Soft music. Succulent lobster. Decadent chocolate. Maddie couldn’t have asked for a more romantic evening. Long white tablecloths hid the fact that he couldn’t stop touching her. If he wasn’t rubbing her hand or caressing her neck, he was sliding those erotically talented fingers up her thigh—never too high, just high enough to keep her simmering. It wasn’t clear to Maddie whether he was as effected as she was, because he could carry on a conversation with seeming ease while she had to concentrate to string words together. “Tell me more about Windswept’s history.” She swallowed hard, thinking she’d do better if his fingertips weren’t feathering about three inches above her knee. But she wouldn’t ask him to stop if the tide quit coming in. “Windswept was constructed in 1840 by my father’s great-grandfather. Even before that, there was another home on the same spot that my family lived in during the time Jean Lafitte reigned supreme. He called Galveston Campeche and there’s the legend of the ‘three trees’ being on our property, a place where Lafitte fought the Karankawa and perhaps where he buried the wife he loved so much.”
