Chapter Three

      Dani was glad she’d stopped by the little boutique in the basement of the hotel on her way up to change for dinner. She’d bought a white Mexican dress with an elastic neckline and lots of ruffles, and when she put it on she looked slightly mysterious, with her brown hair and gray eyes and creamy complexion. Her wire-rimmed glasses weren’t so spiffy, she admitted, but they did make her eyes look bigger than they were. And she wasn’t really fat, she told herself, smiling at her reflection. It was mostly what was on top, and the dress even minimized that. She got her small evening bag and went downstairs to meet Dutch in the lobby.

      He was wearing white slacks with a white shirt and blue blazer, and he rose lazily to his feet from a plush sofa, leaving his evening paper there as he joined her.

      “Nice,” he said, taking her arm. “What do you fancy? Mexican, Chinese, Italian, or a steak?”

      “I like steak,” she murmured.

      “So do I.” He guided her along the hall past the family restaurant and into the very exclusive Captain’s Quarters next door. White-coated waiters in white gloves were everywhere, and Dani glanced up at Dutch apprehensively as he gave the hostess his name.

      “What is it?” he asked softly, guiding her along behind the well-dressed young woman with the menus.

      “It’s so expensive,” she began, worried.

      His face brightened, and he smiled. “Do you mind washing dishes afterward?” he whispered mischievously.

      She laughed up at him. “Not if you’ll dry,” she promised.

      He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re a nice girl.”

      “Just the kind your mother warned you about, so look out,” she told him.

      He glanced down at her. “No. My mother would have liked you. She was spirited, too.”

      She smiled shyly, aware of envious eyes following them along the way. He was so handsome, she thought, peeking up at him. Muscular, graceful, and with the face of a Greek statue, male perfection in the finest sense. An artist would have been enchanted with him as a subject.

      The hostess left them at their table, near the window, and Dutch seated Dani with a curious frown.

      “What were you thinking about so solemnly just now?” he asked as he eased his tall form into the chair across from her.

      “That you’d delight an artist,” she said simply. “You’re very elegant.”

      He took a slow breath. “Lady, you’re bad for my ego.”

      “Surely you look in the mirror from time to time?” she asked. “I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t help it.”

      “Yes, I have the same problem,” he murmured, and his eyes were fixed on her.

      She was glad she hadn’t yielded to the temptation to pull the elastic neck of her dress down around her shoulders. It was hard enough to bear that dark stare as it was.

      “Shall I order for you, or are you liberated?” he asked after she’d studied the menu.

      “I kind of like it the old-fashioned way, if you don’t mind,” she confessed. “I’m liberated enough to know I look better in a skirt than in a pair of pants.”

      He chuckled. “Do you?”

      “Well, you’d look pretty silly in a dress,” she came back.

      “What do you want to eat?” he asked.

      “Steak and a salad, and coffee to drink.”

      He looked at her with a dry smile, and when the waiter came, he gave a double order.

      “Yes,” he told her, “I like coffee, too.”

      “You seem very traveled,” she remarked, pleating her napkin.

      “I am.” He leaned back in his chair to study her. “And you’ve never been out of the States.”

      “I’ve been nowhere—until now.” She smiled at the napkin. “Done nothing except work. I thought about changing, but I never had the courage to do it.”

      “It takes courage, to break out of a mold,” he said. He pulled the ashtray toward him and lit a cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m doing it anyway. This is one habit I don’t intend to break.”

      “‘I’ll die of something someday,’” she quoted. “There are lots of other clichés, but I think that one’s dandy.”

      He only laughed. “Smoking is the least dangerous thing I do.”

      “What do you do?” she asked, curious.

      He thought about that for a moment, and pursed his lips as he wondered what she’d say if he told her the truth. She’d probably be out of that chair and out of his life so fast…He frowned. He didn’t like that idea.

      “I’m in the military,” he said finally. “In a sense.”

      “Oh. On active duty?” she continued, feeling her way because he seemed reluctant to elaborate.

      “No. Inactive, at the moment.” He watched her through a veil of smoke from his cigarette.

      “Is it dangerous, what you do?”

      “Yes.”

      “I feel like a panelist on ‘What’s My Line?’” she said unexpectedly, and grinned when he burst out laughing.

      “Maybe you’re a double agent,” she supposed. “A spy.”

      “I’m too tall,” he returned. “Agents are supposed to be under five feet tall so that they can hide in shrubbery.”

      She stared at him until she realized he was joking, and she laughed.

      “Your eyes laugh when you do,” he said absently. “Are you always this sunny?”

      “Most of the time,” she confessed. She pushed her glasses back as they threatened to slide down her nose. “I have my bad days, too, like everyone else, but I try to leave them at home.”

      “You could get contact lenses,” he remarked as he noticed her efforts to keep her glasses on her nose.

      She shook her head. “I’m much too nervous to be putting them in and taking them out and putting them in solution