“So,” I said, voice light, teasing, “you’re really going to make me work for this evening, huh?”
She raised a brow, a slow, deliberate lift that was equal parts amusement and warning. “I’m working too,” she said. “You already know that.”
I grinned, leaning back, letting my gaze roam over her, memorizing her. “Working,” I repeated, mock solemn. “With that face? In Paris? Dangerous. Highly illegal.”
Her lips twitched. “You think flattery will get you a table-side smile?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But it’s worth trying.” I caught the tiniest edge of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Progress. Barely. But it was progress.
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped on her hands, and gave me a look that made me want to break every rule I had about being restrained. “So tell me,” she said, voice smooth, “what’s Dominic Walsh doing in Paris, exactly? You don’t travel continents for croissants.”
I shrugged, that easy, casual shrug that hid a thousand layers of thought. “Maybe I travel continents for the company.” I chose the words specifically and caught the flicker of reaction from her.
“You’re insufferable,” she said, but there was heat in her tone, a sparkle of mischief that had me wanting more.
“Not insufferable,” I corrected smoothly. “Tempting. Delicious. Dangerous. Terribly hard to resist.”
She rolled her eyes, the slightest, almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough to make me feel like I’d just won a small battle. “You have a problem with subtlety.”
“Subtlety,” I said, leaning closer, “is overrated. And I have no problem telling the truth when it comes to you.”
She laughed—a sound so light and teasing it made me ache. “The truth, huh? And what truth would that be?”
I leaned back, arms spread, deliberately relaxed, letting my gaze roam over her like a man surveying something he’d longed for but never quite owned. “That I want you,” I said flatly. “Completely. Every part. And that I’m not leaving until you let me show you exactly what that means.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, and for a second, I wondered if I’d gone too far. But then she tilted her head, that defiant, fearless tilt, and I realized she was waiting to see ifI’dback down.Not a chance Flash.
“Hmm, I thought you came for dinner,” she said, voice laced with amusement and challenge.
“I did,” I replied smoothly, “but dinner is better with dessert. You included.” My gaze met hers, and I kept it steady and confident. What she needed. What she craved. Even if I had to adopt a dangerous edge, because Rachel? She was never going to take the safe path.
She shook her head, a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaping her. “You are impossible.”
“And you, Rachel,” I said softly, leaning forward again, “are breathtakingly infuriating. A constant, delicious puzzle I can’t—and won’t—ignore.”
She laughed again, that low, melodic sound that made all the distance of the past few months vanish. I wanted to reach across and touch her. I wanted to take her hand and stroke her wrist to feel how fast her pulse raced. But I didn’t. Not yet.
Sitting across from her, I didn’t bother to pretend anything else in the restaurant could hold a candle to her. The glass in my hand paused halfway to my lips because I didn’t really need the drink. I just needed her.
Even seated, she possessed this quiet presence—which was vastly amusing when you took into account that Rachel was apowerhouse personality. Yet, in this moment, it was the graceful, long and lean length of her that captivated me. The elegant line of her neck that was exposed as she tilted her head to study me.
Her hair fell in loose, dark waves around her face, not pinned or arranged. More like she’d combed her fingers through it andcalled it good. Since I loved stroking my fingers into her hair, I could appreciate it.
Still, it was her face that completely undid me.
Her eyes held mine—deep, thoughtful, a little amused. She studied me and didn’t pretend anything else. The weight of all that focus rested on me and damn if I didn’t want to preen, just for her. She made me crazy.
The intelligence gleaming in those eyes dared me to try something. Of course, that would leave me open to the evisceration of her tongue. Granted that was fun too. But tonight, I just wanted to memorize how the light played over her hazel eyes, sometimes green, other times brown. The shade seemed as mercurial as she did.
More, it was the way her lashes lowered slightly when she smiled, the suggestion of her lips curving just before she nails me with a clever word. Then, when she did smile? It was always slow, and knowing, anddevastating. It turned up the corners of her mouth and transformed her lovely face into something utterly stunning.
I could almost survive all of that, but her laughter was my kryptonite. When she laughed, it was soft and unguarded, and hit me somewhere deep in my chest. Nothing I could do prevented me from grinning back at her.
“Dangerous,” she muttered, shaking her head, half-exasperated, half-admiring.
I smirked. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
The server arrived with our first course, and I let the interruption hang between us like a tease, like a promise. I watched her, memorized the way she picked up her fork, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed at something I’d said, and I knew—knew with every nerve ending—that I wasn’t just enjoying her company. I was consumed by it.
