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shine. Neither Alexana nor Ridge spoke to the other, and Alexana’s heels seemed inordinately loud as they clicked down the marble hallway toward the restaurant.
    The maître d’ greeted Alexana by name. “This way, Dr. Roarke. We’re so pleased you and your guest could join us tonight.” His eyesheld thinly veiled curiosity as he looked Ridge over, obviously trying to place the familiar face. Never before had Alexana eaten in his restaurant with someone other than her father and brother.
    “Thank you, David. We are pleased to be here.”
    He pulled a chair out for her at a window table. “I trust the other Doctors Roarke are well?” he asked as she sat down.
    “Very well, thank you for asking,” she answered, taking the offered menu from him.
    “Good, good. May I suggest the ossobuco tonight? It looks outstanding. Your waiter will be along shortly to tell you about it in detail.”
    “Thank you, David.”
    Alexana looked over at Ridge, allowing the tiny smile to return. For some reason she enjoyed surprising the man, and he seemed genuinely awed by the incredible, panoramic, sunset view of the Old City. She squinted as the sunlight hit the golden roof of the Dome of the Rock, its reflection momentarily shining directly into their window.
    As she shielded her eyes against the glare, Alexana gave in to the feeling that had nagged at her all afternoon. “Ridge, I have a confession to make.”
    “You?” he asked sarcastically, leaning forward.
    “Don’t make this tougher than it already is,” Alexana protested, shooting him a warning look. She gazed at him earnestly, the effect heightened by the absence of her glasses. “Look, I’ve had bad experiences with journalists in the past. Poor, inaccurate reports. Misuse of contacts. Misrepresentation.” She sighed. “But I know you have a good reputation, and it hit me this afternoon that I really haven’tgiven you a break. It’s not fair, and it is very unchristian of me.”
    Ridge had studied her as she spoke. After her confession, he shifted in his chair nervously, then shrugged. “We all have to protect ourselves. I’m used to it.”
    Alexana leaned back, wondering. “Do you do that?”
    “What?” Ridge asked, pretending not to understand her question.
    “Protect yourself.”
    Ridge weighed his answer carefully. “To a certain extent.”
    “Ahh.” Alexana buried her face in her menu. After several moments of silence, she looked up again. “Tell me, McIntyre. Do you have any weak spots in your protective walls?” she asked.
    He blinked slowly and raised one eyebrow. “Isn’t this getting a bit personal?”
    “Yes,” she said with a tiny shrug. “Are you as brave as you make yourself out to be?”
    He frowned at her, trying to think of a way to change the course of their conversation. “Are you challenging me?”
    “In a way,” she said calmly and closed her menu. “Are you the typical reporter, incapable of relating on a personal level?”
    Ridge sat back, regarding the woman before him. “I can get personal.” He sounded slightly defensive.
    “Good. I don’t care to spend time with people who can’t get beyond a superficial level. Life’s too short.”
    “Boy, you lay it on the line, lady, don’t you?”
    Alexana smiled with her eyes and nodded.
    “You want to know where I am weakest? Did you ever consider being a reporter?”
    Her smile grew slightly wider, yet Alexana merely took a sip fromher crystal water glass, giving him time to formulate an answer to her question.
    Ridge looked out on the Old City. “Weaknesses … weaknesses. Let me tell you my strengths first. It’ll make me feel a bit more secure when we get to that more distasteful subject.”
    “If you must.”
    Ridge leaned back, appearing calm. But Alexana noticed that he was unconsciously twisting his napkin into a corkscrew as he spoke. His words should have sounded cocky, but Ridge managed to make it sound as though he was just reporting the facts.
    “I did