Free Extreme Exposure by Pamela Clare

his blue eyes boring bluntly into hers. “If all I wanted was a quick fuck, I would have taken you up on your offer for a cup of tea that night. You were more than willing then, but I turned you down. Remember?”
    Not this time. Ask me again when you haven’t had three.
    For the second time in less than a minute, Kara felt her cheeks flame. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Reece. I always seem to be saying or doing something stupid around you. Can we start over?”
    He grinned. “Sure.”
    Kara leaned forward and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Kara McMillan.”
    He took her hand in his and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb—not the conventional handshake she’d been expecting. “Delighted to meet you, Kara. I’m Reece Sheridan.”

    By the time he released her hand, her heart was beating noticeably faster than normal.
    The black-and-white-clad waiter arrived. “Are you ready to order, sir? Perhaps wine and an appetizer?”
    The wine list was the size of a three-ring binder. Kara had glanced through it and had been astonished at how much a bottle of wine could cost. Did people really drink this stuff?
    Reece flipped to a specific page and then looked up at her. “Do you trust me?”
    “Yes.” Taken aback by the question, she answered reflexively. Trust him? She barely knew him.
    Reece looked up at the waiter. “We’ll have a glass of the Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio 1999 Mastroberadino with the polenta con funghi as an appetizer.” The Italian rolled off his tongue as if he spoke the language.
    The waiter looked surprised and grinned. “You know your Italian wines, sir.”
    “Some of them, anyway. Do you eat meat, Kara?”
    She nodded, quickly glancing through the menu.
    “Then make it two orders of your Vitello Saltimbocca, please, with a bottle of the Barolo 2000 Ginestra Domenico Clerico.”
    Kara had never had a man order for her before, and she found herself torn between a feeling of feminist irritation and one of strange feminine delight. But then the food arrived—first the polenta and mushroom appetizer and then the tender veal—and all she could feel was gratitude. And although she knew nothing about wines, the varieties he had chosen were delectable. Taken together, it was the most delicious meal she’d had in years. By the time the waiter cleared their plates away, she was feeling surprisingly relaxed.
    She watched as Reece poured the last of the Barolo into their glasses. “Why did you decide to go into politics?”
    “I thought we agreed not to talk about work.” He set the empty bottle down and leaned back in his chair, wineglass in his hand.
    She couldn’t help but notice how broad his shouldersseemed compared to the high back of the chair, and she found herself undressing him with her eyes. Would his shoulders be hard and muscular? Would his chest have lots of hair or just a little? Were his nipples red like wine or tanned and brown? “I would really like to know.”
    “My students challenged me to run for office. I was teaching U.S. government to juniors and seniors that year and gave a passionate speech about the need for citizens to participate in their government if our democracy is to succeed. So they called my bluff, told me that if I cared so much I should run for office.”
    “So you did.”
    “Yes. I decided they were right. Besides, real-life experience is a better teacher than a textbook, and whatever I learn, I can pass on to my students.”
    “You plan to return to teaching?”
    “I’m not a career politician, if that’s what you’re asking. As soon as I feel I’m no longer contributing effectively—or when the voters send me packing—I’ll go back to what I love.”
    Kara was almost sorry she’d asked. Throughout dinner she’d reminded herself repeatedly that he was not a man but a politician, motivated by an oversized ego and unhealthy ambition. Now he’d gone and shattered that perception. He was making her see him as