Page 32 of Some Like It Scandalous
Where her comment was self-deprecating, his sent a thrill skating over her nerves. She bit her lip. They were close—too close—and the hunger she’d glimpsed in his gaze was back. An appetite she shared.
“You said something about food?” They needed to defuse this, right now.
“I did.” He leaned closer and inhaled a deep breath. “You showered.”
“I know, I’m a bit of a mess.” She pushed some of her hair back behind her ear. It fell in curls all around her shoulders. She didn’t have her straightener and she didn’t want to bother anyone. “And I should probably change.”
“No.” His gaze swept over her from head to toe. “I think you’re perfect.”
He started walking and she had to hold on to his shoulders. “But I’m in my pajamas.”
“So?” He navigated the hallway and down the three steps into the living room. “It’s just us and as you can see, you’re dressed perfectly.”
The coffee table boasted two large pizzas, a bottle of wine and two glasses. Three fat candles occupied each end table and the lights were dimmed. He deposited her on the sofa and pointed at the television. “It’s Wednesday—so it’s movie night.”
Movie night.
The one night a week they’d abandoned their studies, ordered in pizza and raided the mom and pop video store for the latest releases. They always watched by theme—whether that meant horror or romantic comedy. She bit her lip and glanced up at him. He hesitated—waiting.
Waiting for her to say no?
Did she even want to say no?
She slid forward and flipped open the boxes. Spinach and mushroom on alfredo sauce for her and pepperoni and sausage with red sauce for him. Her crust was thin. His crust was thick.
I can do this. We can do this.“What’s our theme?”
His expression softened and his smile grew. He slid off his shoes and started rolling up his sleeves as he joined her on the sofa. “Action-adventure.”
She burst out laughing. “Okay.” She grabbed the wineglasses and held them while he opened the bottle and filled each glass halfway—with white wine. White didn’t go with the red sauce, but she didn’t like reds—wine or sauce. So he’d always gone with white.
“To new adventures.” He held his glass up.
“And big explosions.” Their glasses clinked together and she took a swallow of the wine. Her stomach rumbled as he lifted upa piece and served it to her on a paper towel. She grinned and nudged him. “Fire it up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pointed the remote at the screen and the sound system echoed with the opening theme music. She leaned back and mirrored his pose, feet up, wineglass in one hand and pizza in the other.
Chapter 10
Armand
The next two days fell into a comfortable pattern. Anna peppered him with questions on safe topics—the foundation, their scheduled launch and the office installation on the fourteenth floor. They avoided the landmines—why she’d left, why he hadn’t told her the truth and how much he wanted to rip her clothes off. It worked for them. His security reported two phone calls made—one to Florida and another to the local police station. She’d checked on her ex-fiancés. Neither call lasted longer than five minutes. That she’d made them at all grated.
They ate breakfast together every morning, a silent vigil over coffee punctuated by rustling newspapers as she stole his Italian and French ones first each morning. Her language skills were rusty, but passable. Despite clearing his schedule, a dozen issues cropped up throughout the day that often needed his attention immediately. He hated being pulled away—even from the illusion of being together. Every night, when she headed off to her bedroom, he would brood.
Brood and consider following her. He always nixed the idea. Taking it slow seemed to be working—so slow it would stay. She didn’t pull away when he touched her, and she leanedagainst the back of his chair when he walked her through the spreadsheets for funding. Better still, she touched his arm when pointing out something or arguing her point.
It was all so very civilized—and familiar.
Armand increased the speed on the treadmill and ran faster. His morning runs in the Los Angeles canyons had long since been ixnayed by Peterson and his detail. Too many openings for someone to take a shot at him. The gym helped him curb the need for the run and running took the edge off his need for Anna.
But only barely.
Sweat trickled down his arms and his lungs burned. He pushed himself faster. He couldn’t outrun his past, he couldn’t outrun his title, so all he could do was burn off the frustration of having her within arm’s reach and not touching her.
The door behind him opened and he caught sight of the woman preoccupying his thoughts out of the corner of his eye. She walked in, dressed all in spandex and an oversized Yale sweatshirt. She tossed a towel onto the treadmill next to him and fired it up—to walk.
He forced a grin. “Warming up?”
