Page 82 of Love Over Time

“No. The dinner is the date. Come on.” He slapped my ass.

I pushed myself off the bed and walked to the shower. The warm spray felt good on my skin after the long flight here. When Henry asked me out to dinner, I’d figured he’d take me somewhere nice in Phoenix.

Instead, he had the local travel agency book us a trip to Paris. I’d been made that offer many times before, but I could never say yes. It hurt too much to think what it could’ve been. This was the place where Henry and I had planned to run off to and live happily ever after. Even though it hadn’t happened for us when we were fifteen, coming here without him felt wrong.

Months ago when Lisa asked me to go see her, I had planned to move here, to a little pied-à-terre I got from Cole for getting him his company back. Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d end up here with Henry. After all this time, we’d finally made it to Paris.

“Car will be here in thirty minutes.” Henry knocked on the bathroom door twice.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be ready in an hour.” He groaned, and I laughed. “God, you’re bossy when you leave the States. Anything else I should know about you?”

What was his deal? It wasn’t like we hadn’t had a meal together before. I shut off the water and wrapped myself in a white fluffy towel. Henry had put his foot down when I told him we could stay in Cole’s apartment. Not only had he said we wouldn’t stay there, but he’d also made me promise I’d return all the spoils from my last con—the apartment and the money. If I hadn’t been in the middle of a life-changing orgasm, I never would’ve agreed. God, the man knew how to work me.

I opened the door to let the steam out and applied my makeup as fast as I could before I blow-dried my hair. A nervous energy bubbled in my stomach as I got dressed. Henry and I weren’t the dating type. I’d already moved into Cavalier Manor. We were really as good as married. So why was I nervous?

Sitting on the bed, I put on my high heels, planting both feet on the taupe carpet before I pulled on the zipper to close the ankle of the shoes. Outside the bedroom, Henry paced in the living area, his jacket unbuttoned, both hands stuffed in the pockets of his dress pants. Even after all the years he’d spent without his family’s money, he still had that polished look about him. That was something he’d been born with, not something money bought for him, just like his kind nature and big heart. He spun for yet another round of pacing across the room, and stopped, mouth slightly open. I lived for that look on his face. The look that told me he thought I was beautiful, that he loved me.

He cleared his throat, sauntering toward me. “You look amazing.”

“Let’s go. We don’t want to be late, right?” I swallowed. If he kept looking at me like that, we were going to miss our first date.

“They can wait.” He kissed my neck.

I pushed at him. “You got me out of bed. Now we’re going.”

“Right. The car’s waiting.” He offered me his arm, and I took it.

Outside the Shangri-La Hotel, a black sedan waited for us. I climbed into the car, smiling. How did I ever con this man into thinking I deserved all this? This fairy tale.

The car rolled a few feet before it stopped again on the roundabout. The insane traffic had us going ten miles an hour. Henry shifted in his seat again.

I reached over and covered his hand with mine. “Are you nervous?”

“Me? No. Why?”

“You keep looking at your watch.”

“I just don’t want to be late.” He shrugged. “Reservations aren’t easy to come by.”

With a loud clank, a massive crane came to a halt a few cars in front of us. Pressing my lips together, I rolled down the window. A gentle breeze brushed my cheek and hair, and I sat back, beaming.

“What is it?” Henry squeezed my hand tighter.

“Looks like the street is under construction.”

He groaned again and said something to the driver in French before he turned to me. “What a nightmare. We’re going to be late.”

Grinning, I brought my hand up to my lips. “If you want, I can get out of the car and see if they’ll let us through.”

“What?” He furrowed his brows for a moment and then sat back, smiling. “No, thank you. I’m well aware of your Nikki Swift methods. Not tonight.”

He addressed the driver again, who nodded in response and laid on the horn. When the cars didn’t move, he turned the wheel and jumped the curb to take a small side street. Henry’s methods were improving. Maybe Nikki Swift was rubbing off on him. Because, let’s face it, I might be retired, but I was still a thief.

On the third turn, the driver stopped in front of the Trocadero Gardens. “This will have to do,” Henry said before giving the driver more instructions.

“You’re here with me. This is all I need.” I climbed out of the car.

Henry caught up to me. His face had turned a little red, and drops of sweat had formed along his hairline. “Would you like a drink?”

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