“This woman got you to do that?” Dev asked.

  “Not only that, but I’m singing.”

  “That’s great. You have a fabulous voice.”

  “Singing in the men’s room at the United Nations.”

  Dev chortled some, no doubt choking back real laughter. “Were the acoustics good?”

  “I wish you’d take this seriously.”

  “I am.” Snicker, snicker. “Really.”

  “I sang a bit in a cafe, too, with lots of people around. I told Casey I’m a singer.”

  Dev stopped laughing. “She doesn’t know who you are?”

  Kurt got up, went to the coffee pot, and pushed the on button. He’d filled it the night before, the way he always did. Then, Casey had called and turned his world on its head.

  “I don’t want her to think of me as a prince with a lot of money.” He almost added he wanted her to fall for him because of who he was, not what he had. Falling for each other was premature, even if the lovemaking sizzled.

  “I understand,” Dev said. “I was the same with Felice.”

  The water in the coffeepot gurgled and hissed, and the smell of French roast filled the air. With his free hand, Kurt reached into the cupboard and got out a mug.

  “Do you think it’s all right if I continue to fool her about my identity?” he asked.

  “If it’s just a fling, sure,” Dev answered. “If it becomes more serious…”

  “It won’t. We’re badly matched.”

  “Then, how do you know the sex will be worth the trouble?” Dev asked.

  “It already was,” he said. “That is, we already have, in a way of speaking. Not in person.”

  “How do you have sex not in person?”

  “Over the telephone.” Lord, his cheeks heated to burning. “Talking to each other.”

  “You had phone sex?” Dev said. “Honey, Kurt had phone sex with this woman.”

  “Really?” Felice said in the background. “Kurt?”

  “All right, both of you. You tell no one about this.”

  “Not even Ulrich? He’d love it,” Dev said.

  “Especially not Ulrich. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for him laughing himself sick.”

  “I think I like this woman. She’s what you need to unwind and have some fun.”

  Kurt poured himself come coffee. “I have fun.”

  “Right. Dinner with the Minister for Eastern European pigs?”

  “Rural Development,” he said. “And it’s goats.”

  “Want some advice?” Dev said.

  Kurt took a sip of his coffee. “That’s why I called.”

  “Get some rest, and tonight, have lots of condoms within reach.”

  “I have condoms,” Kurt said. “As you said, I’m not a hermit.”

  “Good, brother. Enjoy yourself. If things work out, tell her who you are and bring her home. I have to meet this woman.”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”

  “Bodice-ripper covers. Singing in men’s rooms.” Dev chuckled again. “You’re in for quite a ride.”

  Chapter Four

  The next time Casey saw Kurt, he wore slacks and a casual shirt. The pants had a neat crease to them, though, and the shirt looked as if it had seen an iron, too. Not exactly relaxed the way most people understood it.

  Come to think of it, yesterday he’d had on a very formal and, to all appearances, very expensive suit. What kind of singer walked around in clothes like that? Must be a German thing.

  While she’d been contemplating all that and, frankly, drinking in the sight of him with his broad shoulders, flat abs, and glowing dark skin, he’d been standing in the hallway outside Phil’s apartment.

  “Is this the right time?” he asked. “Should I go away and come back later?”

  “Perfect time.” She took his arm and pulled him inside. “Wait right here while I get my purse.”

  He did as she asked with an uncomfortable smile on his face. That made sense, given how they’d said good-night to each other the evening before. Her own stomach had more than a few butterflies in it as she went to the couch where she’d laid out her things so they could escape Phil easily. The man had gone into the kitchen to get a beer, and if the date gods smiled on her and Kurt, they could be gone before Phil came back out.

  She grabbed her purse and jacket. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught Kurt checking out her ass. From the intent expression on his face, he liked what he saw. Good. With any luck, she’d get another view of his tight behind.

  Just as she straightened, her luck went south as Phil emerged from the hallway to the kitchen. He eyed Kurt from top to bottom, sizing him up. Given that Kurt was at least as tall as Phil, Phil lost that contest.

  “Can I help you?” Phil asked, as though Kurt had wandered into the wrong place.

  “I’m waiting for Casey.”

  Phil took a wide stance, making himself large for any testosterone competition. So predictable.

  “We don’t need your help, Phil. We’re going out.” Casey went to Kurt and wiggled her fingers toward Phil in a good-bye.

  “What do you mean ‘going out’?” Phil said.

  “We have a date,” Casey said. “You’ve heard of them.”

  “It’s a work day tomorrow,” Phil said. “You’ll need to get enough sleep.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Casey planted her fists on her hips. “Today’s Friday.”

  “Well…I might need you,” Phil said.

  “Oh yeah?” she said. “You want to pay me overtime?”

  Kurt had remained quiet through the exchange, but that didn’t mean his posture couldn’t do his talking for him. Normally polite to the point of shyness, Kurt had taken on the air of her protector. He gazed at Phil evenly and put his arm around her.

  Phil’s shoulders eased down an inch or two, the male display apparently over, at least for now. “Well, that’s nice. Where you going?”

  “Dinner,” Kurt said.

  “A movie,” Casey said at exactly the same moment.

  “Dinner and a movie,” Kurt corrected.

  “Uh-huh.” Phil took a swig of his beer. “Which one?”

  “What is this, the Inquisition?” Casey said. “We haven’t decided yet.”

  “Take good care of her and get her home early...say what is your name?” Phil said.

  “I’m sorry,” Casey said. “Kurt, this is Phil Comstock. Phil, Kurt…”

  “Schmidt,” Kurt supplied quickly. Even Phil was smart enough to pick up on the fact that she hadn’t known Kurt’s last name. Oh, well…nothing to do about that now.

  “Good to meet you,” Phil said.

  Neither man extended a hand. Kurt just pulled Casey closer to him. “And you.”

  “Casey’s father is in Wichita, so I feel kind of protective of her,” Phil said.

  It took all of Casey’s self-control not to roll her eyes. Phil acting as her father? More like her zoo keeper.

  “I’ll get her home safe and sound.” Kurt pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Ready to go, Liebchen?”

  “Sure Sachertorte.” She’d probably just called Kurt a dessert, but it sounded sweet and German. “Bye, Phil.”

  Ever the old-world gentleman, Kurt opened the door for her and kept his hand at the small of her back as he guided her into the hallway. She did her best not to giggle as they went to the elevator. German endearments, for crissake.

  “We laid it on a little thick back there,” she said.

  “Do you mind if I ask what the extent of your relationship is with him?”

  “He’s the pain in the butt I work for,” she said. “End of story.”

  The doors whished open, and they stepped into the small space. In here, Kurt made an even more impressive figure, taking up all the room and much of the air. She could scarcely catch her breath, and what she did get was pleasantly laced with the scent of shaving soap. His chin didn’t show any stubble of beard, although men went for the grungy look these days—as if they oozed hormones they couldn’t control. She’d never had an opinion on the matter one way or another before. Kurt changed all that. Smooth it was.

  “He seemed quite possessive of you,” he said.

  “Hm?”

  “Your boss.”

  “Phil would act possessive about his fax machine, too, if someone tried to take it away,” she said.

  “Does he think I’m trying to take you away?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows what goes on in his head other than lurid detective novels?”

  “If he thinks of you as a fax machine, he’s a fool.” For the first time, Kurt’s tone held the promise of more of what they’d shared the night before. His gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes taking on a decidedly hungry look. They both knew the purpose of this date. She’d happily start the magic in an elevator if it weren’t for the fact that they’d reach the first floor in a matter of seconds.

  And that they did as the doors opened into the marble, brass, and hardwood lobby. He stopped, took her jacket from her arms, and helped her into it. The royal treatment. She could get used to it.

  “Aren’t you wearing a coat?” she asked. “It could get cold.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” he answered. “I’m rather warm-blooded.”

  She could take that remark in any number of directions, such as “hot damn,” or “I’ll say,” or “Let’s see just how warm blooded.” Luckily, she didn’t, because he blushed in response to his own remark.

  “That is to say—” he said.

  “—you’re comfortable in cool weather.”

  “Exactly.”

  His shyness was endearing, to tell you the truth, except that it pulled the same reaction from her. They stood for a moment in silence, as if neither of them knew what to do. With someone else, she might have said, “Your place or mine?” but that wouldn’t feel right with Kurt.

  “Where would you like to eat?” he asked after a moment.

  So, they really were going to have a date, not just a hook-up. “Anywhere. I like everything.”

  “There’s a small bistro near here. Let’s walk, shall we?”

  “All right.” That gave them something to do besides stand and stare at each other, as they left the lobby and headed down the street. The air had chilled, but he didn’t seem to notice. They walked close enough for their elbows to touch from time to time. Unless she’d misunderstood something pretty dramatically, she’d end up in bed with this man within a matter of hours, but still, he made no move. Interesting.

  After crossing the street, they came on what he called a “small bistro.” The French restaurant wasn’t big, for sure, but it had a huge reputation for fabulous food and outrageous checks. She glanced up at Kurt. “Marcel?”

  “You’ve heard of it?” he said.

  “Everyone has. It’s…” Not knowing his means, she’d be rude to assume he couldn’t afford the place. Still, who made that kind of money singing?

  “The food’s good. Let’s go in.” He opened the door for her and, again, put his palm at the small of her back. The perfect escort.

  The interior felt cozy with its understated elegance. The maître d’ took them to a table immediately, seating them in a corner by a window. The man then handed them the prix fixe menu—not a list to choose from but the description of what the chef would serve them. It all made her mouth water until she got to the figure at the bottom and her jaw almost hit the table.

  She managed to suppress a “holy shit.” Because she didn’t know Kurt well enough to call him nuts for spending that much money on one meal, all she could do is glance up at him. “Are you sure?”

  He smiled, removed his napkin from its ring and shook it out. “Completely sure. You’re worth it.”

  One could read that to mean the enjoyment of her body was worth the price on the menu. Not very flattering, except for the fact that the price was so damned high. On the other hand, if he simply meant she deserved the royal treatment, she could live with that. He’d acted that way all evening, and he sat across the table from her with an innocent smile on his face.

  When the first course arrived, all thoughts of his motives for bringing her here flew right out of her head. She hadn’t seen much really good caviar in her life, but a couple of ounces of the stuff appeared on her plate, sitting on toast points. The waiter poured some wine and disappeared.

  “Fish eggs,” Kurt said. “I hope you like it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Casey took a small bite. You didn’t wolf down caviar like this. The little pearls exploded on her tongue, and she nearly melted with pure pleasure.

  Then the obvious hit her. He’d melted her with his words the night before. Tonight, he’d do it with food. He’d seduce all her senses. As soon as she figured out what she’d done to deserve this treatment, she do it again and again and again.

  He leaned toward her. “That’s incredibly sexy, you know.”

  She nearly choked on her wine. “What is?”

  “Watching you eat.”

  “Really?” She took another bite and this time ran her tongue over her bottom lip. They’d done this in an old movie, hadn’t they? With Kurt’s face not far from her own and his gaze focused on her mouth, she wasn’t likely to concentrate on much of anything from the outside world, let alone films made before she was born.

  They finished their caviar and scarcely looked at anything but each other as the waiter came with the next course. Something equally delicious involving tiny vegetables and a perfectly seasoned sauce. With each serving on the small side, she finished it quickly and picked up her wine so she could look over the rim at Kurt.

  “Last night.” He toyed with the stem of his wine glass, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. “I want you to know I’ve never done that sort of thing.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “That makes us virgins, in a way, wouldn’t you say?”

  She had to laugh at that. Though she hadn’t had many lovers, she hadn’t thought of herself as a virgin for years. Certainly, a man who looked like him had had lots of feminine attention.

  “I didn’t think the first time could be that good,” she said. Good Lord, was she really having this conversation? When had she become so self-assured with an attractive man?

  She could have a lot of first times with this man. First time to share a meal that cost as much as a fancy pair of shoes. First time to have sex with a man she’d met the day before. First time for Liebchen and whatever he’d shout in German at the ultimate moment. Her skin heated at the thought, and she fanned herself with her fingers.

  “Are you…” He stopped, probably because his next word would have been “hot.” “...uncomfortable?”

  “Fine.” She quickly took a sip of her wine. If the waiter kept bringing courses...and he no doubt would…things were definitely going to get tense. Dinner was lovely. Probably the best meal she’d eat in her entire life, and she’d get through it. Sitting next to him in a dark theatre for the length of a movie would drive her crazy. Lord knew she was halfway there already.

  “So, where in Germany do you come from?” she asked.

  “Your family’s in Wichita?” he said at the same time.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said.

  “My fault. Please go on.”

  “I just wondered…”

  The waiter ended that tribute to awkwardness, bringing a meat course. A medallion of something dark surrounded by a reduction sauce and the smallest carrots she’d ever seen.

  “Wichita,” he said.

  “My dad has a car dealership, and my mother’s a stay-at-home mom.” Her knife sliced through the meat like butter, and when she ate a bite, she almost groaned with enjoyment.

  “Traditional.” Kurt poured a red wine the waiter had left behind. “Is that what you want for yourself?”

  The wine matched the meat perfectly, and she savored it before answering. “Maybe. It depends.”

  “On what?”

  On the man she married, if she ever found the right one. At this exact moment, she could picture herself greeting Kurt at the door with his slippers wearing nothing but an apron.

  “Lots of things,” she answered. “What part of Germany are you from?”

  “The east. A small village. You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

  “Try me.”

  That seemed to take him aback as he straightened, putting some distance between them. “Do you know Deutschland?”

  “That’s German for Germany, right?”

  “Right.” He relaxed again. “Neuhauptstadt.”

  Or something like that. Because she didn’t speak the language, she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure what he’d said. It sounded good.

  “What does your family do?” she asked.

  “Goat cheese. My family’s made goat cheese for generations.”

  “Fascinating,” she said. At least, it got her mind off the kisses they’d shared the day before and how they wouldn’t have an audience tonight.

  “You wouldn’t believe,” he said. “Different breeds of goats, different diets. Buttercups, for example.”

  “And clover, I imagine,” she said.

  “All very important.”

  Never having met a goatherd or cheese maker, she couldn’t say for certain that Kurt didn’t fit the mold. Despite his shyness, he seemed sophisticated. Comfortable in an expensive business suit and at ease in the big city. Who knew? Maybe there was money in goat cheese.

  “Did you have any idea what movie you’d like to see?” he asked.

  So, he really was making this into a real date. That would charm her if she hadn’t planned on getting vertical with him as the main attraction. She could wait if she had to, but really, why would she have to?

  She reached down into her inner store of courage. Or nerve, as the case might be. “Do you like old movies?”

  “Very much.”

  “Then, how about Casablanca?” she said. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

  “Play it, Sam,” he said in a not half bad Bogart impression for a guy with a German accent. “Do you know where Casablanca’s showing?”

  “At my apartment. I have it on disk.”