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He looked around and then peered out the window before he came back to me and raised his brows.
I chuckled.
He reached out to wrap his fingers around my ankle and gave it to me straight.
“I’m absolute shit at relationships.”
And again, that was a relief. The honesty, and that we shared that trait.
“My father was a cheat. My ex-husband was a cheat.”
“I know,” he said gently.
“I don’t know what it does to a man to see a woman he cares about suffer because of behavior like that, but you haven’t made a secret you’re struggling with processing it with your dad. I will say, that’s a one and done for me. I admire women who have that forgiveness in them. I tried it with François. I lost five years to that forgiveness when I should have been living my life without the heartache he brought into it. It’s a mistake I probably won’t make again.”
“I would not ever do that to you or any woman, darling,” Ian assured. “It’s my staying power you need to be warned about.”
I covered his hand on my ankle. “I might not have investigators like you do, but I’m hell on wheels with a Google search, babe. So that isn’t lost on me. Now I’m warning you, my mom was bitter, and I have some of that ingrained in me. Dad imploding our family. François making a fool of me and killing the love I had for him. Watching Lou fade and shine depending on whether Dad had a mistress or remembered he had a wife. You might think me plucky, but it’s the circumstances. Normally, I’m a resolute cynic.”
“So we’re both going in eyes open.”
“Yes. Eyes open.”
He stared at me.
I stared at him.
We kept doing this.
The longer we did, the more my nipples tingled.
Because this was happening. Really happening. The friendly and the flirty.
And I wanted it badly.
I also wanted to jump him, and I wanted that badly too, but the minute the thought entered my head, he whispered, “Tonight, after dinner, in the Conservatory. I want to kiss you first there.”
“Why?” I whispered back.
“Because I knew I wanted to fuck you when you said, ‘Mutual, I’m sure.’”
I smirked.
“Though it could have been your cleavage,” he admitted mock ruefully.
That made me laugh.
He continued, “And I knew you were interesting when you called me on my shit and took your sister’s back. But I knew I wanted to know you when you met me in the Conservatory.”
That was wonderfully romantic. Because it was, I felt elation.
But I fake pouted.
And gave in.
“Okay. After dinner then, I suppose.”
“Poor baby,” he murmured, pulling at my ankle until my leg was in his lap. Then he pulled at the other one. “Sexual frustration is hard on us all. I should know.”
