Thoughtfully, Julia nodded. She had the distinct feeling she'd just been given a party-line speech, one that Connor had perfected over the years. It wasn't so much what he'd said, but what he hadn 't said that struck her. As if the sketchy description of his upbringing could be filled in with a lot more impactful details than he'd chosen to provide. "Yes," she replied, taking his cue. "We're finished."
"Good. Because there's nothing much else to tell, nothing that wouldn't bore you to tears. I could go on with lengthy discussions of investments, acquisitions, cash flow—you know, the stuff financial empires are made of. From there, I could branch out into how we rally behind a political candidate, one who's destined for greatness. That's the Stratfords, in a nutshell." He propped his chin on his hand. "On the other hand, we could talk about you. You could tell me exactly what your relationship with Greg Matthews is."
Julia's fork clattered to the table. "Where did that question come from?"
"Are you going to answer it?"
She fiddled with her napkin. "I could say it's none of your business."
"You could. But we both know that wouldn't be true."
God, this conversation was getting way out of hand. And this time, Connor had swerved it there abruptly, giving her no time to prepare.
Well, prepared or not, she wasn't going to lie.
"Greg and I have gone out a handful of times. There isn't much else to say."
"I think you just said it."
Julia swallowed, hard. "Connor..."
"You're not sleeping with him."
Her chin shot up, hot color flooding her cheeks as she met his gaze. "That's definitely none of your business."
"If you say so."
"I do."
Julia attacked her shrimp with a vengeance, devoting her full attention to eating. She needed a reprieve, badly.
Connor didn't intend to give it to her. "Would he mind that you were out with me?"
Slowly, Julia's head came up. "Probably. But I didn't ask his permission."
"Will you tell him?"
"If the subject comes up, yes."
"When?"
"When... what?"
"When might the subject come up? Do you have another date with him planned?"
"As a matter of fact, we're having brunch tomorrow."
"Will you enjoy it as much as you're enjoying dinner?"
"I don't know," she answered in a quiet, frank tone. "I'll let you know when I can think straight."
"That might not be for some time. Not if I can help it."
Julia's mouth went dry. She was still reeling when the waiter came over to take their dessert order.
Numbly, she shook her head, protesting that she couldn't manage another bite.
The waiter wouldn't hear of it. "Please, signora, our desserts are all homemade," he coaxed.
She shot Connor a pleading look.
He didn't help.
"I did promise you a tiramisu that would straighten your curve ball," he reminded her.
The waiter beamed. "A perfect choice. I have a suggestion, if I may. Our portions of tiramisu are very generous. Why don't the two of you share a piece?"
"Good idea," Connor agreed. "We'll wait on coffee. If we run out of room, that's what we'll do without." He ignored Julia's weak protest. "You'll thank me for this later—you'll see."
"If you say so."
"I do."
The creamy slice of heaven that arrived minutes later wasn't generous. It was huge.
The waiter set the plate in the center of the table, handed each of them a spoon, and left.
"Dig in," Connor urged.
There was something about slicing off creamy spoonfuls of dessert from the same plate, then bringing them to your lips, that screamed intimacy. Especially on the heels of their very unsettling conversation.
Connor felt it, too. He watched her intently, his gaze fixed on her mouth. "Well?" he asked after her fourth bite.
"Well what?"
"Isn't it everything I promised?"
The dessert He was talking about the dessert.
"Oh, yes. It's fabulous."
"Good." He savored another bite, and Julia found herself staring just as blatantly as he, unable to look away from his mouth as he chewed and swallowed, his tongue capturing the final bits of marscapone cheese from his lips.
"Let's skip coffee," he said abruptly, pushing back his chair.
Julia nearly bolted from her seat. "What?"
"I'm not thirsty. Are you?"
"No." What in God's name was she doing? She was letting this man think she was ready to go to bed with him.
She wasn't entirely sure she wasn't.
"I'll get the check." Connor signaled the waiter.
Ten minutes later, the check was paid, Julia's coat was reclaimed, and Connor was leading her out of the restaurant.
The rain had stopped, leaving the night cooler, with droplets of moisture clinging to the trees and the grass. The air smelled fresh, rife with that just-having-rained scent.
Their shoes crunched on the gravel as they made their way through the parking lot. Other than the light pressure of his palm against her back, Connor didn't touch her. Yet Julia was more acutely aware of him than she'd ever been of a man before in her life.
Connor pressed his electronic key button, unlocking the silver Mercedes. He opened the passenger door, waiting until Julia had slid in before shutting the door and going around to the driver's side.
He climbed in, started the car, and eased out of the parking lot, while Julia searched frantically for a topic of conversation. Anything to break this charged silence. Especially with a half-hour drive ahead and a decision she didn't want to think about waiting at the other end.
"Tell me what a venture capitalist does," she blurted out. "Not only what he does but why he does it."
Connor slanted her a measured look. "Why?"
"Because, as you aptly pointed out, I don't know any venture capitalists. I can't form an opinion without some facts."
"Ah. You want to know if we fit into the same vulture category as Cheryl Lager."
"Very funny. No, I'd hardly describe you as a vulture. What I meant is, what motivates you? Is it really all about money? Or is it the power?"
"If you're asking if there's a rush involved in picking a long shot, getting behind it, and seeing it soar—sure. Why do I do it? Because it fascinates me. Because I like to see fledgling companies I believe in grow. Because it challenges my mind. Because I want to have a stake in the future of industry and technology. Because I'm good at it." He gave an offhanded shrug as he stopped at a light. "The money's more of a success indicator than anything else. It means I'm doing my job well. As for being rich, well, that alone doesn't float my boat. I've had money all my life. It comes in handy, but it's not the be-all and end-all of existence. Then again, that's easy for me to say. I've never been poor."
Julia blinked. She hadn't expected such self-effacing honesty.
Connor's lips curved ever so slightly. "Don't look so shocked. I'm not always evasive. On occasion, I've been known to tell the truth."
"It's not just your honesty that surprises me. It's your insight."
"I've been known to be insightful, too. I read people well; it's a gift I developed early. It was one of the benefits of being a loner. I cultivated great powers of observation. They've come in handy in my profession."
"Were you always a loner?"
"I was pretty independent, if that's what you mean. Another Stratford trait."
"What about your brother? You're close in age— didn't you hang out together?"
"We're a year apart, and no, Stephen was a lot more outgoing and social than I was. He had tons of friends. I preferred my own company. That still holds true. What about you? Any siblings?"
Julia shook her head. "No, there's just me, although I often wished for a brother or sister. I guess I romanticized the whole idea just like every other only kid does. Anyway, now that I look back on it, I was—a
nd am— very fortunate. I have two amazing, loving parents. By example, they taught me the importance of caring, of giving something of myself to everything I do, and of following my instincts, even if it means walking a rockier path. I'm still learning from them, corny as that might sound."
Connor didn't comment on that On the other hand, he didn't look mocking. If anything, he looked pensive.
He veered off the highway at the Leaf Brook exit and made a left turn at the end of the ramp. "Those workshops you mentioned giving, you said something about doing them with your mother."
"Yes. My mom's an RN. She's also one of the most selfless, compassionate human beings I've ever met. She started offering these pro bono workshops five years ago, in conjunction with the American Professional Society on the Abuse of Children. I joined her when I finished graduate school."
"Where do you hold them?"
"At hospitals in Poughkeepsie and a couple of other Dutchess County towns. We deal with topics that involve children's emotional well-being. Our attendees are healthcare providers—prenatal, pediatric, and obstetric. Our goal is to help identify potentially neglectful families and take preventive actions before potentiality becomes reality."
"I see." Connor processed that information with the same pensive expression. "Now I see why you're so attuned to your students. And why you're qualified to spot any signs that they're hurting."
"Kids internalize a lot," Julia explained. "That fools many adults, even well-meaning ones. They don't see any outward change in their child, so they convince themselves all is well. But internalizing takes its toll. It's up to trained observers, like teachers, to point that out. Bringing the parents around is the hard part. They balk at the need for outside help. They view the situation as a failure on their part. But it's not. It's an important, courageous step. It can make all the difference to a child's emotional well-being."
"Your knowledge is impressive. So's the fact that you're willing to share it by giving those workshops." Connor shot her a look. "And before you question my sincerity, I mean that. Your mother sounds like a remarkable woman. The two of you are making a major contribution."
"We hope so."
"What about your father? I assume he doesn't teach curve-ball throwing for a living?"
Julia smiled. "He's a professor at Vassar. He teaches philosophy and literature. I grew up on a college campus, surrounded by the world of academia. In that way, I was very sheltered. In other ways, I wasn't." A shadow flickered across Julia's face. "Anyway, my dad and I argue literary interpretation and ideology to this day."
"I'm sure you hold your own nicely." Connor cast another quick glance in her direction. "In what ways weren't you sheltered?"
Obviously, her brief comment hadn't gone unnoticed.
She turned her head and gazed out the window. "Let's just say I've seen my share of ugliness. It's made me realize that there's very little of life that's within our control. The few things that are—principles, ideals—those need to be clung to like life preservers."
"That's a nice thought but a pretty simplistic view. Being principled is great. But what if something unexpected comes along, something that throws a major monkey wrench into your ideals? Shouldn't you reassess things?"
Julia stared at the rows of trees they were passing. Was he referring to his own experiences or reading into hers? "I suppose. It depends on how deep the ideal in question runs and how significant the monkey wrench is."
Connor slowed down the car, turned onto Julia's street. "Fair enough." He eased into a parking space and turned off the ignition. "Enough heavy conversation for now. We can pick it up again later." A heartbeat of silence. "Much later."
The sexual tension that had accompanied them from the restaurant slammed back to the forefront with a vengeance.
Julia blinked, thrown abruptly off balance. She gazed about, wondering when they'd reached her apartment. She'd been so caught up in their conversation, she'd stopped concentrating on the road.
Well, they were here. And she was no more prepared for what would happen next than she'd been thirty minutes ago.
There was no chance of simply saying good night and bolting. Connor was already out of the car, walking around to help her.
She climbed out, opening her pocketbook and rummaging for her keys. Her hand was shaking as she gripped them, and she purposely avoided Connor's gaze as she led the way into her building.
Three minutes later, they were standing in front of her apartment door.
"I..." She cleared her throat, staring at a corner of the hall carpet. "Thank you for dinner. It was..."
"Julia." Connor's voice was low and intense, and for the first time he touched her—really touched her—his hands curving around her shoulders, smoothing down the soft wool of her sweater. "Invite me in."
The electric charges that shot through her at his touch were so acute, she jumped. Her chin jerked up, and she met his heated gaze, seeing her own stunned awareness reflected in his eyes.
"No," she whispered.
One hand shifted, his knuckles caressing her cheek. "Whynotr
"You know why not."
"I also know you're not ready."
"Then why are you asking to come in?"
"Because I want to kiss you good night." His thumb traced her lower lip.
"And you can't do that out here?" she managed, barely able to speak.
"No, I can't."
Julia didn't question him further. She groped behind her, unlocking the front door and shoving it open.
They stepped inside, and Connor pushed the door closed behind them. The apartment was pitch dark. Neither of them made a move to turn on a light.
Backing her against the wall, Connor braced his arms on either side of her. He waited until she raised her head, then lowered his mouth to hers.
No kiss she'd ever experienced had prepared her for this.
Connor's mouth simply took hers. No preliminaries, no gradual onset. His lips just opened hers, molded them to his. His tongue sank inside, rubbing against hers in a blatantly carnal motion that quickly became an unbearable rhythm of plunge and retreat.
Liquid heat shot through her.
Without thinking, Julia reacted. She reached for him, her fingers digging into his sweater, anchoring her, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.
It was all the encouragement he needed.
His hands dropped to her waist, clamped down, and lifted her up and into him. His body pinned hers to the wall, holding her there as his mouth continued to eat at hers.
Julia's senses were on overload. The woodsy scent of Connor's cologne, the incredible taste of his mouth— she'd never wanted anything so much. Her breasts were flattened against the solid wall of his chest, and her nipples were tight, throbbing inside her bra. Connor's muscles were taut beneath the deceptively soft texture of his sweater, and she could feel the rigid outline of his erection as he moved against her. His breath, like hers, was coming in fast, shallow pants. His hands drifted restlessly down the sides of her breasts, then up again, gliding forward, moving closer and closer to where she needed him.
She was frantic for him to give in and take her in that full caress. She squirmed, waiting for him to shift that small distance.
It happened, but only for an instant.
Connor's palms whispered over the hard points of her nipples—once, twice. Julia heard herself whimper, felt the shudder that ran through Connor's body.
Abruptly, he stopped. His hands dropped to her waist and gripped her rightly, and he tore his mouth away from hers in what was obviously a painful gesture.
"Julia," he demanded, his voice a low, grating rasp. "Is this what you want?"
She felt as if she were drugged. Yes, this was what she wanted. Her body was screaming for it.
"This is about to become a helluva lot more than a kiss," he managed. "So if you don't want me inside you, you'd better say so now. Because that's where I'm going to be in about two minutes."
Think. She had to
think.
Their eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and Connor read the indecision on her face. Slowly, he lowered her feet to the floor. "I guess that answers my question."
"No, it doesn't," she whispered. "You can't know what I want. Because I don't know what I want."
"Oh, yes, you do. You're just scared to death of it."
Scared? She was terrified. She didn't even know this man. And at the moment, she didn't know herself.
"It's too soon. We're so different. I can't just..." She broke off.
"Coward," he breathed against her lips. "What happened to those instincts your parents taught you to follow? Shouldn't you be listening to those?"
"Only when I'm clearheaded. Right now, I'm not."
"Neither am I." He tugged lightly at her lower lip, then paused to lose himself in another deep, drugging kiss. "Next time will be our second date," he muttered thickly. "Will that be too soon?"
"Connor, it's not just about how many times we see each other. It's about..."
"Ideals. Principles," he finished for her. "I'm not sure how those factor into what's happening between us. But it looks like you're up against that major monkey wrench we talked about"
"Big time," she agreed, still gripping his forearms for support.
"Work through it by next weekend."
"Next weekend?"
"Urn-hum. You'll be saving the weekend—all of it— to spend with me. Other than your workshop night."
A hard swallow. "I'll try."
"Do better than try. And in the meantime, expect some impromptu weeknight get-togethers. Drinks, dinner, coffee—I don't care which. You decide. But I'm going to see you."
"I want that, too."
"Good." His fingers threaded through her hair, and his gaze lowered, lingered on her mouth. "I'd better go now," he murmured reluctantly. "While I still can. But Julia, just so we understand each other, next weekend when you invite me in, I won't be leaving until morning." His thumbs traced the sides of her breasts again, shifting to circle her nipples slowly. "Hurry up and get past whatever rules you've invented to keep us apart," he commanded, his voice thick. He swallowed her soft moan of pleasure, kissing her as she trembled in his arms. "Sleep tight."
11:45 P.M.