A New Foundation by Rochelle Alers (philippa perry book txt) 📕

have been expressly tailored for his tall, slender physique. He looked and smelled delicious, and she wondered if he was wearing the cologne he’d been paid to endorse.

“Does it bother you if folks call you T.E. Wills?”

Taylor lowered his eyes. “No, because that is my past and that’s something I can’t erase.”

A slight smile parted her lips. Modeling may have been his past, but Taylor still had the ability to elicit gawking. “Viola told me you’re a structural engineer.”

He gave her a direct stare again as the corners of his mouth lifted in what passed for a half smile. “I am. And she told me you’re an architectural historian.”

Sonja nodded, smiling. “That I am,” she said proudly. “You design and build structures, while I write about the history of architecture, and help to restore and preserve historical buildings.”

“What made you decide to become a historian?”

She was preempted from answering as a waiter approached the table. He handed Taylor a binder. “Would you like to order a cocktail before I take your dining selections?”

Taylor accepted the binder containing a listing of wines and liquors. He was glad for the man’s interruption because it gave him time to concentrate on something other than his sister’s friend. Everything about her screamed sophistication—the shoulder-length dark brown wavy hair framing her round face, barely there makeup highlighting her best features and the pearl studs in her ears that matched the single strand around her long, graceful neck. He’d noticed men staring at her when she’d passed their tables and he was no exception. He didn’t know if it was the sensual sway of her hips as she walked, the way the vermilion sheath dress under a matching peplum jacket that hugged her curvy, petite body, or her full lips outlined in the same red shade. But it was her sexy mouth that had garnered his rapt attention. He knew staring at her was impolite, but it had taken all his self-control to lower his eyes.

Taylor glanced at the beverage selection before handing Sonja the binder. “Would you like me to order something for you from the bar?”

A beat passed. “Yes. I’d like a glass of Riesling.”

He signaled for the waiter standing a comfortable distance away from the table. He ordered Sonja’s Riesling and a merlot for himself. Taylor shifted his attention to Sonja, and he watched her as she studied the menu. He’d arrived at the restaurant earlier than his appointed time because he knew if he couldn’t find a parking spot close to The Cellar he would be forced to park in an indoor garage nearly a half mile away.

Taylor always looked forward to coming into Manhattan, and whenever he spent time in the city he chided himself for giving up the apartment in a Brooklyn brownstone to move to Stamford once he’d secured a position with the Connecticut-based engineering and architectural firm. The alternative had been taking the subway to Grand Central Station and then the Metro North to Stamford, and in the end he decided moving would offset having to spend close to ninety minutes, barring delays, each way commuting to and from work.

He’d grown up in Belleville, New Jersey, and it wasn’t until he was twelve that his father would occasionally take him into his Manhattan office. He would spend the time reading or staring out the skyscraper’s windows at the New York City skyline. Then he’d been too intimidated by the number of yellow taxis and pedestrians crowding streets and sidewalks to leave the office unaccompanied.

After he’d been accepted as an incoming freshman at New York University, he had fallen in love with the city that exposed him to people and neighborhoods he’d seen on television or read about in books and magazines. He hadn’t realized how cloistered his life had been up until that time.

“Do you come here often?” he asked Sonja as she studied her menu.

Her head popped up. “No. Whenever I eat out it’s usually in my neighborhood.”

“And where’s that?”

“Inwood.”

Taylor smiled. “Have you ever eaten at La Casa Del Mofongo?”

Sonja’s smile matched his, bringing his gaze to linger on her straight, white teeth. He’d warned his sister not to attempt to hook him up with any of her gal friends; however, Sonja definitely could have been the exception. Everything about her demeanor radiated poise—an attribute he looked for in a woman he found interesting.

“More times than I can count. My aunt and uncle eat there several times a month.” She paused. “So, how are you familiar with La Casa Del Mofongo?”

“I attended college with guys from different New York City neighborhoods, and on weekends we would take the subway uptown and occasionally into Brooklyn and Queens to eat at different restaurants. La Casa Del Mofongo became one of our favorites.”

“I try to go on weekdays because it’s always very crowded on weekends.”

Taylor angled his head. “How long have you lived in Inwood?” Culturally diverse in Upper Manhattan, Inwood was one of the most affordable neighborhoods in New York City’s most expensive boroughs. The few times he’d eaten at the restaurant he’d thoroughly enjoyed the delicious Caribbean-inspired dishes and live Latin music.

“Not long.”

When she did not indicate a timeline, Taylor decided to switch the conversation from personal to professional. “How was the showing at your gallery?”

Sonja’s expression brightened. “It was incredibly successful. We managed to sell everything on display.”

“What did you exhibit?”

“Silver and crystal pieces dating from 1625 to 1710.”

“Is it difficult for you to identify pieces of different styles and periods?” Taylor asked.

Sonja gave him a steady stare. “Not really. For example Derby porcelain was mostly unmarked until circa 1780. After that time to present day there are nearly thirty marks. However, some early pieces were marked only by a model number.”

Taylor angled his head, his eyes meeting Sonja’s. “My family owns a late-nineteenth-century mansion that was abandoned in the 1960s when the last Bainbridge died at the age of ninety-four. My father was the last surviving direct descendant of the original owner. He inherited