He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. His short-sleeved shirt had a faint chequered pattern on it and when he folded his arms it tightened around his biceps. She wondered what he’d worn in Afghanistan—if he’d dressed like the military did in desert camouflage combats, and if he’d needed to wear bulletproof vests and a helmet.

The thought of him needing that protection sent a shiver through her. The thought of anything hurting him made her feel queasy.

She took a sip of water.

“Here you are.” Rosseta appeared with two champagne flutes and a bottle of Moët & Chandon in an ice bucket.

“Thanks.” James sat back and watched as she poured the frothy liquid.

“Would you like menu?” Rosseta asked.

“Not for me, I’ll go with the lasagne.” He smiled. “Why don’t you try it, Megan?”

“Now I’ve heard such glowing praises I’m curious.” She smiled. “So yes, please.”

“Only if you want to,” James said.

“Yes, it’s perfect. I love lasagne.”

“You will love this one. And it will put meat on your bones.” Rosseta nodded seriously and put the champagne bottle in the bucket. “I will bring bread and olives now.”

“She must think I’m skinny,” Megan said when Rosseta was out of earshot.

“She’s always trying to fatten everyone up. I suspect that’s why the lasagne is so good. It’s full of cream and butter.” He paused and settled his steady attention on her. “And for the record, I think you’re perfect and you shouldn’t change a thing.”

Megan bit on her bottom lip and glanced away. The look in his eyes. It could make a girl strip off there and then and demand to be taken. Being around James was dangerous if she intended to keep her clothes on tonight.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Clearly where you’re concerned I can’t help myself and I just say and do whatever comes to mind.”

“No, don’t apologise. It’s nice… You’re nice.”

He smiled. “Well thank you. Nice is a good start.”

Now she felt silly. Nice. He was more than nice, he was drop-dead gorgeous. But she wouldn’t tell him that. She might show him, one day, but she wouldn’t say it.

“Cheers.” He picked up his drink and touched the rim of it to hers. “Here’s to good Italian food.”

“And dates. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on one.” She smiled and sipped her drink.

“Why is that?” he asked. “I would have thought you’d be inundated with offers.”

“No, I’ve been busy setting up Winter Shoes.” And planning a wedding, which she’d run from as fast as her legs would carry her, but James didn’t need to know that she was a jilter. Not yet anyway. It wasn’t her proudest moment.