Thirst, Page 3

  “Then perhaps I should take you to dinner,” he said smoothly. “It’s only right. Especially if I plan to keep you out in a storm.”

  “It isn’t storming yet,” she pointed out.

  “But it will be by the time we’re done. Come, let’s finish your shopping. Then we can drop your groceries off at home and I can take you to dinner. I know of a lovely all-natural restaurant not far from here. They do organic farm to table exquisitely. It’s called Moo Cluck Baa.”

  Renee laughed at that. “What a delightful name. I wonder that I’ve never heard of it. I’m usually keen about organic restaurants.”

  “This one is in Midtown.”

  “In the heart of the city? During a storm?” she said, surprised.

  It would mean getting in a car with him. Unless he meant to ride the subway with her. She wasn’t sure she was up to walking very far in this cold.

  “I’m not certain that’s a wise idea,” she said doubtfully.

  He shrugged. “All I can do is promise to deliver you safely to your door at the end of the evening. Nothing else I could say to you would convince you. It’s your choice.”

  “Can I wait to decide until after I finish shopping for my groceries?” she asked.

  “Of course. I’ll accompany you about the store and finish my shopping as well. We can get to know one another a little better so I am less of a stranger to you.”

  “That sounds harmless enough.”

  “So, tell me, are you a direct shopper or are you the sort who wanders the whole store?”

  “Well, that depends. I do have a list and usually keep to it. However, sometimes when I am hankering for new or different things, I take to wandering in search of them.”

  “And what are you in the mood to do tonight?”

  “I think I shall be as direct as possible, given the coming storm and the fact that I have company. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’m a wanderer for sure. I never know what it is that I want and I also have very particular tastes and needs.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have to eat very cleanly—only organic. Canned and most preserved foods are out unless they are packaged without preservatives, which is not so easy to find. So I mostly eat a raw diet.”

  “Do you have a condition that makes these your needs?”

  “It is part condition and part desire. I am simply sensitive to organophosphates and many preservatives. There is no real name for the condition.”

  “Well, I try my best to eat as naturally as possible, but I do sneak a few things here and there. Like candy corn. I love candy corn. But only in the fall. For Christmastime it’s candy canes. For Valentine’s it’s chocolates. Easter it’s—”

  “Chocolate bunnies?”

  “Peeps,” she said. “Marshmallow Peeps.”

  He made a face and she laughed.

  “Well, I suppose you can be forgiven your holiday binges. What do you do when no holidays are forthcoming? Like the wide expanses of summer?”

  “Oh, summer is strictly ice cream. Actually, ice cream is all year-round, but I only eat all-natural brands. My favorite is—”

  “Chocolate?”

  “Strawberry. Although I sometimes switch to chocolate or even vanilla. Or all three in a Neapolitan. Then again, there is butter pecan…”

  “I get it. You haven’t met an ice cream you didn’t like,” he said with a chuckle.

  She sighed dramatically. “Alas, it is true. Woe to all innocent tubs of the stuff. What about you?”

  “I don’t care much for ice cream.” He laughed. “There’s no need for you to look so horrified. I do have a sweet tooth, but it leans elsewhere.”

  “Such as?”

  “I like cultural desserts. Italian. Russian. Indian.”

  “That sounds very adventurous. But how do you do that and remain true to the restrictions of your diet?”

  “You have to search carefully, but you can find purists. Especially in and around the city.”

  “That’s such a wide area. It seems like quite a distance to travel simply for dessert.”

  “I don’t mind the distance; it’s worth it. But mostly I create my own versions of old recipes in my home.”

  “So you cook?” she asked.

  “Some,” he said, and she could tell he was being modest. It made her smile.

  “I bet you’re fiendishly good at it,” she said with a laugh. “Meanwhile, I’m lucky if I don’t burn soup.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” he said with an admonishing tone.

  “I wish it weren’t. I am afraid I’m just too impatient to be a cook. I want it hot and ready and I want it now. Fast. I don’t want to wait for it.”

  “You are the reason we have fast food places. I am surprised you eat naturally and don’t spend your time in a drive-through.”

  “Luckily I’m satisfied with a salad with a little grilled chicken on it or a stir-fry. I know a few casserole recipes that are easy enough, and they allow me to do other things while I’m waiting for them to be done. I have a griller that grills two sides of something at once, cutting the cook time in half. I make my way.”

  “I must cook for you sometime,” he said. “My skill is moderate, but at least it will be better than your idea of cooking.”

  She chuckled. It didn’t escape her that he was already trying to finagle more time with her in the future. Suddenly something occurred to her.

  “Wait, I don’t even know your name!” Some detective she was!

  He lifted a brow in surprise, then chuckled. “We have been remiss.” He came to a stop and took her hand in his. With a very Old World bow he kissed the back of her hand, his eyes engaged with hers the whole time. “Rafe DaSilva, at your service,” he said, using his hold on her hand to draw her in closer, so that their bodies were lightly touching. “And will you tell me your name or shall you remain a woman of mystery?”

  She laughed at that, a little awkwardly as the nearness of him penetrated her from head to toe. Her breath quickened as she realized she was close enough to see inside of him…or so it felt. She flushed, becoming very aware of him. But he wasn’t overbearing. Simply elegant and charming. Two things she wasn’t used to finding in the average New York male. But he wasn’t exactly from New York. Not born and bred anyway. It was, perhaps, a nice change of pace.

  “My name is Renee,” she said, and she knew they were both aware of the fact that she did not offer him a surname. She moved away from him slowly and deliberately, her hands pulling free of his and reaching to grip the handle of her shopping cart. She pushed ahead though she was a little blind to what was on the shelves.

  You have to be careful, Renee, she lectured herself. He may be handsome and engaging, but he is still a stranger. Ted Bundy was handsome and engaging and look what happened to the women who met him.

  Then again, there were never any guarantees. Anyone could be dangerous given the right circumstances. She would simply have to trust her judgment. And her judgment was telling her that he had the potential to be, as he had already confessed to her, a dangerous man under the right circumstances. The question was, did she want to be around long enough to find out what those circumstances might be?

  The answer was yes. Her heart raced even as she thought it, knowing how foolish she was. She had never gone for the bad boy type before. She had always stayed with nice, safe men.

  Well, maybe that was why she was still alone in her life. Maybe that was why she grew tired of whom she was with rather quickly.

  However, she wasn’t entirely stupid.

  “Smile,” she said, lifting up her phone and snapping a quick photo of him. Before he could work up a protest she had sent a text to Emily with the photo attached.

  Look what I found in the grocery store! His name is Rafe DaSilva. Going out to dinner. Call later with details.

  Emily texted back almost immediately.

  Jealous!

  She should have known her adventurous friend wouldn’t see anything
wrong with going to dinner with a total stranger. Renee was still trying to be all right with it herself. There were so many variables.

  “Feel better now?” he asked, amusement in his tone.

  “A little. This way when you chop me up into little pieces they know who to look for.”

  He laughed at that, a full-throated sound that tickled her. “Don’t worry. My saw is still dull from the last time.”

  She chuckled at that then pushed her cart forward and continued shopping. It was sometime later before she said, “You know, there’s a great little organic café at the end of this road.”

  “Is there?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “Instead of going all the way into the city.”

  “Afraid to get into a car with me?” he asked knowingly.

  “Not afraid. I can handle myself,” she said, the weight of her weapon on her belt clip reinforcing that belief.

  “All right. Do you live nearby?”

  “Within walking distance. What about you?”

  “I live in Midtown.”

  “Then why are you shopping here?”

  “I was here on business. It happened to be close. As you know, grocery stores aren’t all that abundant in Midtown.”

  “No. Not like they are here, in any event.”

  “Besides, it turns out this store has much more to offer,” he said meaningfully.

  She smiled. She picked up a jar of applesauce and inspected the ingredients.

  “You can eat this. It contains only apples and water.”

  He took the jar from her and inspected it. “True. But I prefer to make my own. I make it with cinnamon.”

  She raised a brow at him. “You make your own applesauce?”

  “When I can. I can a lot of my own fruits and vegetables, though I prefer fresh. Still, there are times of the year when certain things are unavailable. For instance, pumpkin. You only find that readily available in the fall.”

  “I am pretty impressed that you know how to can your own vegetables.”

  He shrugged. “Canning is simple once you get the hang of it.”

  “I suppose you’ll make your own baby food when you have kids? That is…unless you already have kids.”

  “No. I have no children.”

  They reached the checkout shortly after that. She had purchased much more than he had and her groceries were more urgent what with her having bought ice cream—a purchase that had made him chuckle.

  They walked out into the frigid night air and he led her to his car. It was a black SUV, nondescript really. He put his groceries in the back then turned to her.

  “Shall I drive you home?”

  “You’ll never find parking,” she said. “How about I meet you at the café? It’s just down the road. You can’t miss it.”

  “Not ready to let me know where you live?”

  She smiled. “Not yet. I need a better read on you first.”

  “That’s all right. I will change your mind by the end of our dinner.”

  “Maybe,” she said noncommittally.

  He chuckled. “You’d be safer walking with me than on the street by yourself. But I won’t press. How long should it take you?”

  “No more than twenty minutes. I have to put the cold stuff away.”

  “Of course. Well, hurry. I’m starving.”

  “Me too. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Renee hurried away and turned the corner.

  Her groceries were heavy and normally she would be mentally complaining about it, but her mind was busy with other things. In fact, it was in overdrive.

  “This is absolutely a bad idea!”

  Saying it out loud seemed to give it power and her heart began to race. What was she thinking? Picking up a strange man in a supermarket. That was something desperate women did, wasn’t it? And she was far from desperate. Oh sure…she was alone…but she wasn’t desperate or lonely. She liked her solitude. She lived her life the way she wanted to live her life and didn’t have to answer to anyone. She didn’t have to worry about stepping on someone’s toes or picking up after a slob or any number of things she’d had to do when she’d had boyfriends in the past. She’d lived with men before, but had never married. She’d never imagined herself so in love that she wanted to tie herself to someone for the rest of her life.

  Wait a minute. This was just dinner for heaven’s sake. He wasn’t asking her to marry him. He simply wanted to enjoy a meal with her and get to know her better.

  But what if he was a stalker? Or worse yet a serial rapist or killer or something like that?

  She looked over her shoulder and didn’t see him following her or even looking around the corner. The snow was coming down stronger, but she could see down the street easily enough. There was a strange effect on the sidewalk, like heat rippling in the air, but she figured that was probably from the sewer air meeting the much colder air above.

  She didn’t have far to walk, her place just a corner and several buildings away from the market. She climbed the steps to her brownstone and hustled up to her apartment. She quickly put her groceries away. Suddenly she stopped, her hands in a bag, and said aloud to the room, “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?”

  She was. He was charming, cleanly dressed, well-spoken, and handsome. Those dark good looks and stormy gray eyes were nothing to sneeze at. He was polite and interesting on the surface. Sure, everyone always showed their best side when meeting someone new, but maybe his best side was his always side. Maybe he was just a nice guy.

  Great. She kept vacillating between thinking he was Ward Cleaver and Ted Bundy. She had to pick one. And she was only going to figure out which if she finished putting away her groceries and got her ass down to that café.

  Mind made up, she put the last of her things away, hurried into the bathroom to dash on a little eye makeup and lip gloss, then went back out into the cold and snow.

  Chapter 3

  Renee arrived at the café half expecting Rafe might have come to his senses and left. After all, she wasn’t your average sweet and likable girl. She had been called tough and intractable, jaded and overly aware of the bad things in the world. She sometimes expected the worst in people…but on the flip side she always hoped for the best. In a nutshell, she was an acquired taste.

  And apparently he wanted to acquire her. He was sitting just inside the door and when he saw her, he rose to his feet and stood close to her.

  “I thought you might change your mind,” he murmured into her ear. She half expected his intimacies were going to hit her the wrong way, but for some reason they didn’t. Instead of irritating her, they left her feeling warm inside.

  “I won’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind.”

  “You wouldn’t be human if it didn’t. I don’t take offense.”

  “I’m glad that you don’t,” she said with a smile.

  “Come, let’s eat.”

  They were led to a small table in the rear of the restaurant and she was surprised when he pulled her chair out and then helped her out of her coat, hanging it on the back of her chair. His fingers brushed her shoulders as he did this and the warmth of him sank into her chilled bones. She shivered at the contrast.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “A little,” she fibbed. “I’ll warm up quickly.”

  She took her seat and he sat across from her. His dark eyes brooded on her for several minutes, until she shifted in discomfort.

  “I’m sorry, I’m staring,” he said. “But you are an extraordinarily beautiful woman. And you’re carrying a gun.”

  She laughed, feeling warmed by his compliment and silly for not leaving her weapon at home…or at least putting it in her purse where it wouldn’t be visible.

  “I’m sorry. I think I forgot it was even there.”

  “Why are you carrying a gun? I hate to think it’s for protection from me.”

  “I think subconsciously it is, or else I would have put it away. But also I’m so used to w
earing it, it just slipped my mind. I’m a cop.”

  “Ah. I see. What kind of cop are you? I know New York has many different kinds of police officers.”

  “I’m a detective.”

  “So you solve crimes. Murders?”

  “Yes. Mostly murder.”

  “I see. And I assume that keeps you busy?”

  “Well…yes.”

  “That’s unfortunate. I would much rather you be out of a job.”

  “So would I. But unfortunately that’s not the world we live in.”

  “No. It’s not. This is a violent world with violent cultures and subcultures in our society. It’s a sad reality.”

  “Yes. It is.” She could see he genuinely felt regret for his fellow man’s need for violence. It said a lot about him.

  “This is already turning out to be an interesting date,” he said.

  She wanted to protest when he called it a date, but she supposed that was exactly what it was. But he must’ve read her recalcitrant expression and said, “I know we’re strangers. But anything can happen. Who knows, maybe we’ll even find a little bit of romance on this date.”

  “Whoa. Slow down there, champ. I don’t even know you.”

  “You don’t have to know me for there to be sparks of interest and the ambience of romance. I’m not pushing you, I’m just telling you to be open to it.”

  She preferred to change the subject. “What about you? What do you do?”

  “I am an attaché to my government. I negotiate around the pitfalls of peace and war.”

  “War! Surely we’re not on the brink of war with Portugal.”

  “Not at all. But, like Americans, we have to keep attentive to terroristic acts and those who would use our country and its monies to stage attacks on others. But mostly I negotiate trade agreements. Helping to guard against terrorism is a small part of what I do.”

  “What can an ambassador do against terrorism?”

  “Mostly keep an ear out for chatter. You’d be surprised what I hear.”

  “I don’t think I would be. Ever since the attacks in France we’ve had to look everywhere for threats.”