Read Online Sorcery and the Single Girl by Mindy Klasky - Free Book Online

early, but I didn’t want to be late. Receptive, I wanted to project. Open. But not eager. Not needy.
    I resisted the urge to run my fingers through my hair. I even managed not to nibble at the nails on my right hand. I took three quick breaths to calm myself, and then I walked the last block to the restaurant.
    “Bonsoir, madame,” the maître d’ said, his accent challenging Jacques’s for Continental grace.
    “Um, hello.” I said. “I’m meeting someone here, at nine-thirty.”
    “You are Meess Madison?” I nodded. “Right thees way.”
    Graeme stood as the maître d’ escorted me to one of the booths in the back. The dining room was well lit, hardly a secret, romantic getaway, but Graeme had contrived to secure a quiet corner. Facing his movie-star good looks once again, I found my breath catching in my throat. His smile lit a tiny fire deep beneath my breastbone, and he said, “I’m so pleased that you could make it.”
    Before I had a chance to worry about how to greet him, he stepped closer and leaned down, kissing me lightly on my cheek. I breathed in the scent of him—fresh air, with just a hint of evergreen—cool and quiet on a summer night. His greeting was more intimate than a handshake, more alluring than Jacques’s Continental two-cheek kiss. And it was infinitely more satisfying than the awkward dances I shared with David.
    Graeme waved me to my seat, waiting until I was settled before he sat across from me. I cleared my throat and said, “I hope that you didn’t have any trouble finding this place.”
    “None at all. I’m learning my way around.”
    “How long have you been in the States?”
    “For quite a few years, actually. I’m based here now, although my business takes me back to London regularly.”
    I resisted the urge to fiddle with my silverware. Instead, I forced myself to look at him, to take in his open expression, the perfect bow of his lips. Maybe, just maybe, I could inoculate myself. If I stared at him long enough, often enough, I might become accustomed to his breathtaking appearance.
    Yeah, right. Or maybe I’d just let the conversation lag so completely that I’d be embarrassed to ever say anything else, to even try to get it moving once again. “Business!” I said, clutching at a conversational straw. “Your card said Acquisitions. Are you a lawyer?”
    I caught my breath, waiting for the answer. Please-don’t-be-a-lawyer. Please-don’t-be-a-lawyer. Don’t be anything like Scott Randall. Don’t be anything like my failed romances of the past.
    “Hardly.” His eyebrows arched into an expression that would have been a sneer of disgust on a less refined face.
    “I mean, a solicitor. Or a barrister. Or whatever they’re called.”
    “They’re called both, for somewhat different services. And I assure you, I stay as far away from the law as I possibly can.”
    I laughed at his rakish grin. “That makes you sound positively dangerous.”
    “I can be,” he purred, and his smile was so intimate that I forgot to breathe.
    “Madame. Monsieur.” I jumped as a waiter made his presence known. The man wore a white apron, and he had a harried expression on his long, droopy face. “Will you be dining with us this evening?”
    My belly reminded me that it had been sent to dress without any supper, but I firmly squelched a positive reply. Graeme said, “Just dessert, thank you.”
    The waiter barely stifled a sigh, but his eyes looked deeply pained. If he were an animal, I was certain he’d be a basset hound. A depressed one. “I’ll bring the cart.”
    “Poor man,” Graeme said as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. “I didn’t realize that the Hundred Acre Wood had shipped out poor Eeyore to wait tables at the Bistro Francais.”
    I laughed despite my nerves. “I suppose he was planning on earning a monster tip, hoping we’d order a five-course supper.”
    “Alas for him. But ‘how shalt he hope for mercy, rendering none?’”
    My jaw dropped. I