “Thank you for the flowers.”

      He waved a lean hand. “I know I went overboard.”

      “It was a beautiful gesture. And I hope you don’t mind, but I shared them—with the data entry girls and the paralegals and the crew down in Human Resources.”

      “Why would I mind? They were yours, to do with as you wished. And sharing is good. You’re not only the most compelling woman I’ve ever met, you are kind. And generous, too.”

      She shook her head. “You amaze me, Rule.”

      He arched a raven-black eyebrow. “In a good way, I hope?”

      “Oh, yeah. In a good way. You make me want to believe all the beautiful things that you say to me.”

      He took her hand. Enchantment settled over her, at the warmth of his touch, at the lovely, lazy pulse of pleasure that seemed to move through her with every beat of her heart, just to be with him, to have her hand in his, flesh to flesh. “Would you prefer if I were cruel?”

      The question shocked her a little. “No. Never. Why would you ask that?”

      He turned her hand over, raised it to his lips, pressed a kiss in the heart of her palm. The pulse of pleasure within her went lower, grew hotter. “You fascinate me.” His breath fanned her palm. And then, tenderly, he lowered their hands to the snowy tablecloth and wove his fingers with hers. “I want to know all about you. And truthfully, some women like a little more spice from a man. They want to be kept guessing. ‘Does he care or not, will he call or not?’ They might say they’re looking for a good man who appreciates them. But they like … the dance of love, they revel in the uncertainty of it all.”

      She leaned closer to him, because she wanted to. Because she could. “I like you as you are. Don’t pretend to be someone else. Please.”

      “I wouldn’t. But I can be cruel.” He said it so casually, so easily. And she realized she believed him. She saw the shining blade of his intention beneath the velvet sheath that was his considerable charm.

      “Please don’t. I’ve had enough of mean men. I …” She let the words trail off. The waiter was approaching their table. Perfect timing. The subject was one that desperately needed dropping.

      But a flick of a glance from Rule and the waiter turned around and walked away. “Continue, please,” Rule prompted softly. “What men have been cruel to you?”

      Way to ruin a beautiful evening, Syd. “Seriously. You don’t need to hear it.”

      “But I want to hear it. I meant what I said. I want to know about you, Sydney. I want to know everything.” His eyes were so dark. She could get lost in them, lost forever, never to be found. And the really scary thing was that she almost felt okay with being lost forever—as long as he was lost right along with her.

      “What can I say? There’s just something about me …” Lord. She did not want to go there. She tried to wrap it up with a generalized explanation. “I seem to attract men who say they like me because I’m strong and intelligent and capable. And then they get to work trying to tear me down.”

      Something flared in his eyes. Something … dangerous. “Who has tried to tear you down?”

      “Do we have to get into this?”

      “No. We don’t. But sometimes it’s better, I think, to go ahead and speak frankly of the past.” Now his eyes were tender again. Tender and somehow completely accepting.

      She let out a slow, surrendering sigh. “I lived with a guy when I was in law school. His name was Ryan. He was fun and a little bit wild. On the day we moved in together, he quit his job. He would lie on the sofa drinking those great big cans of malt liquor, watching ESPN. When I tried to talk to him about showing a little motivation, things got ugly fast. He said that I had enough ambition and drive for both of us and next to me he felt like a failure, that I had as good as emasculated him—and would I get out of the damn way, I was blocking his view of the TV?”

      Rule gave one of those so-European shrugs of his. “So you got rid of him.”

      “Yes, I did. When I kicked him out, he told me he’d been screwing around on me. He’d had to, he said. In order to try and feel at least a little like a man again. So he was a cheater and a liar, too. After Ryan, I took a break from men. I stayed away from serious entanglements for the next five years. Then I met Peter. He was an attorney, like me. Worked for a different