“That’s not true,” Summer began.

“She listens to Chopin when she works. Even while she chooses to have an office in a storage room, she keeps roses on her desk.”

“There’re reasons why—”

“Stop interrupting,” he told her simply, and with a huff, she subsided. “What fears she has are kept way below the surface because she doesn’t like to admit to having any. She’s tough enough to hold her own against anyone, and compassionate enough to tolerate an uncomfortable situation rather than hurt someone’s feelings. She’s controlled, and she’s passionate. She has a taste for the best champagne and junk food. There’s no one I’ve known who’s annoyed me quite so much, or who I’d trust quite so implicitly.”

She let out a long breath. It wasn’t the first time he’d put her in a position where words were hard to come by. “Not an entirely admirable woman.”

“Not entirely,” Blake agreed. “But a fascinating one.”

She smiled, then sat on his lap. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she murmured, snuggling. “Sit on some big corporate executive’s lap in an elegant office. I’m suddenly quite sure I’d rather be fascinating than admirable.”

“I prefer you that way.” He kissed her, but lightly.

“You’ve chased off my nervous breakdown again.”

He brushed at her hair, thinking he was close—very close—to winning her completely. “We aim to please.”

“Now if I just didn’t have to go back down and face all that sugar.” She sighed. “And all those earnestly concerned faces.”

“What would you rather do?”

Linking her hands around his neck, she laughed and drew back. “If I could do anything I wanted?”

“Anything.”

Thoughtfully she ran her tongue over her teeth then grinned. “I’d like to go to the movies, a perfectly dreadful movie, and eat pounds of buttered popcorn with too much salt.”

“Okay.” He gave her a friendly slap on the bottom. “Let’s go find a dreadful movie.”

“You mean now?”

“Right now.”

“But it’s only four o’clock.”

He kissed her, then hauled her to her feet. “It’s known as playing hookey. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

She made him feel young, foolishly young and irresponsible, sitting in a darkened corner of the theater with a huge barrel of popcorn on his lap and her hand in his. When he looked back over his life, Blake could remember no time when he hadn’t felt secure—but irresponsible? Never that. Having a multimillion dollar business behind him had ingrained in him a very demanding sense of obligation. However much he’d benefited growing up, having enough and always the best, there’d always been the unspoken pressure to maintain that standard—for himself, and for the family business.

Because he’d always taken that position seriously, he was a cautious man. Impulsiveness had never been part of his style. But perhaps that was changing a bit—with Summer. He’d had the impulse to give her whatever she’d wanted that afternoon. If it had been a trip to Paris to eat supper at Maxim’s, he’d have arranged it then and there. Then again, he should have known that a box of popcorn and a movie were more her style.