Read Online A Lion After My Own Heart by Cassie Wright - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cassie Wright
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flattering. Luckily my black pumps are more than adequate, with my hair hanging down over my shoulders and my now increasingly used overcoat. At this point, I may just have to bite the bullet and keep it.
And, as I enter the cute little restaurant that looks out over the Conway River, I realize it's the same overcoat I've worn every time I've met Alexander. I have a panicked moment as I see him sitting at the heavily polished wooden bar. Has he seen me in it all three times? I duck behind a column and desperately try to remember. No. He didn't see me wear it at the fundraiser. Phew.
Stepping out with new confidence, I see that Alexander's blue eyes are locked on me.
Crap .
Did he just see me dive behind the column? One of his eyebrows is arched in amusement. I will not blush. I will not blush. I raise my chin and stride toward him, as if it's normal for every self-respecting gal to dive behind a column at the sight of a gentleman at the bar.
"Hey," he says, and I almost groan at the smoky rumble of his voice. All sorts of images flash through my mind. Like, me being a viola and his fingers plucking my strings, caressing my curves. Or his being a predator stalking me through the tall grass of the savannah, and hearing his growl just before he leaps.
"Stop that," I say before I can help myself.
Alexander pauses, completely surprised. "Stop what?"
I sit on the stool, pretending to be miffed and looking off to the side. "That whole sexy-as-hell voice that I am sure you're doing on purpose. Don't you have a normal voice that you use when you're about to be interrogated?"
Alexander blinks rapidly, coughs, shifts his weight on his stool and frowns. "Ahem." For a moment I think he's going to actually try to use a different voice, but then he laughs. "Wait, what?"
I sigh. "Never mind. I guess I'll just have to suffer through it."
He laughs again, giving up any attempt of directing the conversation. I can tell from the way his eyes are sparkling that he's enjoying himself. I restrain the urge to grin. So am I. Enjoying myself. No man I have ever met has made me want to act this crazy.
"Is my company that hard to bear?"
I shake my head from one side to another. "Not that bad. But you know. I find it ridiculously hard to be professional around you." I turn to look at him. "I don't know why. I mean, we've got some really serious things to talk about. And instead, all I want to do is say things I shouldn't even think of saying."
Alexander's gaze sharpens in a way that makes my tummy tingle and my throat go tight. "What kind of things?"
"Silly things." My voice is a whisper. "Like, how I want to make you smile. Make you laugh."
Somehow I've turned on my stool so that I'm facing him. He's facing me, our knees touching. I've gone from being ridiculous and lightheaded to almost panicked with alarm. The air between us is as tense as a thunderstorm, crackling with the potential for lightning. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him if the building caught fire.
"And why do you want to make me laugh?" His voice has grown quiet. Almost fierce.
"Because." I should stop. I'm at the edge of the cliff. I'm at the point of no return. My journalistic principles are screaming at me to retreat. Yet something deeper and more powerful is in control. Something that's recognizing a primitive kind of magic, and which for once in my life refuses to back down. "Because I see such sadness in you. And that breaks my heart."
Alexander's jaw tightens, and I know it was the wrong thing to say. I know I've ruined everything. Every sound in the restaurant recedes. It's just the two of us sitting here, two individuals who should be formal, antagonistic even, but instead we're being the opposite.
"Well." He looks down, then away.
Impulse seizes me. I reach out and take his hand, placing my own over his larger one where it lies on the bar. His skin is warm, like a sun-heated stone. "I understand, though. I think I do. I'm being a fool. I know I should
And, as I enter the cute little restaurant that looks out over the Conway River, I realize it's the same overcoat I've worn every time I've met Alexander. I have a panicked moment as I see him sitting at the heavily polished wooden bar. Has he seen me in it all three times? I duck behind a column and desperately try to remember. No. He didn't see me wear it at the fundraiser. Phew.
Stepping out with new confidence, I see that Alexander's blue eyes are locked on me.
Crap .
Did he just see me dive behind the column? One of his eyebrows is arched in amusement. I will not blush. I will not blush. I raise my chin and stride toward him, as if it's normal for every self-respecting gal to dive behind a column at the sight of a gentleman at the bar.
"Hey," he says, and I almost groan at the smoky rumble of his voice. All sorts of images flash through my mind. Like, me being a viola and his fingers plucking my strings, caressing my curves. Or his being a predator stalking me through the tall grass of the savannah, and hearing his growl just before he leaps.
"Stop that," I say before I can help myself.
Alexander pauses, completely surprised. "Stop what?"
I sit on the stool, pretending to be miffed and looking off to the side. "That whole sexy-as-hell voice that I am sure you're doing on purpose. Don't you have a normal voice that you use when you're about to be interrogated?"
Alexander blinks rapidly, coughs, shifts his weight on his stool and frowns. "Ahem." For a moment I think he's going to actually try to use a different voice, but then he laughs. "Wait, what?"
I sigh. "Never mind. I guess I'll just have to suffer through it."
He laughs again, giving up any attempt of directing the conversation. I can tell from the way his eyes are sparkling that he's enjoying himself. I restrain the urge to grin. So am I. Enjoying myself. No man I have ever met has made me want to act this crazy.
"Is my company that hard to bear?"
I shake my head from one side to another. "Not that bad. But you know. I find it ridiculously hard to be professional around you." I turn to look at him. "I don't know why. I mean, we've got some really serious things to talk about. And instead, all I want to do is say things I shouldn't even think of saying."
Alexander's gaze sharpens in a way that makes my tummy tingle and my throat go tight. "What kind of things?"
"Silly things." My voice is a whisper. "Like, how I want to make you smile. Make you laugh."
Somehow I've turned on my stool so that I'm facing him. He's facing me, our knees touching. I've gone from being ridiculous and lightheaded to almost panicked with alarm. The air between us is as tense as a thunderstorm, crackling with the potential for lightning. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him if the building caught fire.
"And why do you want to make me laugh?" His voice has grown quiet. Almost fierce.
"Because." I should stop. I'm at the edge of the cliff. I'm at the point of no return. My journalistic principles are screaming at me to retreat. Yet something deeper and more powerful is in control. Something that's recognizing a primitive kind of magic, and which for once in my life refuses to back down. "Because I see such sadness in you. And that breaks my heart."
Alexander's jaw tightens, and I know it was the wrong thing to say. I know I've ruined everything. Every sound in the restaurant recedes. It's just the two of us sitting here, two individuals who should be formal, antagonistic even, but instead we're being the opposite.
"Well." He looks down, then away.
Impulse seizes me. I reach out and take his hand, placing my own over his larger one where it lies on the bar. His skin is warm, like a sun-heated stone. "I understand, though. I think I do. I'm being a fool. I know I should
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