Read Online For Services Rendered by Patricia Kay - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Patricia Kay
Ads: Link
he was gratified to see that the smile reached her eyes. "Yes, I did. And I feel much better for it."
"Good."
The cab ride to Antoine's was short, and they didn't talk on the way, but the silence wasn't unpleasant. Claire was not only beautiful, Nick decided, she was restful to be with. She didn't have that compulsion to chatter so many of the women he knew seemed to have.
Later, after they were seated in the restaurant and had placed their order, she gave him another smile. "This is my first visit to New Orleans," she said.
"Really? And you've lived in Houston all your life, haven't you?" He knew she had. He'd memorized her dossier.
"Yes, but somehow, although I always meant to come here, I never did."
"Well, we'll have to make sure we get some sightseeing in then."
"Oh, don't worry about that," she said hurriedly. "We're here on business. I don't expect—"
"I know you don't expect it." He smiled. "Perhaps I'd enjoy showing you the city. I haven't acted like a tourist in years. It might be a nice change."-
"Just what
are
we going to do here?"
"I have a number of meetings scheduled and I thought it might be informative for you to attend them with me," he said smoothly.
"Oh, all right."
Their salads came and Nick was pleased to see she didn't pick at her food, but ate it with obvious enjoyment. For the rest of their meal he worked hard at keeping that relaxed look on her face and felt he was succeeding. He even had her laughing at one point.
Over dessert, she said, "Did you grow up in Houston?"
"No. I'm from Boston."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really? You don't have an accent."
He smiled. "I worked hard to lose it."
"Why?"
"Because when in Texas ... at least that's my philosophy."
"How old were you when you moved to Houston?"
"Fifteen."
"Were your parents transferred here?"
"Something like that." Like an ever-changing kaleidescope, memories of several sets of foster parents clicked through his mind. He never talked about his childhood. He rarely ever thought about those years. The memories were too painful and they served no purpose. But maybe later, when they knew each other better, he would tell her the truth.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Too quickly, Nick thought. He enjoyed Claire's company. She was delightful to look at, intelligent to talk to, and charming. To extend the time before he had to take her back to the hotel, he suggested they go to the Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets.
"Even though I've never been to New Orleans before," she said, laughing, "I
do
know what beignets are and I can't handle another dessert tonight."
"Well, you can just have coffee and
I'll
have beignets," he insisted. "Come on," he added, "everyone who visits New Orleans has to go to the Cafe du Monde at least once, and preferably several times." He hailed one of the horse-drawn buggies. "And we're going in style."
Her eyes glowed with pleasure as he helped her into the buggy and they began the slow ride through the Quarter toward Jackson Square. Nick enjoyed watching her face as she took everything in: the narrow, cobbled streets; the throngs of people on the sidewalks; the lights and gaiety of the fabled neighborhood; the wrought-iron grillwork on the balconies of the buildings; and all around them the sounds of music and the clip-clop of the horse's hooves.
"This coffee is wonderful," she said later as they sat at one of the small tables in the covered patio.
"Aren't you glad I made you come?"
She smiled. "Yes."
Too soon it was time to go. Within minutes they were back at their hotel, walking through the lobby, riding up in the elevator. Claire's suite was on the fourth floor and Nick's was on the fifth, but he exited with her. "I'll just see you to your door."
"Well..." She turned to face him outside her door. "Thank you for a lovely evening. I enjoyed it more than I can say."
He studied her upturned face: the barest trace of pink on her cheeks, the soft gray shadowing her eyelids, the halo
"Good."
The cab ride to Antoine's was short, and they didn't talk on the way, but the silence wasn't unpleasant. Claire was not only beautiful, Nick decided, she was restful to be with. She didn't have that compulsion to chatter so many of the women he knew seemed to have.
Later, after they were seated in the restaurant and had placed their order, she gave him another smile. "This is my first visit to New Orleans," she said.
"Really? And you've lived in Houston all your life, haven't you?" He knew she had. He'd memorized her dossier.
"Yes, but somehow, although I always meant to come here, I never did."
"Well, we'll have to make sure we get some sightseeing in then."
"Oh, don't worry about that," she said hurriedly. "We're here on business. I don't expect—"
"I know you don't expect it." He smiled. "Perhaps I'd enjoy showing you the city. I haven't acted like a tourist in years. It might be a nice change."-
"Just what
are
we going to do here?"
"I have a number of meetings scheduled and I thought it might be informative for you to attend them with me," he said smoothly.
"Oh, all right."
Their salads came and Nick was pleased to see she didn't pick at her food, but ate it with obvious enjoyment. For the rest of their meal he worked hard at keeping that relaxed look on her face and felt he was succeeding. He even had her laughing at one point.
Over dessert, she said, "Did you grow up in Houston?"
"No. I'm from Boston."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really? You don't have an accent."
He smiled. "I worked hard to lose it."
"Why?"
"Because when in Texas ... at least that's my philosophy."
"How old were you when you moved to Houston?"
"Fifteen."
"Were your parents transferred here?"
"Something like that." Like an ever-changing kaleidescope, memories of several sets of foster parents clicked through his mind. He never talked about his childhood. He rarely ever thought about those years. The memories were too painful and they served no purpose. But maybe later, when they knew each other better, he would tell her the truth.
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Too quickly, Nick thought. He enjoyed Claire's company. She was delightful to look at, intelligent to talk to, and charming. To extend the time before he had to take her back to the hotel, he suggested they go to the Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets.
"Even though I've never been to New Orleans before," she said, laughing, "I
do
know what beignets are and I can't handle another dessert tonight."
"Well, you can just have coffee and
I'll
have beignets," he insisted. "Come on," he added, "everyone who visits New Orleans has to go to the Cafe du Monde at least once, and preferably several times." He hailed one of the horse-drawn buggies. "And we're going in style."
Her eyes glowed with pleasure as he helped her into the buggy and they began the slow ride through the Quarter toward Jackson Square. Nick enjoyed watching her face as she took everything in: the narrow, cobbled streets; the throngs of people on the sidewalks; the lights and gaiety of the fabled neighborhood; the wrought-iron grillwork on the balconies of the buildings; and all around them the sounds of music and the clip-clop of the horse's hooves.
"This coffee is wonderful," she said later as they sat at one of the small tables in the covered patio.
"Aren't you glad I made you come?"
She smiled. "Yes."
Too soon it was time to go. Within minutes they were back at their hotel, walking through the lobby, riding up in the elevator. Claire's suite was on the fourth floor and Nick's was on the fifth, but he exited with her. "I'll just see you to your door."
"Well..." She turned to face him outside her door. "Thank you for a lovely evening. I enjoyed it more than I can say."
He studied her upturned face: the barest trace of pink on her cheeks, the soft gray shadowing her eyelids, the halo
Similar Books
