The Determined Virgin

Rhiannon nodded jerkily. ‘Not too small.’

His look was mildly questioning, and she said, ‘I like a bit of room to move, don’t you?’ He was a big man; surely he’d want to be able to stretch those long legs.

‘I know what you mean,’ he conceded easily. ‘Those cubbyholes where two pairs of knees won’t fit under the table and you have to take care not to accidentally bump your neighbour with your elbow aren’t very comfortable.’

They walked side by side, Gabriel with one hand in his pocket, pushing back the edge of his jacket, the other swinging loosely at his side. Tonight his suit was dark, and he had no tie. The opened collar of his shirt showed a glimpse of lightly tanned skin.

A young couple heading in the opposite direction, arms about each other and oblivious to other pedestrians, almost ran into Rhiannon. Gabriel’s firm touch on her waist steered her out of the way, then he dropped his hand.

After turning at the next corner, he paused at a lighted doorway. ‘How does this look?’

Through the glass doors Rhiannon saw a spacious room with people at cloth-covered tables under glittering but muted chandeliers.

‘Expensive,’ she said.

He laughed and pushed open one of the doors. ‘I can stand it. Will it do?’

‘Yes,’ Rhiannon agreed hastily and stepped inside.

They were ushered to a table and Gabriel asked, ‘Would you like a real drink?’

She shook her head. ‘Just coffee, thanks. I’ll be driving later.’ Besides, she wasn’t sure she could cope with drinking and this man as well.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yes.’ She’d had a take-away salad earlier in the evening, bolting it down between customers.

‘What about a dessert? I could do with one myself.’ He asked the waitress for dessert menus, and looked over the top of his at Rhiannon. ‘I can recommend the chocolate-cherry gateau, but the crème brûlée is good too if you want something lighter.’

She hadn’t been sure she wanted anything at all but, glancing the menu, she found her mouth watering.

‘Do you come here regularly?’ That was a safe topic.

‘Now and then. It’s handy to my office and the service is usually quick.’

Which implied that he didn’t often have time to spare—or didn’t like wasting it. Well, she didn’t suppose he’d got where he was by sitting around eating desserts and drinking coffee. ‘I’ll try the crème brûlée,’ she decided.

Gabriel opted for the gateau, and ordered their coffee. Then he laid his arms on the table and said, ‘Tell me about yourself.’

Rhiannon looked down and untwined the hands tightly wrapped about each other in her lap. ‘The gallery is my bread and butter, and I do mosaics when I have the time.’

‘Do you take commissions?’

‘Sometimes. Mostly I do my artwork at home and sell from the gallery.’

‘Where would that be…your home?’

She shot a wary glance at him. ‘Mount Albert.’

Gabriel leaned back in his chair. ‘So, are you an Aucklander born and bred?’

It sounded like an idle question, mere chitchat. Rhiannon shook her head. ‘I was born and bred in Pukekohe.’

‘A country girl?’ he quizzed.

‘Not really. We weren’t into market gardening.’ That was what the rich red volcanic soil in the area was known for. Making an effort to relax, she added, ‘My father had an electrical service business.’

‘Had?’

She waited a moment. ‘He’s in a nursing home now. He was involved in a motorway accident, along with my mother.’

‘And your mother?’ Gabriel asked quietly, his eyes darkening in sympathy.

‘She died. My father has some brain damage. He needs twenty-four hour care.’ A familiar sadness touched her, for the man her father had once been.

‘That must be difficult for you, as well as for him.’ Gabriel paused, searching her face. ‘When did it happen?’

‘Nearly six years ago.’ She looked down at the tablecloth, and it blurred before her eyes. ‘I’ve had time to get over it.’ If a person ever did get over these things.

He laid one arm on the table, forefinger idly tracing a circle on the cloth before he looked up again. ‘Did you have family to help?’

‘My grandmother.’ Without her, Rhiannon didn’t know how she would have survived that horrible year. ‘She was wonderful.’

‘I’m glad. You were very young to be bereaved like that. Do you have brothers or sisters?’

Rhiannon shook her head. ‘Do you…?’

‘A younger brother who works for me, heading the Australian office, and a sister in the States. My parents are divorced but they both live in New Zealand with new partners.’

It was common enough and he didn’t sound particularly traumatised. ‘How old were you?’ she asked.

‘Ten.’

At ten he would have been vulnerable. She wondered how long it had taken him to get over his parents’ split.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘I’m thirty-two.’

Carefully she offered, ‘I’m twenty-three.’

He made a rueful face. ‘I was hoping you were older.’

She should laugh, but instead she looked away again, fiddling with a spoon on the table. ‘I feel older.’

‘Why is that?’

Studying the distorted reflection of the room, she answered, ‘I’ve been running a business since I was in my teens.’

‘Early ambition?’