His Good Girl (2 page)

I nodded my agreement and allowed myself to be led to a nearby table for two that offered a good view of the musicians on stage. When Kevin helped me out of my coat and pulled out my chair, I felt like every woman was looking my way with envy. If they weren't, it was only because they didn't realize how very Cinderella-like I felt at that moment. And the best part was that I didn't have a curfew.

We'd barely taken our seats when a waiter came up and asked if we knew what we wanted. I looked down blankly at the table, wondering where the menu was. Kevin must have seen my expression, because he laughed.

"The specials of the evening are on the website," he explained when I looked back up at him. "I looked it up before we came. Do you mind?"

I was so perplexed by the idea of a menu that wasn't laminated and waiting on the table that I shook my head.

"Tell your chef we'll both try the house specialty, with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli," Kevin went on. "How do you like your steak?"

"Um… medium-well, I guess," I replied.

"And to drink, sir?" the waiter asked, as though a man ordering for his date wasn't akin to taking a trip in a time machine.

"Would you like a glass of wine, Cara? They have a red here that goes very nicely with the steak."

"Of course," I answered, smiling weakly. It was all a little much to take in. I wasn't used to a man ordering dinner for me—or who was paying for it, either, for that matter; though that remained to be seen.

Kevin nodded to the waiter and as soon as he'd gone, he leaned across the table and took my hand. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Hmm." His smile was still warm and bright, but I could tell from his tone that he didn't believe me. "I realize that we haven't known each other long, Cara, but if something is bothering you, I want you to trust me enough to tell me. It's the only way we can really get to know each other." When I still couldn't find my tongue long enough to answer, his fingers pressed down gently on my own. "Did you want something else? I can call him back. You can change it."

"No, it's not that," I said at last, looking down at the table, "it's just… different," I went on, right at the moment Kevin said, "Old-fashioned." I looked up then, meeting his eyes, and we both laughed.

"I understand. And in the future, if you don't want me to order for you, you just need to tell me, okay?"

It wasn't that I hadn't liked it, but since I didn't know quite how to explain myself, or even exactly what I was feeling, I settled for answering with, "Okay."

"Would you like to dance?"

"Oh, I don't know," I protested with a little laugh. "I'm not a great dancer."

Kevin rose to his feet and extended his hand. "How about you let me be the judge of that?"

I shook my head, half-laughing as I blushed, but before I could protest further, I caught sight of his easy, confident smile and found myself nodding.
What's wrong with me
? my mind shouted at me as I allowed myself to be pulled to my feet. I sidled up next to him and, right before we began to make our way to the dance floor, I felt his hand come down once, sharply, on the center of my ass. With a startled gasp, I turned toward him, waiting expectantly, but he'd already begun walking toward the other dancers and pulling me along as though nothing had happened.

My ass tingled where his hand had briefly connected with it, telling me that something definitely
had
happened. I blushed hotly, not sure what to do. Should I say something? As soon as the thought entered my head, I dismissed it, my cheeks burning hotter than my bottom. What
was
it about him? How was he so gentlemanly, so courteous and considerate, and so much fun at the same time? I never would have let another man swat me and live to tell the tale, yet I found myself letting Kevin pull me into his arms for a slow dance after he'd done that very thing. Maybe it wasn't him, it was me.

"Be a good girl," he whispered, his brown eyes dancing as he looked down at me and held me in his arms.

I was always a good girl. I didn't know how to be anything else, really, and anyone who knew me would have told him as much. And yet, something about the way he was looking at me with such frank desire and tenderness made me wonder what it would be like to be bad.

We'd only been on the dance floor for a few moments when the music picked up to a livelier beat and Kevin pulled away. I immediately missed the loss of our easy closeness, of his comforting warmth, but I couldn't help but smile at the way he began to dance. He was good. Most of the guys I'd dated could stumble through slow dances, which to them meant swaying back and forth and getting their grubby hands on whatever parts of me they could, but Kevin could
dance
. I tossed my head back and laughed out loud—the man was just
full
of surprises, wasn't he—before I moved closer and began to match the rhythm of his moves.

As I looked into Kevin's eyes, the scattered pairs of dancers around us seemed to melt away, along with the restaurant, and even the band itself. I forgot all about how one swat from him had turned my insides to jelly, forgot about the stinging heat in my cheeks. The whole world seemed to stop spinning for that dance. The only thing that mattered was this moment, the chemistry flowing between us, and the way he made me feel.

God help me, as I looked at his handsome face, at the smile that made me melt, I knew I was at least a little bit in love with him already. It was stupid, of course—beyond stupid. I hardly knew him, but as weird as it was, I felt like I did. I felt like I could trust him, and wanted to spend as much time as possible getting to know him. I could only hope that he wanted the same thing.

When the dance ended, Kevin pulled me to him for a long, lingering hug which I gratefully gave myself over to. When he let me go, tugging me back to our table by the hand, I saw that our food was arriving. I could tell even without having yet tasted it that the steak would be melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Once more, Kevin pulled my chair out and waited for me to sit. Most men I knew would have already been cutting into the hot, tender meat and shoving it into their mouths without giving me a second thought.

"It smells great," I enthused as Kevin sat down across from me.

"Why, thank you." Hearing a voice behind me, I turned to see a tall black man in a chef's uniform grinning at the pair of us. "I wondered when you'd finally get around to stopping by," he said, directing his words to Kevin.

Kevin half-rose to extend his hand, which the chef took. "Cara, allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine, Gus."

"Gustav," he countered swiftly. "I keep telling him to drop the ridiculous nickname."

"It's a pleasure to meet you. How do you two know each other?" I asked.

"Culinary school," Gustav answered, as Kevin took his seat again.

"Culinary school?" I echoed, arching an eyebrow at my date.

"Oh, man. Please don't tell me you've been waiting to spring that one on her," Gus said.

"First date," Kevin replied, winking at me. "I was easing my way into it."

"So, you're a cook?" I said.

"Ha, he wishes!" Gustav answered before Kevin could reply. "That rinky-dink concession stand he works at hardly counts as a restaurant!"

I looked at Kevin, wide-eyed, but he took the barb with easy grace and a grin on his handsome face.

"Don't mind him," he said, seeing my expression. "He's all talk."

"Try the steak, honey." Gustav winked at me, and I noticed what pretty brown eyes he had. "Then we'll see if that's
all
I am."

"Oh, please do," Kevin urged. "If she likes your microwaved meals she'll
love
my cooking."

I squirmed a little in my seat as I felt both sets of eyes on me.

"No pressure," Gustav mock-whispered with another wink.

I couldn't help but giggle as I began to cut into my steak. I speared a piece on the end of my fork and brought it up to my nose. It really did smell incredible. And from the moment I put it into my mouth and the delicious, savory flavor coated my tongue, I could tell that it tasted even better than it smelled. A little moan of ecstasy escaped my lips. Kevin and Gustav were laughing at me, but I was too distracted by the blissful taste to notice or care.

"Ah, just like in class," the chef said, slapping Kevin on the back. "Always taking a back seat to me. You know, you could get used to it…
or
you could come work for me."

"I'm sorry," Kevin said smoothly, "I refuse to work for a man who has to wear a hairnet under his chef's hat. Get rid of the fro', bro, then we'll talk."

The two of them laughed, but I was too focused on my meal to pay either of them much attention. The steak practically melted in my mouth, and the potatoes were easily the best I'd ever tasted; fluffy, creamy and swimming in butter. If Kevin was even half as good a cook as Gus, I didn't know for how much longer I'd be able to maintain my size six figure.

"I've got to get back. Catch ya later, bro," Gus said.

"Oh, please." Kevin snorted as he stood once more. "Those ponies back there know how to operate a can opener."

Gustav grinned and offered a raised fist, which Kevin bumped. "Nice to meet you, Cara."

I managed to swallow my mashed potatoes in time to reply, "You too! Thank you for the meal, it's wonderful."

"Well, if you ever get bored with my man here, you know where to find me," he teased before making his departure.

"So, is it good?" Kevin asked playfully, spreading his napkin over his lap.

"Mmm-hmm," I agreed, nodding with my mouth full.

"You know, Cara," he leaned across the table conspiratorially, "I've always been attracted to a woman with a good appetite."

For some reason, his teasing made me think of Mammy from
Gone with the Wind
: "You can always tell a lady by the way she eat in front of folks like a bird." The same sentiment had been echoed by my own mother countless times, and as I thought of what she would say if she saw me like this, chowing down as though I was starving, in
public
no less, I could practically hear her berating me even from a hundred miles away.

"What?" Kevin asked as I dropped my fork. "Was it something I said?"

"No," I denied quickly. "I just think I'm getting full."

He looked from my plate back to me, dubiously. "Okay. If you're sure."

"I am. So, you're a chef, huh?" I asked, trying to distract myself from my growling stomach as I pushed the plate away. "Why didn't you mention it before?"

"Well, we've only seen each other once so far," he said and laughed. "I figured I'd leave a little mystery." He picked up his knife and fork and began to cut into his steak. "And what about you, Cara? What do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a nurse."

"Really?" He whistled. "That's impressive. No wonder you're so sweet. You must really like to help people."

The compliment made me drop my eyes, though I couldn't help but return his smile. "Yes, I do. It's very rewarding work, actually."

"What kind of nurse are you?"

"I'm an OB nurse. I work with pregnant women, mostly."

"Ah. That must be stressful."

"A little." I shrugged. "But what you have to remember is that these women are doing a wonderful thing, bringing another life into the world, and all they need sometimes is someone to hold their hand and let them know that everything is going to be all right."

"I'll bet you're very good at that."

"Oh, as good as anyone, I suppose," I said.

"No, I don't think that's true," he said thoughtfully. "You seem to me to be a very caring person, Cara. Give yourself some credit."

I could feel the intensity of his eyes on me and looked up once more to meet his gaze. "So, how long have you been a chef?"

Kevin's brow furrowed slightly as he looked at me, then he set down his utensils so as to give me his full attention. For some reason, the way he was staring at me made my pulse pick up. "Why do you always do that?" he said.

"Do what?"

"Downplay your contribution."

"I don't do that," I scoffed.

"You do," he insisted quietly. "Someone compliments you, and you either ignore it or deny it."

I squirmed under his scrutiny. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not asking you to be sorry, honey. I'm just trying to understand you. When I look at you, I see a beautiful, loving, considerate person. It seems to me, even from the few conversations we've had, that you don't see yourself the same way."

The picture he was painting was a nice one, and who wouldn't want to believe that? But still, just because he had an opinion based on—by his own admission—a couple of dates, that didn't make the picture true. Even so, I found I didn't want to keep talking about it. I wanted things to go back to being fun and easy, the way they had been before the conversation had begun. "How's
your
steak?" I asked.

At first, I wasn't sure he was going to let it slide so easily. His eyes locked onto mine and I forced myself to smile despite how uncomfortable the conversation was making me. "It's wonderful," he said at last, and I allowed myself to exhale. "Here."