Turning slightly, he watched as they set the table by the window with white cloth and candles, silverware, stemware— everything. They produced it all from the baskets they carried, finally unpacking several covered dishes and a bottle of chilled wine. Then, just as silently and efficiently, they filed back out of the apartment."Thanks, Eric," Taylor murmured.The last waiter to leave sent her a quick smile and an "Anytime" in response, then they were gone.Belatedly remembering his manners, Trevor stepped back and gestured for her to come in. As she moved past him, he caught the elusive scent of a truly devastating perfume. He shut the door and followed her into the living room, clearing his throat determinedly.'Taylor, you—""French food," she interrupted blandly, turning to face him. "It fit my mood."He stared at her. "Which is?"She looked wounded. "Can't you tell?""Seductive?" he guessed."I'm glad you noticed "Trevor cleared his throat a second time. It was impossible for him to be brusque with her, equally impossible to attempt a serious conversation while she regarded him with that wickedly humorous look in her eyes.
