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rubbed her
nose with her other hand. Don’t be stupid. This was a brief moment of
collision, like when the hands on a clock meet at midnight. There was nothing
lasting or fateful about this. She had to take it at face value—a few hours of
fun catching up with an old friend.
    “What are you up
to at the moment job wise?” he asked.
    “Still painting,”
she said.
    “Any Boxer dogs?”
    She laughed and
told him about the canvas she’d done of the Waitangi Treaty House that she’d
shown to a friend of her parents. He ran a popular restaurant on the inlet, and
he’d asked if he could hang the painting in the bar. She’d agreed
hesitantly—she made a decent enough living illustrating nature books, but she’d
never sold one of the sketches she did in her spare time. Within the first
week, she had three commissions from restaurant customers, and the following
week one of the art galleries in town asked to see her collection. She showed
them the half a dozen she’d done of local landscapes, and they offered her a
place in their next exhibition.
    “That’s
fantastic,” Dion said, his eyes alight with pleasure. “I always knew you’d make
it big.”
    She glowed inside at
his obvious happiness for her. “Well it’s a start anyway.”
    “Let’s celebrate
with a glass of bubbly.”
    “If you insist.”
The thought of becoming a bit tipsy appealed to her. Getting drunk on her own
had seemed sad, but with an old friend it didn’t seem quite so bad.
    They crossed the
Old Town Square, their feet scrunching on the new layer of snow. It was two
days before Christmas and the shops were busy, filled with coloured lights that
gave the whole place a magical ambience.
    Dion led her over
to a doorway with steps leading down to what turned out to be a restored
medieval-style restaurant in a Gothic cellar. Log fires blazed and filled the
room with a warm glow, and the waitresses wore long gowns and headdresses.
    “I might have
guessed,” Megan teased as they were shown to a table in front of a suit of
armour. Dion had always loved anything medieval.
    “I saw it
advertised at the hotel and I’ve been dying to try it.” He unbuttoned his coat
and let it slide from his shoulders, catching it in his hands before passing it
to the waitress. “Looks good, eh?”
    “Oh yes,” she said
emphatically, although she was staring at him rather than at the restaurant.
Wow, the man knew how to wear a suit. The cut fitted him perfectly, snug across
the shoulders, tapering to his narrow waist. He unbuttoned the jacket as he sat,
revealing a waistcoat underneath. Jeez. How was she going to make it through
lunch without drooling on the white linen tablecloth?
    To cover her
stare, she added, “Although if they offer the Black Death as a starter, I’m out
of here.”
    He laughed, and
her heart thumped a little faster. How odd—she could see the boy beneath the
man, small glimpses of the Dion she’d known, but they were covered with this
veneer of masculinity that hadn’t been there before. It was an enticing mix, and
the thought of spending an hour or two in his company made her happier than
she’d felt in a long time.
    She unbuttoned her
own coat, wondering what his reaction would be as she took it off. She thought
she’d caught a glimmer of interest in his eyes earlier just before he gave her
that brief kiss, but then he’d apologised and she’d wondered if she’d imagined
it.
    She let the coat
slide down her arms and handed it to the waitress, then took her seat and made
herself comfortable before raising her gaze to Dion’s, just in time to see his
eyes lift from her breasts to her face. He gave her a wry smile before taking
the menu from the waitress.
    Megan studied her
own menu, her heart continuing to race. She’d brought the wardrobe with her that
she’d bought especially for the holiday, determined to wear the clothes even
though there was nobody there to appreciate them. The chic black dress clung
nicely to her breasts