The Last Man on Earth Page 28

  She skimmed her eyes over his urbane, classic beauty. His thick, close-cut golden hair and his eyebrows, which were two pale slashes across his stubborn, patrician forehead. His nose was straight and sized to suit his handsome face, while his masculine lips retained just enough softness to invite a woman’s kiss.

  She wondered what he’d do if she leaned across the table and planted one on him. A big, hot, wet smooch that would rock them both all the way to their toes.

  Knowing James, he would probably pat her on the head and tell her to find a nice boy her own age, exactly as he had all those years ago.

  Only she didn’t want a boy her age; she wanted a man.

  She wanted James.

  And by God, I’m going to have him, no matter what it takes.

  She’d have to take it slowly, though, she realized. She’d have to work hard in order to make him see her in a new light—a mature, desirable light.

  Could she do it?

  Of course I can, she assured herself.

  No dream was impossible if you wanted it badly enough. Isn’t that what had given her the courage to pursue a career as a painter despite the astronomical odds against success? Wasn’t that what had brought her to New York City to strike out on her own, even though the chances were good she’d fall flat on her face?

  But if she wasn’t daunted by the riskiness of her career choice, then why should she be daunted by the unlikelihood of winning James? All she needed was a plan of action and some good insider information. But who was close enough to him to give her the inside skinny about his private life and habits—and any current girlfriend competition, of course?

  In the next second, she knew exactly who.

  Of course! she thought, doing a happy little dance inside.

  Outwardly, she sipped her lukewarm China tea and smiled at James.

  Unsuspecting, he smiled back.