CHAPTER IV

With the first sip of the cioppino that Athos has prepared, Anne sighs in bliss. "You are truly a Renaissance man. This fish stew is to die for."

He leans back in his chair, his thumb rubbing the stem of his wine glass. His eyes meet hers. "I hardly think I qualify."

"I would have to disagree." She takes a sip from her own glass. "You are a highly regarded district attorney in a large city, so your intellectual ability is clearly superior. You run triathlons in your spare time, so you have the ability to meet physical standards that are even more exacting than mine." She gazes up at him through her long, dark lashes, and his heart skips a beat. "And I know how well you play the trumpet, so don't even try to tell me that you have no talent in the arts. That just leaves social abilities."

"Which I so clearly lack, by anyone's definition."

"That would depend on the measures used," she counters. "Here, I'll google Renaissance man." A moment later, she begins to read from her phone. A well-adjusted social life is perhaps the most important factor for a man to maintain his personal sanity and mental health. Not to mention the fact that strong interpersonal skills make a man an appealing candidate for both friendship and relationship."

He laughs. "No one will ever accuse me of having a well-adjusted social life…or personal sanity...or mental health, for that matter."

"I have seen you demonstrate strong interpersonal skills," she counters.

"Give me an example, then." He crosses his arms, and raises an eyebrow.

She tries to keep a straight face. "Well, last night, for instance."

"I think you are wandering into the physical realm," his voice drops into a smoother, richer, octave, and he sees her eyes sparkle in response.

God help me.

She continues to read."A man's social life begins with his own personality, an area that demands a great deal of attention and introspection." Looking up, she says dryly, "I think you have mastered the art of introspection, so ignore that last part. But wait—there's more. You must recognize what you have to offer to others and constantly work to increase your contribution. Hone your listening skills, for everyone wants to be heard. Become a strong conversationalist.'"

He groans. "I have to constantly work at enough things already. Everyone who knows me already knows what I have to offer."

"I hope all of them don't," she replies, casting him a seductive look. "I like to think that there are some things that only I know about you."

"Such as?"

She takes another sip of wine, and licks a stray drop from the rim of her glass. "Such as the fact that you hate football—American football, that is—and you adore hockey. You despise crepes, but can't get enough of oysters—or pot roast. Specifically, ginger and orange-glazed pot roast. You do not like to be kissed on the neck, but if I kiss you just under your collarbone, it drives you insane." Sitting back, she gives him a sweet smile. "Am I right?"

"You are." He drains the rest of his glass, then refills it. "Now it's my turn. You hate tennis, but you were—are—a badass field hockey player. As we saw at the grocery store today, you despise junk food, but you can't get enough of avocados—or those weird dried berries. What do you call them?"

"Goji berries. And they are not weird. They are packed with antioxidants."

"So they say." He grins, knowing this will annoy her immensely. "And if I kiss you on the knee, you will kick me. But if I kiss you on the medial surface of your left thigh…"

"It ruins it when you use medical lingo!" She scolds him, but her eyes are dancing. "I don't quite recall what my reaction is when you kiss that spot. Perhaps we should experiment."

"Now, or after dessert?"

"Do they have to be exclusive of one another?"

His eyes widen slightly, then he rises from his chair. "I suppose not. Why not make the most of our time here by multi-tasking?"

"You always were the model of organization," she murmurs. He stands behind her and begins to massage her shoulders. His warm hands are very gentle. "Why don't we take a walk first? I bet the lake is beautiful tonight. There's supposed to be a full moon."

She arches her back, all the tension in her body melting under his ministrations. "That sounds wonderful."

"We can bring our skates. I still have a pair here."

"Really?" Her face lights up like a small child's, and Athos is suddenly very glad he made the suggestion.

"Of course. Why not?"

"I just don't recall you ever being so spontaneous."

"Perhaps I've grown." He pulls her to her feet, and wraps his arms around her. "Chalk it up to me recognizing what I have to offer to others."

"I'm buying whatever you're selling," she murmurs, and touches her lips to his.

In an instant, he deepens the kiss, and her breathing quickens.

"Why do you insist on doing this to me?" she gasps.

"Because I enjoy it—and when I see that you want me as much as I want you—I just can't-"

Her hands slide to his waist, and she pulls the shirt out of his jeans.

"Take it off—please." Her voice is low and desperate.

"Why don't you do it for me?"

His eyes are burning into hers, challenging her to play along.

"As you wish." She releases the top button of his shirt, and her lips brand the smooth skin of his chest.

"You're doing very well. Keep going."

His eyes are closed now, and he has his hands on her shoulders.

She unbuttons another button, and her mouth traces the tuft of hair that trails down the center of his chest.

He takes in a breath, and releases it slowly. "God, how I've missed you."

Within a minute, his shirt is off. Her fingers trace a lazy figure eight along his sternum, and he tenses.

"Take me to bed, Athos."

The tone of her voice is not commanding, but pleading.

"And what would you have me do to you?"

His breath is warm on her neck, and his hands are quickly releasing her from the confines of her own shirt.

"Whatever you want," she breathes.


There was a bit of an unanticipated detour here...but we'll get there eventually! ;-)