Russell leaned his head out, "Hullo, pretty lady - come on inside and have some champagne."

I climbed in, the chauffeur shut the door, and Russell pressed a crystal flute of bubbly into my hand almost before my backside hit the soft velvet upholstery of the seat beside him. I had toyed with sitting across from him, but his firm tug on my wrist had ended that speculation almost before it began. I smiled. He smiled back. "Cheers!" he said and tipped his glass into mine so they clinked musically.

"Cheers," I echoed him, and we sipped champagne together. It tickled my nose and I fought not to sneeze. Did big-time society folk and movie stars sneeze from champagne bubbles, I wondered? Probably not.

"Tickles the nose, doesn't it?" he wanted to know, grinning at me. Did he read minds, too?

"Yeah, um, it does," I admitted. "But I like it!"

He giggled, "That's the girl - the tickle is half the fun." We sipped a few more times. I felt myself getting a little tipsy - champagne on an empty stomach was probably not a good idea. "We're going to a really nice place for dinner," Russell informed me after I politely refused more wine. "Water instead, love?" He held up an icy blue bottle of Polar which I accepted. "I won't tell, don't worry," he teased me as I poured some into the now-empty flute.

"Where are we going for dinner?" I wanted to know. "Unless it's a secret, of course."

"Not a secret," he passed me a small cracker with caviar on it. "Just taste it - if you don't like it, I've got Skippy here too, see?" He held up a small jar of super chunky.

"Peanut butter?" I wondered, but I ate the caviar, which I already knew I liked. "Caviar is lovely, thanks anyway," I answered firmly after I had swallowed it and more water.

"Well, one never knows," Russell responded. He tucked the peanut butter jar back into the small hamper on the floor in front of him. "Let's see what else is in here," he muttered, rummaging a bit. He glanced up at me with a cute smile, "Hotel concierge packed it for me - I think she put in some surprises." His hand emerged holding a packet of fancy cookies, which he tossed aside, then a cellophane box of truffles. "Ah- hah, the good stuff." He solemnly undid the box and held it out to me. Inside were nestled half a dozen truffles so beautiful they could have been works of art instead of candy. "I promise you will love these - pick one, honey, and visit Heaven on earth."

"That good?" I asked, and bravely took the front center one - pink iced with drizzles of bittersweet chocolate and a dusting of white powdered sugar. It was red raspberry creme with chambord liqueur inside. Heaven, indeed. I sighed with every bite until the delectable treat was gone. Meanwhile, my partner was doing much the same with what turned out to be an orange truffle filled with Jaffa Orange liqueur. We grinned at one another and licked fingers unashamedly.

"That's what I like," Russell commented when we'd both subsided, grinning happily.

"What?"

"A woman not afraid to eat - especially candy - does my heart good not to have to watch you pick your way around your plate, luv, like you're afraid food will kill you."

My face went beet red while he grinned at my embarrassment.

"It's a compliment, Cali - don't be embarrassed about it." He sipped champagne and hunted through the picnic hamper, emerging with the fancy cookies again. "Biscuit?" he asked, one brow lifted in inquiry.

"No thanks, don't want to spoil my supper," I said. Mom would have been proud - I parroted her childhood admonishment of me perfectly.

"Nonsense," my date said, and placed a flakey cookie in my hand, "try that one - they've got hazelnuts in them."

I loved hazelnuts. Damn it. "Okay," I said, and obediently tried the cookie, which dissolved like fairy dust in my mouth, leaving behind the most delicate flavor of hazelnut I'd ever experienced. "Oh, my."

"Told ya," Russell said, and put everything back in the hamper. "Time for more of that later - we're almost there." Indeed, we were in a quiet neighborhood, which all at once I realized was a back entrance to the Bel Air Hotel. Before I knew it, we were inside a special electric gate, parking by a beautiful old bungalow, and I was being ushered inside, then out onto the small patio by some rose bushes that overlooked the swan pool. Seems we were dining al fresco at Russell's Bel Air Hotel bungalow.

Should I be alarmed?

Probably.

Was I alarmed, you might ask. Nope. I sat in the wrought iron chair he gallantly held for me, and decided to just go with what happened. After all, I reasoned, a man who had not only expensive champagne, elegant cookies and the best caviar and truffles I'd ever tasted in a picnic basket inside his limo probably had other great surprises in store. Like the jar of Skippy Super Chunk.

God knows, I thought, looking across the table at my smiling date as a discreetly hovering waiter made sure we had a memorable and very private dinner, Russell Crowe seemed to be one of a kind. I hated to miss what might come next.

It was full dark when we finished our dinner. The food was marvelous - tender filets mignons, mushrooms in wine sauce, tiny potatoes carved to look like ivory beads and served in browned butter, a salad of buttery Boston lettuce with raspberry vinaigrette - followed by small dishes of vanilla ice cream with bitter chocolate dripped on it and brandied fruit set alight so it burned with a blue flame while the ice cream stayed frozen. Amazing.

The stars were out overhead, and we both sat for a long time almost without speaking, sharing the patio, having it to ourselves now that the waiter had disappeared with the empty dishes. What a lovely evening, I thought to myself. I sighed and set down my now empty demitasse cup. "Did you like the coffee, luv?"

"It was lovely - everything was lovely," I answered honestly. Everything had been lovely - the food, the conversation, the music played softly from a cd player inside the bungalow - soft semi-classical instrumentals - and now, dance music. I grinned at Russell, "Begin the Beguine?"

"I like dancing," he shrugged, and got to his feet, "Would you care to trip the light fantastic, luv?" He held out a hand.

I took it, still smiling, "Of course - I love dancing too."

So we danced. "I had lessons, y'know," he said when I complimented him on a showy bit of business he did with a turn during our first dance.

"I can tell," I answered. His hand gripped mine firmly but without undue pressure, and his other hand was light on the small of my back. I was glad I had on a sundress with a somewhat floaty skirt - it made the dancing seem more special. When the music changed to something more bluesy and slow, I didn't hesitate and moved more closely into his arms.

His body pressed against mine from hip to collarbones, very male and warm, elegantly clad, but I knew the strength was right there, under the fancy clothes he wore for the evening, and I could smell his scent of sandalwood and vetiver, as heady as his personality - almost. With his barrel chest, big shoulders and arms, dancing with him cheek to cheek was quite an experience. I didn't want to move out of his arms any time soon, believe me.

"Having a good time?" he murmured in my ear after the dance ended and we were just standing there, swaying, to no music at all.

I could feel the beat of his heart near mine, and the warmth of his body. I was warm myself, and excited. I wondered where this was going - if it was going anywhere - and I have to confess, I was a little scared by all I had read about this particular man - I mean - would he suddenly turn into this ravening sexual beast he was often purported to be? I'd really seen no sign of that so far. Could he hide it so well?

"Wonderful," I remember to answer. I hoped I hadn't just been standing there like a lump while those thoughts rushed through me. I didn't want to be a total bumpkin.

"Me too," he agreed. He set me back a bit and we smiled at one another. He took off his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his black silk shirt. "You mind?"

I shook my head. I'd been surprised when he'd shown up with a necktie on in the first place, knowing his penchant for casual dress, even on otherwise formal occasions.

His tie went over the back of one of the chairs, followed by his jacket. He left the long sleeved shirt cuffs fastened - I could see the wink of gold as his cufflinks flashed in the light from inside the bungalow. "Let's go inside," he invited, holding one hand out to me. "It's almost time for the dew to fall - hate to get soaked."

I grabbed his coat and tie, which he found amusing, and followed him inside, my hand firmly held in his much larger one.

Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly. . .