Read Online Whisper Privileges by Dianne Venetta - Free Book Online

she could reply, her belly
audibly growled.
    Clay dropped his gaze to her stomach and
smiled. “You need to eat.”
    That she did, but staring between the two of
them, she didn’t like the idea of being tricked into a lunch date.
While she found Clay attractive, she wasn’t sure she wanted to have
lunch alone with him and she especially did not like slimy dealings
by Charlie. But they were here and Clay was right. She did need to
eat. “A quick bite.”
    “Perfect. Catch you later!” Charlie trotted
off and scaled the first flight of stairs he could find. Of course
he did. The wing place was located on the second floor.
    “If it means anything,” Clay said softly,
reaching a hand to within inches of her. “I didn’t know Charlie was
going to pull a fast one on us.”
    She eyed him warily, not entirely sure she
believed him. “Leave it to Charlie” she remarked with a tinge of
reticence, “stuntman-extraordinaire.”
    “Should I call you a cab?”
    Sydney hesitated, as if deliberating his
question. Where it was the last thing he wanted to do, Clay would
do it in a heartbeat. Forcing a woman to dine with him was not
cool. Particularly a good-looking woman he was trying to cozy up
to.
    “No,” she said, the moment awkward. “I say we
just enjoy lunch, how about you?”
    He smiled and held out his arm. “I’m already
enjoying myself.”
    “Actually, I agree with you. I’m enjoying
myself—now that he’s gone.”
    “So I gathered,” he said and suspected there
was more to Charlie’s failure with this woman than a mere
difference of personality, the mistreatment of a friend. Exactly
what, he intended to find out.
    Located bayside, the restaurant was decorated
more tropical than nautical, the colors bright and crisp and loud.
The carpet was very green, the tables were very white and the
paintings were mostly palm trees done in fiery red and orange,
canary yellow and cobalt blue. It was a colorful play on an
otherwise plain green tree, but a traditionalist himself, the
technique wasn’t quite his thing when it came to art. Walls soared
twenty feet on the marina side, the boats and water easily visible
as they walked to their table. Now that’s what he preferred to
see—water, boats, masts and sails. Birds hanging in the breeze,
boats floating dockside, sails rolled and tucked secure, he could
almost hear the rigging as it clanged off the masts. The memories
it pulled from him were powerful, immediate. He could practically
taste the ocean air, feel the salt penetrate his skin.
    The hostess stopped at a table for two,
drawing Clay’s attention from the outside as he pulled the chair
for Sydney, scooted her in and then sat himself. Dropping the cloth
napkin into his lap he watched her do the same, the green of her
eyes drawing him in immediately. Soaked in sunlight, they popped
from the tan of her skin, the golden streaks in her brown hair.
Unlike last night where it fell long and straight around her face,
well beyond her shoulders, today she wore it pulled back, pinned
high up on the back of her head.
    He liked it. He found it sexier down, but he
liked the way the faint blonde tendrils bleached from her time on
the beach ringed along her hairline. The style framed her face and
made it appear heart-shaped. Enhanced by full round cheekbones, her
slender nose was near perfect beneath those incredible eyes. Rich
deep green, they reminded Clay of the Atlantic Ocean on a clear
day, the water glittering clear to its depths. “All that talk of
fishing has made me glad you chose a seafood place,” he said and
held his glass as a waiter stopped by to fill it with water. From
the looks of him, it seemed as though his tropical print shirt was
an attempt to match the décor. But this was Miami, where most
everything seemed tropically-inspired.
    With a brief glance to the man, Sydney
smiled. “If you’ve never had stone crabs, you should try them.”
    “Actually, I had some for the first time last
year and I