Seduce Me (3 page)

He shifted his gaze to his water glass, but a second later he was drawn back to her lips. He liked their shape. It was easy to imagine how they’d fit against his mouth. “Your turn,” he said, just before he cleared his throat.

“To do what?”

“Tell me about yourself.”

She glanced at him, then away. “The first thing you should know is that this isn’t easy for me.”

“What do you mean?”

After taking a deep breath, she met his gaze again and didn’t waver. “The trading-card thing is an enormous stretch. I’m not what you’d call a social butterfly.”

“What would you call yourself?” he asked, wishing the waitress had brought wine instead of a candle.

“I’m something of an introvert.”

“Really?”

“It’s not that I’m too shy to socialize or go places, but big crowds can be intimidating and sometimes I need time to recharge on my own. The reason we’re at this restaurant is because I felt it would be easier to be around familiar people.”

“That makes perfect sense. Including the part where this is a stretch for you...”

“You have no idea,” she said, with a laugh. “So if it’s all right with you, I’ll start with the easiest question for me to answer. I’m passionate about film.”

Max put his white napkin on his lap and watched her do the same. “Film? I would have guessed books, but film is more intriguing.”

“I do love books, but film caught my attention when I was young and never let go. Old ones. Black-and-white movies from the twenties, thirties and forties. Fritz Lang, Preston Sturges, Frank Capra, Michael Curtiz. I work at Omnibus. It’s an art-film house and conservation center.”

“I’ve been there.”

She smiled, and it was as if he’d said the magic words that allowed her to relax completely. It was a good look on her. “Oh, nice. What did you see?”

“Um, it’s been awhile. The last three years I haven’t gotten out much.
Napoleon.
The Abel Gance silent film. I’ve been to a couple of short-film festivals, too, and a Buster Keaton retrospective.”

“I was there. For all of those. I help run the programs.”

“You’re a fund-raiser?” He wanted more of this Natalie. She’d been smart to start out with something she cared about so deeply. The light in her eyes and the excitement in her voice were compelling. He could imagine her letting go, getting swept away in his arms. She wouldn’t be quick about it, though, or easy. But she’d be worth the effort.

“That’s only a part of what I do. I’m the librarian but also an archivist. I even teach film restoration and conduct tours of the facility. I’m a jill-of-all-trades, which means my schedule is insane, but I’m very happy. It’s expensive to restore films, to keep the vaults at the right temperatures, buy the equipment. You should become a member.”

He laughed at that. Couldn’t help it. It made sense that she helped with fund-raising. No one would be able to resist her.

“Sorry.” Her cheeks blossomed with a flush that had a slightly different hue. Softer, somehow. “I crossed a line there. You don’t have to buy anything.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can tell you’re great at what you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

She fluttered her lashes, but it was more a sign of being flustered, he thought, than a flirtatious gesture. “Okay, now it’s my turn, because I’ve been dying to know. How have we not met before? I thought I knew every librarian in New York.”

“Excuse me?”

“My friend thought you might work at a think tank. Or maybe that you’d just transferred here.”

Max wasn’t sure what was going on. “I work at a law firm.”

“Oh. Okay. I imagine big firms have large libraries.”

“Natalie, I’m not a librarian. I’m a lawyer.”

“Wait. What? You’re...not—” She put her purse on the table and pulled out his card. He only got a glimpse, but that was definitely his picture. “—Max Zimm?”

He slowly shook his head, feeling as confused as she looked. “Max Dorset.”

“Oh,” she said, and sank back in her chair. “But...” She studied the card and when she looked at him again she was clearly mortified. She’d tensed like a watch spring and averted her gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. I mean, obviously that’s my picture, but not my name.”

“I—I don’t even know what to say. Except I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, some of the confusion beginning to lift. “Clearly someone at the printing company messed up. What else does the back of the card say?”

Her lips parted with a distressed gasp. “This whole trading-card thing. I never should’ve—” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Look, it’s still early.” She calmly put her napkin on the table and stood. “I hope you can salvage the rest of the evening. I really do. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

Before he could even make sense of what was going on, Natalie was halfway across the room.

3

S
HE
SHOULD
HAVE
known he was too good to be true. Stupid, stupid. So much for her brave new life. If she had any brains at all, she’d go running back to Oliver. He might be dull as dishwater but he was steady and she’d never have to worry about competition for him.

Hanna called out to her, but Natalie kept going, darting around acquaintances she didn’t want to see, damning her high heels. She should take them off, run away as quickly as possible.

“Natalie, wait.”

God, it was Max. Max Dorset. An attorney so out of her reach it made her blush to her toes. Why hadn’t she said his last name when she’d called him? That would have saved them both this humiliation.

She’d made it through the patio to the base of the stairs when his hand on her arm stopped her.

“Wait, please,” he said. “Please.”

She couldn’t simply shake him off. None of this was his fault. But facing him felt like torture. “I should be getting home,” she said. “I can’t say how very sorry I am for the mix-up.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Still, I can’t imagine that you were looking for someone like me when you filled out your trading card.”

“How do you know?”

She met his gaze finally and instead of seeing mockery in his green-blue eyes, she recognized honest confusion. “You don’t play World of Warcraft, for one.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But I have played a hell of a lot of Legend of Zelda and Mortal Kombat.”

“Recently?”

“No.”

His gentle smile made it possible for her to take a deep breath without bursting into flames. “Something tells me you also aren’t looking to get married.”

“Not at the moment, no. But I was looking for a nice time with a fascinating woman, and I got that. What I don’t understand is why it needs to end so quickly.”

Natalie couldn’t speak for a second. She hadn’t been prepared for this, and she wasn’t sure if his being great about the mistake wasn’t the best reason of all for her to walk away and not look back. “We both know I’m not your kind of woman, but thank you for being so nice about it.”

“I’m not sure I have a type,” he said, and despite his smile, she didn’t believe that. “If I wasn’t enjoying myself, I would have made an excuse to take off like a shot. Now, why don’t we go back inside? I’d still like to hear the rest of your answers. And find out what you found so appealing about this Max Zimm.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie saw a white shirt, a white chef’s hat and a very large, angry man walking with purpose. Behind him, half the staff followed.

“Oh, crap. I probably should have mentioned that Hanna is my aunt.” She spoke quickly, intending to head off the disaster. “In fact, everyone who works here is related to me in some way.”

“Why, ‘oh, crap’?” he asked, turning to look. His body stiffened and for a second she thought he was going to bolt.

“Uncle Victor,” she said, stepping out in front of Max. “Stop, please.” Holding out her hands slowed the oncoming horde. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Max has been a complete gentleman. We’ve just had a misunderstanding.”

The army stopped advancing, although Uncle Victor didn’t look very mollified. “What kind misunderstanding?”

“There was a mix-up. I thought he was someone else and I was embarrassed. So if you could all go back inside, that would be good.”

Five pairs of eyes, not including Natalie’s, stared at Max as if they wanted him to swear a blood oath that every word she’d said was true. To his credit, his smile almost seemed real.

“Go on,” she said, herding them back. “Someone’s probably stealing all the spoons. I’ll report in later.”

“You come back in,” Hanna said. “Victor will cook something special, okay?”

“No, thank you, Titka. I don’t want to go back now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Vī pevnі?”
Hanna asked.

Natalie widened her smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Her aunt leaned closer, and in a whisper that could have been heard in Times Square, said, “He’s very handsome.”

“I know he is, but someone’s waiting to pay for their meal,” Natalie said, then watched until the whole lot of them were inside.

Max cleared his throat. “I suggest we get the hell out of here before they change their minds.”

“Excellent idea.”

Halfway up the stairs, he touched her arm again. It was sweet. He was being sweet. It made her nervous and a little more excited than was wise.

Once on the street, he tugged her near the store behind them. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’m hungry enough to eat my shoe. Let’s try this again. Start fresh. Eat. Have a drink. Talk?”

She should say no. It was utterly unlike her to even consider doing otherwise.

“Come on. We’ve already been through maximum discomfort, right?”

She didn’t argue, although she could think of half a dozen ways things could get worse. However, Max being such a mensch had her renewing her vow to never, ever go back to Oliver. Which meant getting back on the horse. No more running away like a child. “All right. But only under two conditions.”

His eyes narrowed and, damn, suspicion looked good on him. “What would those be?”

“You pick the restaurant. And when we talk, we don’t mention the cards at all.”

“Deal,” he said, his grin crooked and fine. “I know just the place.” Taking her hand in his, he walked her to the curb and hailed a taxi. He held the door for her, then gave the cabbie an address in the West Village.

* * *

T
HE
LAST
PIECE
of pizza margherita was tempting, but Max let it go. He didn’t want to be too full, not for the night he had planned. Coming to Trattoria Spaghetto had been just the thing. It was an old-school restaurant—good food and decent house wine that had been served quickly.

“I still don’t know what kind of law you practice,” she said. “All we’ve talked about is movies.” She dotted her lips with her napkin and sipped her Chianti.

She’d been right to ban the mention of the cards. Not that he didn’t want to know things about her, aside from what she looked like out of that dress. The conversation had been easy once they’d settled in, and Natalie really was interesting. She could write a book about old films and restoration, a topic he’d never considered worth his time, but he’d read it cover to cover. Now that it was his turn to talk about work, he didn’t want to. Surprising, since he’d been basking in the praise from his victorious precedent-setting case.

“I’ve liked discussing movies,” he said. “It’s a lot more interesting than tort law.”

“I don’t know much about that. I mean, I know that tort is civil law, like personal injury or class-action suits, but I have no idea what you actually do.”

“Infrequently, I’m in court, which can be interesting and tense, although compared to trials in films, real court is long and plodding. It’s a great remedy for insomnia.”

“More frequently?”

“It’s a lot like having homework every day of your life. Looking up precedents, and not just recent ones. One time I actually used something from the ancient Greeks to help hone a point.”

“Huh,” she said. “That’s what librarians do.”

“Yeah, but they don’t get to bill for the hours.”

“And more’s the pity.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder, turning her head to look at the neighboring table.

He took the opportunity to look down at the soft roundness of her breasts, the contrast between the scarlet of the dress and her pale skin. For the last forty minutes, he’d hardly looked away from her eyes. They were brown, not a particularly memorable shade, but with their passion and subtle drama they’d held him captive.

Jesus, the longer he was with her, the more he wanted her. Although he couldn’t help wondering if this level of attraction would have been there if he hadn’t been living like a monk for such a long time.

“I’m full,” she said, facing him again. “And glad we did this.”

“You’re not throwing in the towel yet, are you? It’s still early.”

“Maybe for you. But I’m very dull. By ten most nights I’m already in my PJs watching TV.”

“There’s nothing good on, trust me. But it is a great night out. What do you say we go for a walk?”

“In these heels?”

“Oh, right.”

“You look so disappointed,” she said, her delight clear in her voice.

“I am. I was looking forward to talking some more.”

“I suppose we could go for a few blocks. I’ll cry uncle when it’s too much.”

“You could just take them off.”

“Barefoot in Manhattan? I’m not sure if I’m caught up on my tetanus shots.”

He leaned across the small table and put his hand on hers. Her eyes widened as she stared, then a faint blush tinted her cheeks. “We don’t have to walk far to get to my place. I’ve got some Courvoisier, which goes great with a to-go order of the Italian cheesecake.”

Natalie’s blush deepened. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t really do things like that,” she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

“What, eat cheesecake?”

Pressing her lips together for a moment, her gaze swept over his face, everywhere except his eyes. “Cognac and cheesecake at your place? Perhaps to see your etchings?”

He didn’t respond immediately, knowing she’d eventually meet his eyes. When he got the look he wanted, he lowered his voice. “I don’t think guys use etchings anymore, but if I did, would that be so bad?”

Natalie cleared her throat, turned her wineglass forty-five degrees and gave him a hesitant smile. “It would be flattering. Also a waste of time.”

She sounded very sure and serious, and he wasn’t the kind to hear yes when a woman said no. But everything about her body language read that she wasn’t quite as certain as she’d like him to believe. Still, he nodded. “I know we decided not to talk about the cards, but I’m curious. You clearly do want to settle down. Get married. You seem young. Or maybe it’s just that the women in my field tend to be in their thirties before they start to think about marriage and kids. The career track in large firms is brutal.”

“I’m not that young,” she said. “Twenty-seven seems a good age, especially because I want children someday.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

She tapped the edge of her glass with her index finger. “I’m also terrible at dating.”

“I beg to differ.”

She dismissed his comment with a wave. “You don’t count. You did when I thought we shared the same goals, but once that was cleared up...”

“I think I feel insulted.”

“Why? You’re allowed to not want what I want. And anyway, I tried to bow out, give you a chance to go find someone more your speed, but you blew it.”

“I think I chose wisely. You make me want to see old movies with you. No wonder they have you giving tours at Omnibus. Your passion is very engaging.”

She studied him with a tentative frown, as if she was trying to decide whether to believe him. “Thank you,” she said finally.

“Now, how about that dessert? Coffee?”

Natalie shook her head, causing her dark hair to tumble over that obstinate shoulder. “As great as the cheesecake sounds, I’m going to say no.”

He shook his head. “That’s a shame. I’ve got a terrible sweet tooth. Which means I have to spend far too long at the gym, because I’m not that great at denying myself.”

“Well, that’s one thing we have in common. Not the gym part.” She shuddered. “I walk, of course, and I go to yoga twice a week. But big machines and weights? Not for me.”

“Whatever you’re doing works,” he said, and even though it was probably a nonstarter, he didn’t hold back on his smile.

“You must be a very good lawyer,” she said.

“You think?”

“You’re very smooth.”

“Huh. I could take that one of two ways.”

Natalie flashed that wicked smile he’d seen earlier. “I’ll amend that to convincing.”

“Better.” He smiled back. “That’s because I’m telling the truth.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a small bow.

He couldn’t help it. He reached out for her hand again, not sure if she’d put it within reach consciously or not. “Is it at all possible that there’s room in your plan for something a little less permanent until Mr. Right comes along?”

When her teeth scraped against her full bottom lip, he felt his cock stir. It wasn’t the first time that had happened since they’d met, but it was the most insistent. But he doubted words would work when actions said so much more. He leaned in farther, not hiding his desire at all as he gently teased the tender skin of her inner wrist.

* * *

N
ATALIE
WAS
EQUAL
parts suspicious and tempted. The way he looked at her with such hunger was like something from a movie. However, that, along with his very gentle touch, meant it was also possible that she was being played. In fact, that was likely the case. The question was, did she mind?

There was a reason she didn’t do one-night stands. His name was Cory and she’d met him in college. She’d been won over by his love of literature and the way he’d looked at her. They’d clicked on a level that had been entirely new. The night had been magic. They’d made plans. He never called her again. When she’d run into him at a book signing, he’d said
hey
in a way that made it clear he couldn’t remember her name.

After that, she had a boyfriend for the last two years of undergraduate studies; another, Tim, for almost all of grad school; and Oliver. Max was another creature altogether. He was gorgeous, sexy, smart. A sophisticated man who belonged to Manhattan in a way she never would. She was a child of her neighborhood. He was skyscrapers and after-hours clubs. She’d only crossed paths with the likes of him at work.

Was she up for something that risky? Although, was there a risk at all, if she walked in with no expectations? Frankly, it would have been easier to throw caution to the wind if she’d worn matching underwear.

His thumb on her wrist was right over her pulse. No way he could miss how her heart was beating
allegrissimo.
But then, the way he looked at her made her feel entirely exposed, as if he could read every thought.