He smiled, pleasure evident on his face, and I recalled the advice given to me by someone a long time ago. If a man takes you to a restaurant of his choosing, don’t compliment him. Rave about the quality of the food and he’ll be thrilled, because he took you there. It wasn’t in me to rave.

We spoke for a few minutes about nothing at all, but the conversation kept dying. Whatever we had at Las Colimas had fled and we couldn’t recapture it. I poked at my salad, looked up, and saw Crest glancing past my shoulder. “Is there a problem?”

“That guy keeps staring at you,” Crest said. “It’s going beyond polite. I think I might go over and ask what his problem is.”

I turned and saw a familiar figure two tables down. Leaning against the chair, half-turned so he could have a better view of our table, sat Curran.

Why me?

A stunning Asian woman wearing a tiny black dress occupied the other chair at his table. The woman appeared nervous, her slender fingers twisting the corner of the napkin. She gave me a startled glance, like a gazelle at a waterhole, and turned away quickly. Curran appeared unconcerned.

Our gazes met and Curran grinned.

“I don’t think talking to him is a good idea,” I said.

“An old boyfriend?” Crest said.

“Lord, no. We’ve met professionally.”

I motioned to the waiter and he glided over. “Yes, ma’am?”

I nodded toward Curran. “See that man over there with very short hair? Next to a beautiful woman?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Would you please deliver a saucer of milk to him with my compliments?”

The waiter didn’t even blink, a testament to Fernando’s excellent service. “Yes, ma’am.”

Crest looked at me, obviously itching to ask for an explanation.

The waiter delivered the milk, murmuring to Curran. Curran’s smile turned predatory. He took the saucer and raised it in a kind of salute. His eyes flashed gold. The gleam flared and vanished so quickly that if I hadn’t been looking straight at him, I would’ve missed it. He brought the saucer to his mouth and drank from the edge.

“He looks out of place in jeans,” Crest said.

“Trust me, he doesn’t care. And nobody working at Fernando’s is insane enough to bring it up.” Actually, Fernando’s didn’t seem like Curran’s kind of restaurant. I had pegged him for a steak-and-shrimp or Chinese place kind of guy.

“I see.” Crest was trying to give Curran an intimidating stare. If he kept it up, Curran might collapse laughing. Suddenly I was angry.

Crest’s gaze lingered on Curran’s date. Something new reflected in his eyes, interest, admiration? Attraction, maybe? Curran winked at him.