“Gia said, patting the back of Tom’s hand. They sat in the rear of a cab heading uptown toward Jack’s place. Tom reached across and clasped her hand between both of his. “It was wonderful, wasn’t it. And you weren’t exaggerating about Noelle’s voice. Magnificent. But not as magnificent as the woman I shared the evening with.” Gia slipped her hand free and laughed. “Mah, mah, Mister Tom,” she said in a Southern-belle accent, “Ah declare, how you do go on.” Tom had to smile. She was good… maintain...ed a distance between them without bruising his feelings. Why was he so damn crazy about this woman? What was it about her that made him want to be her slave? Or babble like a fool? Christ, when he’d been sipping champagne at the intermission he’d launched into a discourse on how it’s usually a mixture of chardonnay, pinot noir, and pinot meunier, and how blanc de blanc was all chardonnay—blah-blah-blah until Gia’s eyes had started to glaze over. And with good reason: He’d sounded like a pedantic twit.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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