Royal Seduction. Donna Clayton
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sense. “I have other places for you to see, other things for us to do. This is a tour, remember.”
Determination resided on her pretty face, hinting that she was quite happy with the “thing” they were doing right now. But he pushed the issue by holding out his hand to her.
And after exhaling a quick, regretful sigh, she took it.
Three
D usk was falling as he headed out of the city on Highway 29. Riley didn’t have to go far. Satisfaction took root in him when, rounding a slight bend in the road, he heard Catherine’s sharp intake of breath.
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
“That’s Mount Hood.” He pulled to the shoulder and cut the engine. “In just a minute, you’ll see why this is called Sunset Highway.”
The sun hung low on the horizon, and the alpenglow it cast on the snow-covered cliff face was a pink so deep that they both went speechless for several long moments. They sat in silence. The color intensified, diffusing from pink to mauve, and from mauve to a rich magenta. Once the sun had disappeared altogether, the icy precipice radiated an electric midnight blue.
Finally, twilight darkened the sky, and the brightest of the stars became visible and twinkled overhead. The air in the car was still and quiet. Catherine’s jasmine scent caressed each breath Riley took. But then his breath caught in his throat when he heard the erotic sound of fabric against leather as she shifted on the seat.
“Wow.” She turned to face him, speaking softly, almost reverently. “At first I was disappointed that we were leaving the city. But that was…amazing. Thank you for bringing me out here to see it.”
“You’re welcome.” Riley turned the key and the engine roared to life. “We need to make a beeline back to Portland,” he told her, checking to see that the roadway was clear before making a tight U-turn. “I hope we don’t hit any traffic because we’ve got dinner reservations in twenty minutes. I hope you like Italian.”
“I love Italian.”
During the drive back to Portland, they chatted about Catherine’s workout routine, and Riley was pleased to hear that she found the clinic staff helpful and friendly.
He couldn’t help but notice that her voice held a spark that lifted his spirits, a playfulness that he found enticing. This woman allured him, that was undeniable.
As it turned out, finding a parking spot was their biggest problem. They’d had to circle the block three times before finding an available space. Riley took Catherine’s arm so they could hurry down the street to the restaurant. They arrived with barely a minute to spare. They were out of breath and grinning as they were seated at their table.
He ordered wine, and after he went through the tasting ritual, the waiter filled their glasses and left them alone to look over the menu.
“The antipasto is delicious,” he suggested.
Her pert nose wrinkled. “But the cheese and the olives and the pepperoni.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “Lots of calories. I think I’ll have a green salad.”
His eye traveled down the list of entrees. “I’ve had the shrimp with linguini,” he told her. “It’s out of this world.”
“Shrimp are full of cholesterol.”
He arched his brows a fraction, but remained silent.
“I never knew that,” she said, “until I read about it in the clinic’s nutrition book.”
Spying another of his favorites, he offered, “The ravioli with classic Bolognese is delicious. They make the ravioli by hand right back there in the kitchen.”
“Heavy cream, pancetta,” she read the ingredients aloud from the menu description. She looked up at him. “It’s all so fattening.”
Frustration got the better of him. “But that’s what makes it so good.”
Her mouth screwed up, and she muttered, “Tell me about it.”
“Catherine, splurging once in a while isn’t going to kill you.”
She sighed. “You’ve never had a weight problem, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. And I seriously doubt that you ever have, either. I’ll go even farther out on the limb and say that about eighty percent of the people who visit the clinic don’t have any real weight problems. The biggest problem, I think, is in their heads. In their perceptions of themselves.”
At that moment, the waiter arrived to take their order. With his feathers duly ruffled, Riley chose the antipasto and the shrimp linguini. And when it came time for dessert, he intended to order something rich and chocolaty, too.
“I’d like the house salad,” Catherine told the waiter. “Dressing on the side, please. And I’ll have the spaghetti marinara with just a shaving or two of parmesan.”
“I’ll be right back with your salads.” The waiter took their menus and retreated to the kitchen.
Riley picked up his glass and sipped his wine.
Catherine settled back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I see that I need to set you straight on a thing or two. I did have a problem with my weight when I was a child. I was a roly-poly little girl. And lonely, as well.
“I’m surprised that you’d demean the people who seek help from your clinic by diminishing the trouble they’re having with self-control and with motivating themselves to exercise. Granted, being overweight isn’t imminently life-threatening. But it leads to terrible health problems. You’re a doctor. You know that. You have to know that those—”
“Hey, hold on.” He leaned toward her, setting down his glass on the table. “I was only trying to offer you a compliment. To me, you look fit.”
Hell, she looked more than merely fit. She was enough to make a man break every promise he’d ever made.
“To me,” he continued, “most of the people coming to the clinic look to be in perfect health.” He shrugged. “Yes, we do have clients who are overweight. Some are even obese. But for the most part, I can easily see the clinic turning into another trendy place where people come to make their perfect bodies even more perfect.”
He was simply attempting to explain his thoughts on the matter, but it was clear he’d only irritated her further.
“It’s called keeping in shape. I’m surprised that you have so little compassion for those of us who really have to work at it.”
“I have plenty of compassion,” he assured her. He sighed, toying absently with one corner of the pristine white linen napkin neatly folded in front of him. “I have to admit that I never, in my wildest imaginings, expected to be managing things at a health clinic.”
“Ah, so your blasé attitude toward those with weight problems has less to do with the people who come to the clinic and more to do with you?”
He picked up his glass and took another swallow. “Calling me blasé is a little harsh. Let’s just say that, with all the intensive and extensive training I’ve had, I expected to be treating gunshot wounds and heart attacks, not checking triglycerides and prescribing jumping jacks.”
The annoyance that had tightened her jaw muscles waned and some unreadable emotion cast shadows in her sparkling blue eyes. Curiosity, maybe? He couldn’t be sure. But the waiter arrived with their salads and he spent a few moments filling their water goblets and grinding fresh black pepper for them.
Once the man had left them alone once again, Riley raised his wineglass and said, “To an evening filled with fun and laughter and good food.”
Her fingers slid around her own glass and she touched the rim of it to his. “And to new friends, too. May they become good ones.”
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