“I don’t think my balls could take death by tabby again.”
Oh my God. Lady Lucinda’s. I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Liam. I’m sorry about that.”
“You didn’t look very sorry at the time. You know, clawscan do serious damage to equipment.” His tone was serious, but his eyes weren’t.
“Well, you handled it well. Must be all the military training.”
I could still remember the look on his face. Agony, poorly disguised as indifference. I felt a stab of regret for Liam’s testicles, but not enough that it could stop the laugh bubbling inside me.
“I really am sorry, Liam. Just, with the contract, and all the formality… I didn’t—”
“I know. I’mintimidating. Unless my bollocks are being used as a pin cushion.”
The laugh escaped and wouldn’t stop, and Liam started chuckling too. I looked down at my lap and waited for it to pass, although it seemed to have started leaking out of the corners of my eyes.
“Mmm,” I murmured. “Well. Shall we order some of this special cream? With strawberries or raspberries?”
“Let’s get one of each,” he suggested. “And maybe to start, one of those savory crepes and a toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich. Itislunchtime.”
“Very flash. I knew you being a billionaire would come in handy eventually.”
Liam stopped and looked at me, his eyes suddenly flat, like he wasn’t sure I was teasing.
“Sorry,” I said with a grin. “Actually, it’s my turn. I think I can spring for lunch.”
He exhaled. “You know, it does come in pretty handy, I’ll be honest. But even if I was skint, I wouldn’t let you pay for the date.”
Date?
“This isn’t a date, Liam.”Even if it felt exactly likeone.
“Right, of course not. Well. Shall I order?”
“Please. I’ll just nip to the toilet though.”
“Loo, Andrea, don’t forget your manners.”
“Right, sorry, theloo.” We both cracked up.
I headed to the back of the café. I needed a breather. We weren’t on adate, and we both knew that. It was just a slip of the tongue. It was fine.
When I got back, Liam was pointing at the menu and talking to the waiter. He rattled off a stream of French I couldn’t follow, then turned to me. “They don’t have any of the buckwheat crepes, but I thought you might prefer the other sort with ham, mushrooms, and cream. Is that okay?”
I nodded, and Liam turned back to him and continued. The waiter laughed lightly, said something else in French, and left.
I slid into my seat.
“Thanks for ordering,” I said. “I’m starving.”
“Me too. The ones we’re getting are better actually—ficelle picarde. They’re a local specialty.” He poured mineral water into my glass.
The way he said it, it sounded like he’d had them before.
Hang on. He’d just ordered lunch.
And that wasn’t clunky schoolboy French. He sounded completely fluent. His accent was flawless.
“Liam. You speak French.”
