Talk. She had a feeling she knew what the topic would be. Nicole looked at Eric, the familiar clean line of his jaw, the veil of lashes that were unfairly long over his eyes, the finely modeled mouth that had kissed hers with both passion and tenderness so many times in the past months once she’d finally let him into her life. He was right. Eric was frequently right. They did talk. Companionably, with laughter and insight, and it was amazingly comfortable and always had been. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about Jack’s return. Eric was looking at her expectantly, his fingers tightening just a fraction, no doubt a reflexive response to her hesitation. “I wouldn’t mind another glass of wine,” she said. “It’s nice out here considering how hot it got this afternoon.” “I’ll get it,” he offered, but then again he would. He was always considerate. If she asked him to leave right at this moment to give her some space, he wouldn’t argue.
