“A recommendation from Zoe,” she added. “Zoe’s going to offer a variety of treatments in the salon.”

“And would that be Christine or Christopher?”

She shrugged. “I got a neck and shoulder treatment this afternoon, a kind of audition. Chris passed with flying colors.” She frowned when he zoomed past the town limits. “We’re not eating in town?”

He couldn’t breathe without breathing whatever she’d doused herself in to drive him crazy. And by the way, he thought, in case he’d forgotten she had legs that went all the way to her ears, she was going out of her way to remind him.

If his voice was a bit tight, there were good reasons for it. “I’m feeding you and paying the bill. Venue’s my pick.”

“It better be worthy of my outfit and my appetite, or you’ll be paying more than the bill.”

“I remember your appetites.” He ordered himself to relax. She might be playing a hell of a game, but he hadn’t come up to bat yet. “So tell me, what is the key to sexual fulfillment?”

“Read the book. You tell me, what pops into your head when you think of ‘key’ when it comes to literature?”

“Locked-door mysteries.”

“Hmm. Could be another angle. How about goddess, other than in mythology?”

“Your femme fatale character. Like the mystery woman in The Maltese Falcon.”

“How is she a goddess?”

“She has the power to weave spells over a man, with sex, beauty, and lies.”

“Huh.” Deliberately, she skimmed her fingers down the long curve of her hair. “Not bad. Something to think about.” As she did, she lost track of direction and time. It was nearly eight when she brought herself back and blinked at the big white house tucked into the hillside.

Batter up, Jordan thought as he saw her eyes go wide.

“Luciano’s?” Her jaw dropped. “It takes a congressional edict to get a reservation at Luciano’s this time of year. You have to book weeks in advance out of season, but in October you can’t get in even by donating blood.”

“You’ll only have to give them a pint.” He climbed out, tossed his keys to the valet.

“I’ve always wanted to eat here. Way out of my league.”

“I tried to get us in for your birthday once. They didn’t laugh at me, but it was close.”

“You couldn’t have afforded to . . .” She trailed off, and couldn’t help but go to goo inside. It was just the sort of thing he’d have done, she remembered. Unexpectedly, recklessly done. “It was a nice thought,” she told him and kissed his cheek.

“This time I pulled it off.” He shocked her speechless by lifting her hand to his lips. “Happy birthday. Better late than never.”

“You’re being charming. Why are you being charming?”

“It goes with your outfit.” And still holding her hand, he led her up the steps.

The restaurant had once been the mountain getaway of a Pittsburgh family of some wealth and influence. Dana didn’t know if it qualified as a mansion, but it certainly met all the requirements for villa with its columns and balconies and porticos.

The grounds were lovely, and in spring and summer, even early fall, alfresco dining was offered in the courtyard so patrons could enjoy the gardens and the views along with a superbly prepared meal.

The interior had been restored, and maintained the elegance and ambience of a well-appointed home.

The entrance hall offered marble floors, Italian art, and cozy seating areas. Dana barely had time to absorb the light, the color, before the maître d’ hurried over to greet them.

“Mr. Hawke, we’re so pleased you could join us this evening. Signorina, welcome to Luciano’s. Your table’s ready if you’d like to be seated. Or if you prefer I’ll have you shown into our lounge.”

“The lady’s hungry, so we’ll take the table, thanks.”

“Of course. Shall I take your wrap?”

“Sure.”

But Jordan beat the maître d’, and with a trail of fingertips along her shoulders, slipped her coat off. It was whisked away, and they were led up the grand staircase and into what she realized was a private room already prepared with a single table for two.

A waiter materialized with champagne.

“As you requested,” the maître d’ said. “Is this suitable for your evening?”

“It’s perfect,” Jordan told him.

“Bene. If you wish for anything, you have only to ask. Please, enjoy. Buon appetito.”

He slipped away, leaving them alone.

“When you pull it off,” Dana said after a moment, “you really pull it off.”

“No point in doing things halfway.” He lifted his glass, tapped it gently against hers. “To moments. Past, present, future.”

“That seems safe enough to drink to.” She sipped. “Jeez. You know what old Dom meant about drinking stars when he had his first sip of the bubbly stuff.” She took another sip, then studied him over the rim. “Okay, I’m impressed. You’re quite the big cheese these days, aren’t you, Mr. Hawke?”

“Maybe, but it’s more knowing to use what works. And the local boy who makes good can usually get a table at a restaurant.”

She looked around the room, so softly lit, so private, so romantic.

There were flowers and candles, not only on the table but on the antique server, on the long, carved buffet. The room smelled of both of them, and music—something soft with weeping violins—drifted through the air.

A low fire burned in a black marble hearth, more candles, more flowers on the mantelpiece above it. A wide scalloped mirror reflected off it, creating a strong sense of intimacy.

“Some table,” she said at length.

“I wanted to be alone with you. Don’t spoil it,” he said, and covered her hand with his before she could move it out of reach. “It’s just dinner, Stretch.”

“Nothing’s just in a place like this.”

He turned her hand over, ran his finger down the center of her palm while he watched her face. “Then let me try my hand at romancing you. Just for one evening. I could start by telling you that just looking at you right now almost stops my heart.”

Hers did a quick bounce, and then went thud. “You’re pretty good at it, for a beginner.”