The first bar they went to, they just sat in a quiet corner and talked. And drank. But mostly talked. Jennifer didn't want to start out too strong getting her story. She could be Louise for a drink or two and just enjoy her time with a very handsome man. After all, she deserved to have a bit of fun with someone nice. She hadn't gotten to have fun with anyone nice in a long time.

"So tell me, when you aren't being a businessman who gets hounded by the press, what do you like to do?" she asked after they ordered their second round. They'd already gone through some of the basics. His work—CEO of Jonathan Hart Industries—and her work—a writer, though she didn't say what kind. Why they were both in London—him for vacation, supposedly, and her working on a story, though again, she didn't say what kind.

Jonathan chuckled. "Oh I don't know. I work most of the time. But I've got a regular poker game with some friends of mine."

"I imagine you're something of a card shark," she teased.

He shrugged modestly. "I do alright. But I like playing, win or lose."

That was quite telling. It meant that he was good enough to win on occasion. And it meant he had enough money to lose and not care. It also meant he had enough confidence to not need to win for his own ego.

"But gone are my days sitting around gambling halls," Jonathan continued. "I've been trying to get into sport recently."

"Baseball? Football?" Jennifer guessed.

"I like those just fine to watch, but I joined a tennis club a couple years back in LA. Still trying to get the hang of it. I'm not much into golf like some of the other club members. But I did start learning how to ride," he told her.

"Horses?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah," he said with a laugh, almost as if he was embarrassed. "I guess I watched too many episodes of Bonanza or something, but I always sorta wanted to be an outdoorsman. Riding a horse out in the open fields somewhere. Not much call for that in Los Angeles, however, so I got into polo instead."

Jennifer eyed him up and down as best she could in his suit at the table, trying to imagine what he'd look like in one of those tight polo shirts. If he was anywhere close to her imagination, it was absolutely delicious.

"And how about you?" Jonathan asked. "You strike me as the sporty type."

She burst out laughing at how unexpected that comment was. "Do I really? Well, I assure you that I'm not. My father always had horses, so I grew up riding. And I love animals and wildlife, so I guess that's as outdoorsy as I get. Never anything too athletic, though. My only ability on that end of things was dancing. Still is, I suppose. I stay in shape and exercise so I don't wake up one day not being able to manage an arabesque. Not that I have any use for it, but I think I'd be devastated if I suddenly couldn't do it anymore."

"So you went from ballerina to writer?" he asked in slight surprise.

"My childhood dreams of being a ballerina ended when I went off to school. Didn't get the same kind of training, so I focused on other things. Like school."

"And thus the writer," he deduced.

"Something like that. I've always loved art of any kind. Painting and sculpture and writing and music. Writing's the only thing I've got any talent at though."

Jonathan leaned in and smiled. "I don't know about that."

"Oh?" He was flirting again, and she was curious to see where it went.

"You're a work of art yourself. I'm not a gambling man, but if I were, I'd put a lot of money on you being the most beautiful thing in any museum," he murmured in a seductive tone.

Jennifer's jaw dropped. Oh he was good. But she recovered quite easily. "You are a gambling man, you just told me you like to play poker."

He sat back and laughed. "And I play the ponies on occasion, too. So I guess that was kind of a silly line, huh?" he conceded.

"It was a great line. You just have to remember the details of what you've told a girl before you start using things like that," she replied, grinning.

"How about we hit up another spot and we'll see how much I can remember in a new setting?" Jonathan suggested.

Jennifer was happy to go along for the ride. She hadn't even gotten anything for her story yet. She didn't even have a story yet, beyond 'The Amazing Night On the Town with Jonathan Hart' and that was hardly something she could put in the London Herald. And so she agreed.

The next bar, they talked some more. And they laughed some more. They were both drinking quite a lot, so Jennifer suggested maybe they order some food. And over dinner they got to talking even more. He asked her about the kind of art she liked. She told him how her father worked in the art world and taught her to appreciate the great masters from a young age. She reminisced about seeing the beauty of Van Gogh's colors and Cezanne's brushwork and Monet's magic with light. Though thanks to her love of the topic and the number of drinks she'd had, Jennifer realized she'd been going on and on and on, hardly taking a breath.

She paused and saw Jonathan watching her with rapt attention and a dreamy sort of smile on his face. "What?" she asked, prepared for him to tell her she was cute when she got excited or something like that. Men were always telling her that her intelligence was cute. It was infantilizing and demeaning, and after the things Jonathan had already said about her—not knowing he was talking to the Jennifer Edwards he'd been complaining about—Jennifer was quite prepared to sober up rather quickly and give him a piece of her mind.

"Nothing," he answered. "I'm just listening to you. I like going to museums and reading all the little plaques they put in there about the artist and the works and all that. I really don't know much about art, and you know quite a bit. I'm enjoying learning."

He hadn't said too many words, but he'd told her a whole lot. He liked to go to museums and read the plaques, and he admitted it. That told her he wasn't all that cultured but wanted to be. And that he was humble and honest enough to know his own shortcomings and try to improve himself. All of which also told Jennifer that Jonathan Hart, the self-made millionaire really must have been self-made. People who grew up with parents who took them to museums and had fancy art in their homes never read the plaques at museums and always were quick to spout on and on and on about the cultural topics they knew about. Which is what Jennifer had just done. He was so down to earth, and he must think she was such a snob!

"Do you have a favorite painting you've ever seen?" Jonathan asked. Maybe he didn't think she was a snob. Maybe he really did just like learning about art from her.

"Oh, um, I guess…well, this might sound silly after I went on and on about how much I love the Impressionist landscapes—which I do—but my favorite painting I've ever seen was one of Van Gogh's self-portraits. He did plenty of those, but this one has a deeper blue background, like the color of the sky in Starry Night, and he's holding a palette and brushes almost out of frame. And he looks at you but not really at you. He looks so troubled and yet so vulnerable and so earnest. I don't think I'll ever forget the look in his eyes. The look of an artist."

Jennifer stopped talking, getting embarrassed again at the way she was gushing nonstop about the art. But Jonathan was still just looking at her with an expression that she might describe as 'besotted.'

Not having had nearly enough alcohol to ignore that, Jennifer quickly said, "Say, do you like jazz? There's this cute little club I know just a couple blocks away."

Jonathan's smile grew into a grin that almost stopped her heart. "Sounds great. Lead the way."

And everything would have been fine if they'd just sat and listened to the music. Jennifer could have handled that, just quietly sitting beside him. Maybe he would put his arm around her. Maybe she could snuggle up against him and get lost in the warmth of his body and that incredible smell of him.

But no sooner had they arrived did Jonathan ask her to dance. The band had just finished their number and started up another. It was slow, and Jennifer found herself in Jonathan Hart's arms. He swayed and turned them at a gentle pace that matched the tempo of the music. His hand on her back was respectful but large and commanding, and she could feel the heat of his touch through her jacket and blouse. She took a half step closer to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and resting her head against his cheek.

"Museum or nightclub or anywhere else, you're the most beautiful thing around," he whispered in her ear.

She hummed and laughed lightly at the compliment. He certainly was a charmer, and she certainly didn't mind being on the receiving end of that never-ending charm.

"And even if you weren't the most beautiful woman in this whole city, Louise, I think you're incredible."

Jennifer's eyes went wide in shock. This wasn't just a line, wasn't just another honeyed phrase to flatter her and convince her to go to bed with him. Those lines she knew from a mile off. This was a genuine, earnest compliment. Not just to say it, but about her. He thought she was incredible. Jonathan Hart thought Jennifer Edwards, as a person, was incredible.

Or rather, Jonathan Hart thought Louise Tobin was incredible.

But Jennifer wasn't going to worry about that right now. She was dancing in the arms of an incredible man. A man she never expected to meet here and now or ever at all. Jonathan Hart was pretty incredible himself. Kind and warm and genuine and honest. And he thought she was incredible.

Jennifer felt herself melt into his embrace and just hummed in response.

It happened before they even started dancing. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, really. It was everything all together. It was the sound of her voice and the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. It was all the little freckles covering her skin and the soft shine of her mahogany hair. It was how she lit up when she talked about something she cared about. It was the way she called him on his pick-up lines. It was the way she asked him about himself and actually listened to what he had to say. It was the way her arm slipped effortlessly into his when they walked through the bars and clubs they'd visited tonight. Louise Tobin was perfect, and if Jonathan wasn't careful, he was going to fall head over heels in love with her.

Strange, really. Jonathan had never been in love before. Oh he'd loved women he'd dated. Wanted them to be happy and safe, cared about their well-being. But the kind of love that Shakespeare wrote sonnets about—not that Jonathan had ever read any of them. The kind of love in fairytales or those Hollywood romance movies. Lightning bolt kind of love. Before tonight, Jonathan never really thought any of that was real. And he wasn't too proud to admit he was wrong.

Holding Louise in his arms as they danced made Jonathan feel like he was floating on a cloud. He could do this forever. At least, he thought he could until the band came back with an up-tempo number. "Much as I wish I could cut a rug, I'm afraid the jetlag is starting to get to me," he apologized.

"Oh that's alright," she allowed. "Let's have a nightcap and just listen to the band a while longer. Unless you're too tired?"

"No, that sounds great," he agreed.

They found a small table in the back. Jonathan ordered them a couple of brandies.

"To warm us up before we go back out into the London fog," he explained.

She grinned. "You're very smart, Mr. Hart."

"Well, I didn't get this far in life on just my good looks."

"You probably could've," she countered. "Your looks are very, very good. Who knows what you could have done on that alone?"

Jonathan wasn't used to women being so blunt about finding him attractive. Louise certainly wasn't shy, which was also something he wasn't used to. Even self-confident women were usually more reserved on a first date. But not Louise. Louise was perfect. And so he flirted back, "Same could be said for you, gorgeous."

Louise tsked him and shook her head. "Oh no, you'd just have me in a museum with the other beautiful things, isn't that right?"

"Never," Jonathan assured her. "That would be a waste. You oughta be out in the world, doing something wonderful. That's why you're in London, right?"

She laughed again. "I suppose that is why I'm in London. I've been back and forth from the States to here for about a year now, but lately I've been sticking around on this side of the pond. I guess I did want to be out in the world doing something wonderful."

"Tell me what you've been working on," he requested. "A novel?" She'd said she was a writer working on a story, but she hadn't said anything else about it.

"No, not a novel. I've never actually tried to write a novel before. I don't know if I'd be any good at it. I write smaller pieces. One of the benefits to the way I do things, I can write what interests me and sell my stories when I want to," she said. "Right now, I don't really have a new story yet. I'm still on the lookout."

Jonathan wanted to have a clever comeback to that, but the jetlag really was hitting him hard. He stifled a yawn and swallowed back the last of his brandy.

"I think it's time we get you to bed," Jennifer said.

He hadn't hidden that yawn very well.

But her words and the low, slightly husky tone to her voice shot right through him. His mind felt fuzzy from the drinks and the jetlag and the dancing, but his body was wide awake now. Visions of Louise in bed with him started swimming in front of his eyes. And if she was coming onto him, he wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by.

"I'll be right back, and then I'll get us a cab back to the Ritz," Jonathan offered.

"I think I'll powder my nose," Louise said.

They stood up from the table, and as soon as she went to the back hallway to find the bathrooms, Jonathan went to the bar, paid the tab, and asked to borrow the telephone.

He asked the operator to get him the Ritz. He then asked that operator to get him the suite he was sharing with Max.

"Jonathan Hart's suite," the gravelly voice answered.

"Max, it's me, I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure, Mr. H. Whatta ya need?"

Jonathan proceeded to explain exactly what he needed and how fast. They hadn't actually gone too far away, and he was eager to get there without delay.

"Alright, got it. The romance package it is," Max said resolutely.

"Here's hoping," Jonathan chuckled. "Thanks a million, Max."

"I'll have everything set up and I'll get out of your hair."

Louise had her hair all pinned up, and Jonathan suddenly couldn't wait to let it all come tumbling down and get his hands in it.

Just as Jonathan hung up the phone, the lady herself came into view, veering and stumbling slightly as she walked.

"Uh oh, did that last brandy hit you?" he asked with concern.

"Square between the eyes," she answered, her index finger wobbling as she pressed it right on his forehead.

"Back to the hotel," Jonathan insisted.

"Oh yes, darling, back to the hotel! I'm dying to see this magnificent suite for the famous Jonathan Hart!"

She was teasing him, and he loved it. She was also a little bit past tipsy, which he didn't love so much. He certainly didn't mind a woman who drank. He drank plenty, and it was nice to have someone who could keep up. But Jonathan didn't like the thought of Louise having too much and doing anything she might regret. Jonathan would have to pay attention to that when they got to the hotel. If he could remember.

He was supposed to remember something. Wasn't he? Hmm, maybe not. Oh Louise was leaning up against him for balance as they stood outside the club waiting for the cab, and she was so beautiful.

"I just want to look at you," he murmured aloud without realizing.

"Hmm?" she asked looking up at him. She had one arm slung around his waist and the other hand resting on his chest. "Did you say you want to look at me?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"So look."

"And I want to talk to you."

A smile curled on those pretty lips of hers. "So talk."

"I want to…" Jonathan trailed off, not quite knowing what he wanted.

"Go right ahead," she encouraged.

He wanted her. That's what it was. He wanted everything about her. He just couldn't really remember how to put the words together. He couldn't remember much of anything. He just kept staring into those perfect hazel brown eyes.