President and CEO.

“You run the company,” she said, trying not to panic. Of course he did. Why would that change anything?

“For a few years now.”

She raised her gaze to his face. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

The waiter interrupted them when he handed Sam his credit card and a receipt to sign.

When Sam had finished, he glanced at her. “Have I converted you to Wild Sea wines?”

She chuckled. “Unlikely. I’m not sure I’ve had Wild Sea Cab before. It was actually pretty good. Not that I’ll tell my grandfather.”

“He would probably want to cut you out of his will.”

“That or throw me out of the family.”

Sam tucked the receipt into his jacket pocket, rose, and moved behind her. As she stood, he pulled the chair away, then settled a hand on the small of her back.

She felt the heat of his palm and fingers all the way through to her skin, and found herself fighting the instinctive urge to step closer.

Surfer valet met them by the courtyard. He gave Sam a quick salute and pointed down the street. Francesca followed the direction and saw her truck parked behind a gleaming silver sedan. Sam held out his free hand, and the valet dropped two set of keys into them.

“He’s not going to get the cars?” she asked, confused by the circumstances.

Sam handed her the truck’s keys and slipped the others into his jacket pocket.

“I arranged for our cars to be brought around and parked down there.”

“Why?”

“It’s more private. It’s not as if I want an audience when I kiss you good night.”

3

Francesca told herself that a man with a plan was a good thing. She should applaud Sam’s sensible nature. Instead she suddenly felt awkward, nervous, clumsy, and just a little tingly. The odd combination of apprehension and anticipation did not sit well on her baked chicken entrée.