Page 26 of Royal Cocktail

“Being alone with me.”

“Why would I?”

“You’re engaged. Bart doesn’t mind?”

She glanced down at the tabletop. “This is work. Isn’t it?” When she lifted her head, he saw the question in her eyes.

“Of course.” He was about to press further when the waiter arrived. “I’ll let you order for both of us,” he told Skye, who scowled, but didn’t argue.

“Garrison Brothers,” she told the woman. “One … ice cube for me. Neat for … him.”

“Appetizers?”

“Fries … please.”

“You got it.” The woman turned, her blond ponytail swinging.

“You sounded fine,” he said. “Clear and confident.”

She shook her head. “She could have … driven to Dallas … in those pauses.”

“That’s her problem, not yours. You were the one ordering—that pays her bills. And in two weeks, you’ll be the one delivering valuable information to me and everyone else at the symposium. That means you’re the one with the power.”

“Not according to … my dad.”

“What? The client is always right? That may be true later in the relationship, but not when you’re sharing knowledge. We need you, Skye. That gives you power.”

She licked her lips, and that simple swipe of her tongue set off a chain reaction of memories that had him gripping the arms on his chair to forestall a very inappropriate groan. This woman. No one had ever affected him the way she had—and still did. And right then he hated the universe for the cruel game it had played with the two of them.

He cleared his throat. “So, I should apologize for my manners. I believe I owe you congratulations.”

“You do? Oh. About Bart. Yes. Thank you.”

“How long have you two been together?”

She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Why are you here, Leo?”

“I believe the term is extortion. You extracted a price for working with me, remember?”

She didn’t laugh. “I mean at all. With all of our history, why come to me? So what if I wrote that paper? It was just a Law Review article. There is nothing in there that hundreds of attorneys across the globe couldn’t counsel you on. What?” she added, when he didn’t answer right away, just smiled.

“Your words were a bit muddled, but your pauses were significantly less. You regulated your breathing, and it worked.”

The return of the waiter gave her a reprieve before answering. She swirled the glass, then took a sip. “I was talking to you.”

“And I don’t make you nervous?”

She seemed to genuinely consider the question. “No,” she said. “You never have.”

He started to reach for her hand, remembered, and pulled back. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“You still haven’t … answered my question. Why me when any lawyer would do?”

“That’s not a question you should have to ask.”

She looked down, then ran her finger over the rim of her glass. “Leo. Don’t. Just … don’t.”

“I am sorry, Skye. More sorry than you’ll ever know. Or believe.”