"Cole, I don't think . . ." Her voice trailed off as she encountered another of his amused smiles.
"Don't be a chicken, Elinor."
She fought the sudden urge to fidget. Somehow, that lowered, velvet voice of his always slipped through her defenses.
They traveled down a bumpy dirt road, heavily shaded with oak trees, and turned at last into a long-abandoned drive.
"The Lanier place?" she questioned. "We're having lunch here? No, wait. Don't tell me. You've already sold some of the property to McDonald's."
Cole chuckled as he turned off onto a rutted trail that ran along the river. "No, my dear. It's worse than that." He brought the car to a stop several yards from the river.
Elinor opened her door and climbed out, taking a deep breath of fresh spring air, her eyes roaming over the ever-soothing landscape.
Long ago, this part of the property had been the gardens surrounding a small plantation home. The house, a victim of fire, was no longer there. But the gardens still bloomed with azalea, crepe myrtles, and camellias, making the air soft with scent. This spot had been Elinor's Eden since she'd moved to Bayville.
"It's glorious, isn't it?" Cole called out as he slammed the trunk. He came to where she stood. "The perfect spot for a classic picnic."
"Picnic?" Elinor glanced away from the river to find him spreading a thick blanket under a huge live oak. A large covered basket sat on the ground next to him.
"Yes, madam," he replied with a proper British accent as he pulled a linen tablecloth out of the basket with a flourish. "We have everything required for the occasion. Delicacies for the lady's palate, appropriate dinnerware," he enumerated, placing china and matching cutlery on the tablecloth. "Even crystal goblets for the nonalcoholic wine."
"Nonalcoholic wine?"
A glinting smile lit his face. "Of course. We wouldn't want you to say I seduced your vote," he stressed the last word, "by unchivalrous means."
At this point, it wasn't her vote she was worrying about being seduced.
"How principled of you," Elinor commented as she sat down on the blanket, succumbing to the lure of the setting.
"I am nothing if not principled," Cole declared as he set out covered crystal dishes.
Elinor's mouth watered at the delicious smells emanating from them. "Since I'm about to eat your food," she commented, beginning to serve herself, "I'll let that pass unchallenged."
"How gracious of you," he remarked, a bite of pate halfway to his mouth.
They ate in silence, the only sounds provided by the clinking of cutlery and the nasal-toned hum of bumblebees pillaging nearby azaleas.
The nonalcoholic wine turned out to be a sparkling apple cider served in tulip-shaped flutes. With the headiness she felt whenever Cole was near, not to mention the romantic setting, the addition of real wine humming through her veins would have been truly dangerous.
She rested her plate in her lap, the edge now taken off her hunger. "This is such a beautiful spot. I can't see how you could want to destroy it."
"Elinor," Cole replied, patiently, "have you read any of the prospectus I gave you?"
"Some," she evaded, lifting a last bite from her plate before setting it aside.
"Well, you can't have gotten very far in it," he said, "or you'd realize that my plant wouldn't destroy this place."
Warmed by the afternoon sun that filtered through the trees, she began to take off her suit coat. "Any large construction project would do damage," she argued.
Cole leaned over to ease the jacket down her arms. "That's true. Some of the trees would have to be cut down." He put up a hand to stop her protest. "But none of the really big ones down here by the river."
"Still, you admit that your plant would drastically change this site." She felt cooler now in her white cotton blouse.
"Of course," he acknowledged. "But change isn't always a bad thing. When you read the rest of the prospectus you'll see that we have environmental consultants to ensure that the ecology of the river life will be undamaged."
When she remained silent, he went on. "The plant will be located in the area that requires the least destruction of the grounds. And we plan to add to the natural flora to enhance the area."
"It all sounds good," Elinor conceded grudgingly. "And I accept that you'd do everything you could to avoid a toxic spillage, but you can't protect against human error. If there's a plant here, there is a possibility of environmental damage."
"That's true," Cole admitted. "But the kind of damage you're worried about is related to the more volatile plastics production plants. My business involves the processing of recycled plastics. It's a different scenario altogether."
Elinor sighed. He made it all sound so good. When she looked into his blue eyes, she wanted to believe him. Heck, she wanted to help him build the thing, a definite clue to loss of objectivity.
As if sensing her weakening, Cole leaned nearer. "There's also something else in the prospectus that I think you'll like."
The soft warmth of his cologne drifted up to her along with the breeze from the river. "What's that?" she asked, her voice feeling strangled.
"A college fund for the children of the plant employees."
"Really." She straightened up with a frown. "I don't remember reading about that."
"You haven't gone far enough." A lazy smile curled his mouth as he lay back on the blanket.
"Oh." Feeling a sudden need for activity, she began gathering their discarded plates.
"We're also committing to a yearly contribution to the Bayville school system," Cole added, a sensual smile lurking in his somnolent eyes as if he knew the chaos he stimulated in her.
"That sounds really good." For some reason, she felt breathless, as if the air by the river had suddenly heated.
"I thought you'd be pleased."
Elinor glanced at him sharply, not fooled by his meek tone. The man was too used to winning. She thought briefly about maintaining her hard line against the plant, just to spite him. But it might not be in the town's best interest. As things were unfolding, Cole Whittier might just be the best thing that had ever happened to Bayville.