One Secret Night. Yvonne Lindsay

farther down Rundle Street. “It’s not far.”

      “Then let’s walk,” she said, slipping one small hand into the crook of his free arm. “It’s a beautiful evening.”

      Ethan slung the pack over one shoulder, hardly caring for the creases it would generate in his Ralph Lauren Black Label suit.

      “That wasn’t your usual haunt, was it?” Isobel asked, nodding her head back toward the pub they’d just vacated.

      “That obvious?” he asked with a smile.

      For a moment he withstood her silent perusal as she eyed him carefully. The sense that she was checking him out in more ways than one made his blood begin to hum in his veins, sending warmth spreading out to his extremities.

      “Yes,” she answered succinctly.

      Intrigued, he pressed her as to why.

      “A few things,” she said as they came to a stop at a street crossing and waited for their signal. “But mainly it’s your demeanor. You’ve got this air about you. Some would say that it’s probably wealth and privilege but I think there’s more to it than that. You look like you aren’t afraid of hard work.” She took both of his hands in hers and turned them this way and that, examining them carefully before letting them go and tucking her hand back in the crook of his arm. “Yes, well tended but not in a prissy way. And yet there’s an air of entitlement about you, or command, if you’d rather think of it that way. You’re willing to work hard, but you’re used to giving orders and having them immediately obeyed.”

      Ethan gave a short bark of laughter. “And you can tell all that just by looking at me?”

      She shrugged—a delicate motion of her slender shoulders. “You asked,” she replied simply. “Are we crossing?”

      Her question reminded him that they were supposed to be going to dinner. He took a minute to clear his mind as they strolled across the intersection and down the sidewalk. How had this happened? he wondered, supremely conscious of her hand nestled at his elbow and the feminine sway of her hips as she walked along beside him. How had he gone from having a drink to unwind, to escorting a woman he’d only just met to dinner? How long had it been since he’d acted on impulse like this?

      The answer to the last question was simple. Never.

      Isobel felt the tensile strength of the forearm beneath her fingers and relished the tingle of anticipation it set up deep inside. The finely woven wool of Ethan’s suit—she’d missed catching his last name in the noise back at the bar—was just a veneer to the man who wore it. Her senses fizzed with the same sense of excitement she got when she knew she’d captured a particularly good photo—that prickling spider-sense that she was on the verge of something greater than she’d experienced before. And, having made it a lifestyle choice to grab every moment and make it a worthwhile one, dinner with Ethan was just the ticket.

      She wasn’t the kind of girl who was free with her favors, but she wasn’t one to let the opportunity to spend a fun evening with an attractive man fall by the wayside, either.

      Her instincts had told her he was straight up—that she had nothing to fear from him—and instinct had never let her down before. Besides, she had little reason to believe that anything would happen beyond an entertaining meal together. This guy was totally not her type. Too self-assured, too dominating and too darn good-looking for her equilibrium. Still, the evening promised to be interesting, if nothing else.

      They arrived at the restaurant and she was immediately struck by the deference paid to him by the staff. After they were seated at the table, her pack secured safely on the floor between them, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

      “What’s so funny?” he asked, reaching for his water glass and taking a long draw of the sparkling liquid. No mere tap water for him.

      She dragged her gaze from the movement of the muscles in his tanned throat and reached for her own glass, lifting it to her lips.

      “It’s amazing. You just take it all for granted, don’t you?” she eventually said.

      The look of puzzlement that crossed his face, pulling his heavy dark brows together, was all the answer she needed.

      “I don’t follow.”

      “They treat you like royalty,” she said with a small laugh. “And you don’t even notice.”

      “I’m a regular, and I tip well,” he replied, looking a bit put out.

      “It wasn’t a criticism,” she said softly. “I’m sure they respect your patronage.”

      It only took a second for her double entendre to hit its mark, whereupon he surprised her by chuckling out loud.

      “You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

      Isobel shrugged. “I believe in calling a spade a spade, even when it’s a face card.”

      “So you gamble?” he probed.

      “Only when I know I’m going to win,” she conceded, looking down at her menu rather than meeting his dark-eyed stare across the table.

      She thought for a minute of her last assignment. Her photography work gave her a chance to capture and highlight the best in people—and the worst. She was good enough to catch plenty of both, and not everyone was pleased with the results. Her most recent job had turned dangerous when the nation she’d been visiting had politely, but firmly, requested she remove herself from within their borders. It was clear that if she ignored them, their next request would not have been so civil.

      On that particular assignment, she’d taken a gamble and she’d thrown in her hand before things got uglier. But she’d be heading back, as soon as she completed her next cookie-cutter job—one of the dull but easy assignments that gave her a measure of financial security. The new catalog shoot would be a walk in the park compared to her usual work and even though it wasn’t as challenging on a social or emotional level as her preferred projects, it would ensure she had sufficient funds to head back to the war-torn country she’d just left to finish what she’d started.

      “Do you win often?”

      His voice was soft, like velvet, and she felt something deep inside her answer its challenge.

      “As often as I can.”

      “It’s hardly gambling when it’s a sure thing,” he commented before picking up his menu.

      “You can’t blame me for playing it safe.” She nodded toward the printed card in his hands. “What do you recommend?” she asked.

      “Everything’s good here but the lamb, in particular, is my favorite.”

      “Good. I’ll have that then.”

      He closed his menu and put it down. “Just like that? You don’t want another half an hour to peruse your choices and change your mind a half dozen times?”

      “Why? Is that what you usually do?” she teased, knowing full well the answer would be an emphatic no.

      He gave a slight shake of his head. “I prefer not to waste time. I’ll order for us both.”

      “Thank you. I’d like that.”

      She watched carefully as he called the waiter over and placed their order, including a bottle of wine. Again the staff showed him that same respect they had before.

      “You must tip really well,” she mocked with a laugh. “I swear that guy was about to offer you his firstborn child.”

      “Hardly,” Ethan responded drily before realizing that she was still teasing. “Ah, I see, you think it’s fine to bait me? Okay then, I’ll bite. Since you’re clearly not in the habit of bribing waitstaff into providing good service, what do you do with your money?”

      “My money?” Isobel pulled a face. “What I don’t use for travel I try to