Courting Bathsheba
"Have a thing for older women, do you?"
"No. I have a thing for pretty women."
Ann tried suppressing the blush that heated her throat and traveled to her cheeks. Her gaze slid to one of the tables where a group of college students openly admired David. "Then why aren't you sitting with them?" She cocked her head in their direction.
He never took his eyes off of her. "Because I think I'm sitting with the prettiest woman in Mike's right now."
Her attempts to kill the blush failed miserably. Thank God for ambient lighting. She was far too worldly to be reduced to a red-faced sorority twit by her companion's undeniable charms. Ann grew uncomfortable and not a little annoyed.
"I have to go," she said abruptly and slid off of her stool.
David brushed her arm with his fingertips, and she jerked away from his touch. He looked confused and disappointed. "Wait! Look, I'm sorry if I said something to offend you. God only knows what it was, but I apologize. Really. Don't leave." He raised his hands in surrender. "I promise, no more compliments, even though I meant every word I said."
She paused, indecisive. The image of the dull drive home, the silence of the deserted house, and dinner spent alone was not particularly inviting, especially when compared to the interesting if somewhat baffling company present.
He wasted no time pouncing on her hesitation. "What would you say if I asked you to dinner?"
"What?"
His tone was patient, amused. "I want to ask you to dinner. What would you say?"
He showed no surprise at her answer. "I think I'd say no. For all I know, you're a homicidal maniac or worse."
That ready laughter warmed her insides. "First I'm a nut job, then a psycho killer. And there's something worse than that?"
She didn't join in his laughter, giving him a brief glimpse into her anxiety. "Yes. You may actually be this nice, handsome, young guy who's truly interested in having dinner with me."
His sensitive features turned solemn. "Then things just got worse." A loaded silence hung between them before he spoke again. "Say yes to dinner. There's an Italian joint four doors down that serves the best lasagna in a one hundred mile radius. If it makes you feel any better, we'll go dutch, as long as you let me pick up dessert. You can't miss out on the tiramisu."
She bit her lip, fiddling nervously with the shopping bag. "I really need to get home."
Again he treated her to a penetrating gaze that seemed to strip her of all her mental and emotional armor and discern all of her thoughts and feelings. "Do you?"
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