Because he was grinning, she lifted her eyebrows. “You disagree?”

“Not at all. I’m in advertising, and that pretty much hit the nail.”

“Advertising?” She ignored the little tug of guilt at the pretense. “I wouldn’t think there would be much call for that here.”

“I work in Baltimore. I’m back here on weekends for a while. A family thing. Long story.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

“Later.” There was something, he thought, about those nearly translucent blue eyes framed by long, inky lashes that made it nearly impossible to look anywhere else. “Tell me what else you see.”

“Well . . .” It was a fine skill, she decided. A masterwork. The way he could look at a woman as if she were the most vital thing in the world at that one moment. It made her heart bump pleasantly. “You see the other waitress?”

Phillip glanced over, watched the frivolous bow on the back of the woman’s skirt swivel as she walked to the bar. “Hard to miss her.”

“Yes. She fulfills certain primitive and typical male-fantasy requirements. But I’m referring to personality, not physicality.”

“Okay.” Phillip ran his tongue around his teeth. “What do you see?”

“She’s efficient, but she’s already calculating the time until closing. She knows how to size up the better tippers and play to them. She all but ignores the table of college students there. They won’t add much to her bill. You’d see the same survival techniques from an experienced and cynical waitress in a New York bar.”

“Linda Brewster,” Phillip supplied. “Recently divorced, on the prowl for a new, improved husband. Her family owns the pizza place, so she’s been waitressing off and on for years. Doesn’t care for it. Do you want to dance?”

“What?” Then that’s not Grace either, she thought and struggled to tune back in. “I’m sorry?”

“The band’s slowed it down if they haven’t turned it down. Would you like to dance?”

“All right.” She let him take her hand to lead her through the tables to the dance floor, where they shoehorned themselves into the crowd.

“I think this is supposed to be a version of ‘Angie,” ’ Phillip murmured.

“If Mick and the boys heard what they’re doing to it, they’d shoot the entire band on sight.”

“You like the Stones?”

“What’s not to like?” Since they could do no more than sway, she tilted her head back to look at him. It wasn’t a hardship to find his face so close to hers, or to be forced to press her body firmly to his. “Down-and-dirty rock and roll, no frills, no fuss. All sex.”

“You like sex?”

She had to laugh. “What’s not to like? And though I appreciate the thought, I don’t intend to have any tonight.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

“There certainly is.” She considered kissing him, letting him kiss her. As an experiment that would certainly include an aspect of enjoyment. Instead, she turned her head so cheeks brushed. He was entirely too attractive for an impulsive and uncalculated risk.