“We’re working on this from our side, too, asking our contacts at the Pentagon to put pressure on Dhaka.”
“I won’t give up and go home.” She looked up at him, frustration on her face. “Naing is a criminal. Hemustbe brought to justice. If you’d read the reports I’ve read…”
“We got a briefing. No one is giving up. We’ll work it out.” He couldn’t explain what came out of his mouth next. “Why don’t we talk about it over dinner?”
What the hell? Had he just asked a client for a date?
Of course, not! That would be out of bounds and get him fired. No, this was business. Right. Sure. Business.
“I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, and then we can order whatever you want and talk through our plan for tomorrow.”
She nodded. “What time?”
Shanti spreadher napkin in her lap while Connor poured the pinot grigio. There was no reason for her to feel nervous. This wasn’t a date. The fact that she had changed into a little black dress, fussed with her makeup, and put her hair in a perfect messy bun didn’t make it a date. It was just dinner with the tall and incredibly attractive man who led her security team, a chance for them to get to know each other like disinterested business associates often did.
He wore jeans with a gray button-down shirt that he’d left untucked, its color somehow making his eyes seem bluer. “Tell me what we’re eating.”
“This ischingri malai—a seafood curry—and this isilishmacher jhol—hilsa curry, our national dish. Hilsa is a fish like herring. The fish is marinated in turmeric and chili paste and fried in mustard gravy, so it can be pretty spicy.”
He smiled. “Is that a warning?”
Oh, that smile.
It transformed his face from serious and rugged to seriously sexy.
Was it hot in here?
“You can take it any way you like. I thought you could try a bit of each and decide which one you like more.”
“Good idea.”
Shanti served him a little of each dish, along with rice and naan, and took a bit of both for herself, waiting for him to take his first bite.
He tried the hilsa curry first, moaned, the sound sending a shiver through her. “Oh, that is good.”
“Not too hot?”
“I eat raw jalapeño peppers, so, no, not too hot.” He took another bite then tried thechingri malaiand moaned again. “Mmm. This is fantastic.”
More shivers.
“I’m so glad you like it.” She took a bite of the hilsa, the tastes of turmeric, chili paste, curry, and mustard bright on her tongue.
“Is this the food you grew up with?”
She nodded, dabbed her lips, finding it hard to maintain eye contact. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel flustered. “Yes, though I ate my share of pizza, too. There’s an Indian restaurant in Ithaca that we went to a lot. The service is awful, but the curries are delicious.”
“You told Khan that your grandparents objected to your parents getting married. That must have been tough for them.”
“Especially for my mother.” Shanti told Connor how her grandmother had prayed every day for her mother’s death. “It finally stopped when my mother became pregnant with me.”
“Seriously? She prayed for your mother’s death?”
Shanti couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked look on his face. “Yes. Then I came along. My grandmother was desperate to have grandchildren again after… My mother was always very gracious to her, and they pretended to get along for the sake of the rest of us after that. Enough about that. Where did you grow up?”
“A tiny farm town called Ault in Colorado. My parents grow corn and raise chickens there. I spent a lot of time outdoors and learned to work hard when I was young. It was a good way to grow up.”
Unable to eat another bite, Shanti dabbed her lips and set her napkin aside, leaving the rest for Connor. “Why did you go into the military?”