Seated, with the cannoli in front of her, Gabrielle’s resistance diminished considerably.
“Try it,” Paul urged, cutting into the pastry. Chocolate and cream puffed out the ends. She swallowed hard. He held the bite in front of her. Her mouth watered. “Come on. We’ll walk it off.”
Challenged by determined blue eyes, she took the bite at last, slowly licking the cream from her lips. It was heavenly. “Mmm.”
“Another one,” he tempted.
“No, really.” But with the taste lingering on her tongue and Paul’s eyes still intent on hers, her usually indomitable willpower faded. Before she realized it, she’d eaten the entire cannoli. She glanced at the empty plate and blinked guiltily. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry.”
He laughed. “For what? They have more.” He signaled the waitress for another order. “You sure you won’t want your own this time?”
“Very funny. I wouldn’t have eaten the last one, if you hadn’t tempted me.”
“Are you that susceptible to temptation?” he inquired with a devilish gleam in his eyes.
“Only before four o’clock in the afternoon on the fourth Saturday in months that begin with O.”
He glanced at his watch and gave an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “I’ll mark my calendar for next year.” Grinning, he sat back, sipped his capuccino and studied her. “What would you like to do now?”
She hesitated, uncertain of his interests or his budget and aware of a surprisingly strong desire to accommodate both. Usually she scoured the weekend events listings in the papers on Friday, then planned exactly how she would spend her all-too-rare free time. It was about as spontaneous as the ticking of a clock.
“It’s up to you,” she said, experiencing a daring sense of excitement that was all out of proportion with the innocence of the situation.
“How do you feel about art?” he asked, taking her by surprise again.
“Modern or classical?” she replied enthusiastically. She’d taken one art history course in college to fulfill what she’d considered to be a totally frivolous requirement. She’d enjoyed the class far more than she’d expected to and once in New York had indulged the fascination with regular visits to the museums and galleries. She was on the invitation list for the openings of all major showings.
“Take your pick,” Paul offered. “We can go to the Metropolitan or the Museum of Modern Art or we can go to a couple of places I know.”
She was instantly intrigued by the prospect of discovering what type of art interested him. “The places you know,” she said at once.
He smiled his approval, then led the way to Soho, where each gallery’s art was more wildly imaginative than the one before.
“Well,” he said thoughtfully as they stood in front of a sculpture made of clock and auto parts. It was called Ride to the Future. Gabrielle recalled the reviews. One critic had described it as “banal and lacking in excitement.”
“What do you think?” he inquired with what she assumed had to be feigned solemnity.
“You can’t be serious.” She stared at his face for some indication he was merely teasing her. He met her gaze evenly. “My God, you really are serious.”
“That’s right. Don’t just dismiss it. Tell me what you really think of it.”
“I think…” She walked around the display, viewing it from all sides and perspectives, trying very hard not to be influenced by what she’d read or her own taste for far more traditional works. This was definitely not Michelangelo’s David.
“I think it’s an interesting concept,” she concluded finally, trying to squirm off the hook.
“Well executed?”
“I suppose.” She couldn’t keep the doubt from her voice.
“But not to your taste?” he said at once.
She sighed and admitted reluctantly, “Definitely not.”
She waited for some expression of disdain for her lack of daring. Instead he nodded in satisfaction. “Good. I thought it looked like a piece of junk, too.”
Gabrielle was startled into laughter. “I thought you loved it.”
Amusement lit his eyes. “I know. I wanted to see how politely you could decimate it.”
“For a minute there I was terrified you might be the artist.”
“Trying not to insult the artist, huh? You succeeded admirably. My favorite word when I get invited to these shows is interesting. It’s amazing how many inflections you can give that word to convey everything from approval to dismissal.”
“Fascinating is good, too. Or how about, I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. Delivered solemnly, it’s very effective.”
Their amused gazes caught, sparks danced and the laughter slowly died between them. “Amazing how much we’ve already found we have in common,” Paul said with a disturbing mixture of satisfaction and defiance in his tone.
“Amazing,” she echoed softly, when what she really felt was fear, not amazement. Already she was struck by the sense that this man could turn her life in a totally unexpected and dangerously fascinating direction. He wasn’t easily intimidated. Nor was he fitting neatly into the niche she’d carved for him. And when he looked at her, every bit of common sense ingrained in her since birth fled.
She reminded herself staunchly that she was in control, that the parameters of their relationship had been clearly drawn. They were short-term roommates, nothing more. And Paul, she sensed even after their short acquaintance, was an honorable man. Satisfied that their bargain was unbreachable, she relaxed her guard again.
It was nearly midnight when they got home, after eating spicy Mexican food in Greenwich Village and drinking far too many margaritas.
Gabrielle felt just as exhilarated as she had in the morning and slightly tipsy. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had so much uninhibited, unstructured, spur-of-the-moment fun. Nor was she feeling particularly guilty about it. How extraordinary!
“Thank you,” she said as they stood in their darkened living room.
Impulsively she stood on tiptoe to brush an appreciative kiss across Paul’s lips. In the hushed silence she suddenly heard the pounding of her heart, the sharp intake of his breath. Then she looked into Paul’s eyes and saw the unmistakable darkening of
