“Then why the new condo?” Cindy asked curiously.

He smiled mysteriously. “I’ll tell you about that sometime,” he said, as the lobster was deposited on the table before them.

“It must be wonderful to live right on the ocean,” Cindy said dreamily.

“We are all drawn to the water,” he said quietly. “We began there, and we know it. We come back with a sense of peace and fulfillment, like a traveler returning home.”

“What a very Seminole thing to say.”

His emerald eyes caressed hers across the distance that separated them. ‘‘You should know.”

A band began to play dance music in the next room, a pleasant accompaniment to their meal. The lobster was delicious and the wine was wonderful, light and crisp.

“Would you like anything else?” Fox asked, as she set down her fork.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t eat another thing. Everything was fantastic.”

“Except the oysters,” he reminded her, smiling.

 “I’m sure an oyster fan would have loved them,” she said, and he grinned.

“Would you like to go outside for a while? There’s a deck along the back, and a nice breeze.”

“That would be lovely,” Cindy said, standing up. Fox pulled out her chair and spoke to their waitress as they passed. He led the way to the rear door, which opened onto a wooden platform above the water. The wind whipped her hair around her face and flattened her thin skirt against her legs.

“Too cold?” he asked, as she pulled her jacket closer around her.

“Not at all, it’s delightful,” she replied, lifting her chin and drinking in the sea air.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked, and she shook her head. He extracted a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and lit one, dragging on it until the tip glowed. He leaned back against a mooring post and held out his arm to her. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to step into its circle, and when he pulled her against him, she couldn’t resist. She relaxed into the curve of his shoulder, inhaling the clean, sharp scent of his skin.

The wind dropped off as if to accommodate them, and became a whisper, touching them gently as it passed.

“I love it when it’s like this,” he murmured, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath her ear. “It reminds me of a poem I heard when I was in school, by some woman, I forget her name. In the last line she describes something that ‘blows by like music’. That’s the way this breeze is, like music heard from a distance, or the faint scent of flowers when you pass a stall.”

“Sara Teasdale,” Cindy sighed, slipping her arms around his lean waist.

“What?”

“That’s the name of the lady who wrote the line you just quoted.”

He laughed softly. “You would know that.”

“You’re not at all what I thought you would be,” Cindy said suddenly, surprising herself.

“I don’t know how to respond to that,” he said. “What were you expecting?”

Cindy lifted her head to look up at him. He was smoking slowly, looking out across the water. One big hand was splayed in the small of her back and his eyes were narrowed against the sting of the smoke.

“Well, from Paula’s description, I was expecting...”

“A bone-crushing Neanderthal?” he suggested sarcastically, glancing down at her.

Cindy didn’t answer, snuggling against his chest again and closing her eyes.

“You must disregard much of what Paula says about me,” Fox went on, as if she had agreed with what he’d said. “I’m not at my best around her. She has some preconceived ideas about me and at times I can’t resist fulfilling her expectations.”

“Why?”

She felt him shrug. “Just to be perverse, I guess. I don’t like being considered an uncivilized boor, some savage who just discarded his loincloth yesterday.” He held her off and turned her chin up to look into her eyes. “You don’t see me that way, do you?” he asked.

“No,” she answered simply. He tucked her back into his arms and rocked her gently.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice low and husky. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m warm and wonderful and perfect,” she answered, sighing.

“Then I’m glad I asked,” he said, the tug of laughter in his tone.

I must be drunk, Cindy decided. She was saying things she knew she shouldn’t, but couldn’t seem to make herself stop, or care.

He finished his cigarette, tossing the butt into a wire receptacle on the dock. The wind freshened again and Cindy shivered.

“We’d better go in,” he said, and she straightened reluctantly, not eager to lose the enchantment of his embrace. He kept one arm across her shoulders as they went back inside and he didn’t release her completely until she sat in her chair.

“Coffee?” he said.

“Um, yes.”

“How about some dessert?”

‘‘I don’t think so. I’m stuffed.”

He smiled. “Okay.” He gave the order to the waitress and then leaned across the table, touching her face.

“That wind put roses in your cheeks,” he said.

“Then I’m glad we went outside. I’m usually too pale.”

“Paleface,” he said, and their eyes met.

“Does it matter?” she asked softly.

“Does it matter to you?” he countered, watching her closely.

“The only thing that matters to me is how I feel,” she replied, her voice trembling.

“And how do you feel?” he asked quietly.

“Now?”

He nodded.

“Happy.”

The coffee came, and they parted, sitting back to drink it. But the moment hung between them. When he asked her to dance she stood without replying, anxious to feel his arms around her again.

They came together the instant their feet hit the dance floor. Cindy clung to him silently. They were barely moving as they drifted to the music in a world of their own. They danced until the band packed up for the night. As Fox released her and stepped back, her lips brushed his throat accidentally, and she felt his whole body tense. He drew a shaky breath, exhaling slowly.

“Time to go,” he said ruefully. “They’re going to be handing us brooms pretty soon.”

They walked slowly back to their table, holding hands. Fox paid the bill and left a tip, then helped Cindy into her jacket.

Darkness enclosed them as they left the restaurant and headed back to his car. There were only a few vehicles left in the lot, and the starting motor sounded loud in the late night stillness.

“Looks like we shut the place down,” Fox observed, pulling out of the parking space.

“I wish we could have stayed longer,” Cindy said wistfully.

“Not unless you wanted to wash the dishes,” he replied, laughing softly.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Cindy answered. “It was a wonderful night and I didn’t want it to end.”

“I’m not making fun of you, princess,” he said, his tone changing. “You’re just more honest than I am, I guess. I joke about my feelings to hide them.”

“You don’t have to do that with me, Drew,” she said.

“I’ll remember that,” he murmured.

The trip back was a quiet one. They shared the companionable silence that falls between two people who know they don’t have to fill it. The drive across the causeway was as spectacular as promised, but too short. They were back at Paula’s complex in what seemed like record time.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Fox said, as he helped Cindy out of the car.

“You’re going away this week?” Cindy asked him during the climb to Paula’s apartment.

“Yes, out of town on a job.”

“Is it dangerous?” Cindy inquired.

He looked down at her. “No, of course not.”

She smiled sadly. “You’d say that whether it was or not.”

He didn’t comment and she knew she was right.

“I’ll be back Saturday. I’ll call you then, to arrange the visit to my grandfather. He doesn’t get a lot of company these days.”

“Will he see me?” Cindy asked anxiously.

“He’ll see you, don’t worry,” Fox replied. “When I tell him there’s a beautiful shankree girl dying to meet him, I don’t think he’ll require much persuasion.”