Page 47 of The Saint

“So, you’re all mine?” I asked in delight.

His bad attitude started to fade, and his smile grew. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“Ooh, what should we do?”

“What would you like to do?”

“Dinner would be nice,” I said. “Then maybe we can find a nice broom closet…”

Sometimes he wore this boyish grin that was such a turn-on. He was all man, but he had an infectious joy that was contagious. “You’re my kind of woman.”

11

BASTIEN

I hadn’t drunk like that in a long time. Even around dinnertime, I still felt the effects of all the rounds that kept coming to the table. It was the first time I felt like I was in my thirties instead of my twenties. I guessed I was getting older.

Fleur didn’t call me out on it, at least not directly. But she looked me over like she was worried about me. She sat across from me at the dinner table, wearing a low-cut top that showed her plump tits for me to enjoy. She took a drink of her wine as she looked at her menu.

I’d ordered wine even though I would have preferred to have water tonight, but I was too proud to admit that all the vodka had nearly knocked me off my feet last night. Vodka had always fucked me up differently than everything else.

“What are you getting?” she asked.

“The steak.”

Her eyes flicked up to mine, and she looked like she was about to admonish me.

“I used to eat it every day. I can have it once in a while.”

She stared at me for a moment before she returned her attention to the menu.

“What about you, sweetheart?”

“It’s between the beet salad and the pasta.”

“Those options couldn’t be more opposite,” I said with a quiet chuckle. “Why don’t you get both?”

“I can’t eat both.”

“I think you can.” I’d seen her inhale a whole stack of pancakes first thing in the morning.

“If we really are going to end up in a broom closet, I should stick with the salad.”

I tried not to smirk. “It’s not going to make a difference.”

“But my stomach gets all puffy when I eat pasta.”

“I’ve never noticed.”

She looked at me over the top of her menu. “That’s very gentlemanly of you to say.”

The waitress came over to take our order. I ordered my steak rare. “She’ll have the pasta.”

Fleur shot me a small glare, but it was playful.

The waitress gathered the menus and left.

She rested her fingers on the stem of her wineglass and regarded me. “You’re so hot. I could look at you forever.”

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