Free Friends to Lovers by Christi Barth

wrought-iron curlicues across the room. Each pair of petaled place mats held a different course, on gilt chargers and glass plates, and a different set of drinks. In the background, the mellow sound of a saxophone wailed a melody over the rest of a jazz quartet. The only things missing were a velvet-covered round bed and a box of condoms.
    “I didn’t expect this. I thought she’d set out a plate with a couple of appetizers and some chocolate. This...this is too much. I’m going to kill her. In fact, I’ll call her right now and make her come back.” Daphne knew she was babbling. That her words were bulleting out so fast and so high she probably sounded like a squealing mouse. How could Mira have gone to these lengths? Was this some kind of cruel joke?
    “Calm down.” Gib laid a hand on her arm, which produced exactly the opposite reaction he’d requested. “She just set the stage for us. We’re actors tonight, remember? Two people using food to romance each other.”
    “No. Not something I would’ve agreed to in a million years. I hate acting. In the third grade I was a toothbrush in our hygiene play. Not only did I forget all my lines, but I tripped over the floss and fell into the kiddie pool we used for saliva. The only thing I agreed to do was eat.”
    Gib gave her that look down his nose that said she’d flipped her lid. The one he’d given her when she claimed that Italy’s team would beat Spain in the Euro Cup. Or when she’d tried to convince him that he wouldn’t regret watching the fifth Pirates of the Caribbean movie.
    “Where’s your sense of fun?” Taking her hand, he bowed slightly as he brushed his lips across her knuckles.
    “What are you doing, Gib?” she asked warily.
    Instead of answering, he said, “Hit me with some soap-opera-type names.”
    Where was he going with this? And why was he still holding her hand? “I don’t watch soap operas.”
    “Right. You’re not the girly type to get sucked in to daytime drama.”
    Not the girly type? Why not just hit her over the head with a brick stamped I don’t find you at all attractive? Oh yes, Daphne had definitely made the right decision in not telling him they’d kissed. He’d probably laugh in her face.
    Unaware of her inner turmoil, Gib barreled on. “I don’t remember the convoluted rules Ben taught me about bowling names. So we’ll go with posh, silly names from my homeland.”
    “Why do we need fake names at all?”
    “Because we can’t be Gibson and Daphne. We’d laugh ourselves silly. And we’ve got to take this challenge seriously to help Mira. So for tonight, we’ll be Daisy and Graham.” He took her other hand as well, and stared deep into her eyes. God, he had beautiful eyes. The same icy turquoise as Iceland’s famous Blue Lagoon geothermal pool. Yeah, she had a slight addiction to the Globetrotting Network.
    “Daisy and Graham,” she echoed, nodding. Why not? Let herself spend one perfect night as Gib’s dream date? Nothing more than a fantasy, so nobody would get hurt. She’d get to keep holding his hand, drinking in the melodious accent that made flutters deep in her belly with every word. One night for her mental scrapbook, to go with the one kiss they’d shared.
    “We’re two lovers on the brink, wooing each other. Waiting for the perfect moment, the right excuse to take that next step toward bliss.”
    “Is this really the kind of nonsense you spew at the legions of women you bed?”
    “Yes. With a very high success rate, I might add.” He scowled. “Now stop being Daphne, the constant mocker of my sexual conquests. You’re mucking up the mood.”
    “Sorry.”
    A heart-melting smile was her reward for compliance. “Be Daisy, the lovely and willing, who wants nothing more than to fall into my arms by the end of the evening.”
    She might have sucked at playing a toothbrush, but Daphne would have no trouble finding the motivation for this role. “Okay.”
    Gib pulled out a chair for her.