Page 44 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
He shrugged. “Of course. Hearing you laugh is my new favorite thing. Besides, I can always throw a napkin over the fish’s face if it gets to be too much for me.”
She leaned closer, resting her wineglass next to his arm. The moment sizzled with intimacy, and he leaned in too, meeting her warm gaze.
“Dean, I’m really glad we’re getting together like this. Every time we do, I forget about the heaviness on my mind and find myself laughing. I just wanted you to know.”
He knew this was a good moment to slide his hand across the table and see if she’d take it. When she did, he tried to hold back a downright jolly grin. Her hand was soft to the touch, her fingers a delicate line of bone and dexterity that ended with plain but buffed nails. He caressed the back of her hand. She held his gaze, using her thumb to tangle with his. Yeah, she liked him. Hot damn!
“So about the next date,” she said softly as the magical Seine ushered them on their way, even more magical than usual tonight. “Do you want to give me any hints?”
He turned her hand over, caressing the lines on her palm. He’d once had a woman in Chinatown read his palms. She’d told him the hands held many secrets. He wanted to know Jacqueline’s. “A hint… Well, it involves a beloved French national pastime.”
She pursed that gorgeous mouth of hers. “We have many.”
“Indeed you do.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly. “You’re just going to have to wonder. Which will involve thinking about me, something that seems only fair since I think aboutyouall the time.”
She looked down, her dark eyelashes casting lacelike shadows above the swell of her cheeks. “Then we will have to think of each other until the time comes, I suppose.”
The way she said it had blood pooling in parts he needed to stay chill tonight. He cleared his throat. “Have some more bread.”
She reached for a slice, but he said, “Allow me,” and lifted a piece to her mouth. She let him feed her a bite, all the while keeping their gazes locked. “Hong Kong has this great sweet bread called Pai Bao. Did you ever have it in San Francisco?”
He shook his head. “No. Tell me about Hong Kong.”
And she did exactly that as they finished their main course, moving on to a simple salad of leaves dressed in a vinaigrette before digging into the cheese plate. She told him about how some locals bemoaned the loss of the old Hong Kong due to the new towering buildings and endless buzz of bright lights and entertainment. Then there were the ever-evolving political changes. He found it interesting that she didn’t speak much about her job, and when he asked, she said it had been a good experience but she was ready for the next chapter. When he asked aboutthat,she demurred, saying it was a work in progress.
He took the cue and didn’t press despite how much he wanted to, not only for his roommates but for himself. Even if she didn’t want to work with them, he hoped she’d have reason enough to stay.
By the time dessert rolled around, a pear tart she simply gasped over, he was telling her about his malaise in San Francisco. Coming back to Paris was the best thing that had ever happened to him, he said, even if Nanine’s heart attack had been the cause. Although theLe Mondearticle hadn’t said much about the reason the restaurant had been damaged, Jacqueline didn’t press. The French understood the healthiness of a certain amount of reserve—and respected it.
Which was why he didn’t press Jacqueline for details about selling her family’s cave or the circumstances leading to Pierre being in that pet store again. Perhaps it was better to be discreet and keep the business from the personal for now.
When they finished dessert, they took their digestif out on deck—a wonderful new addition to his palate called Maury, which Jacqueline was only too happy to tell him about. When the sound of an accordion playing reached their ears, she cut herself off mid-sentence and glanced over to the bridge where the musician was likely playing. Dean almost shook his head. If the music hadn’t intruded, he wouldn’t have noticed they were moving on the river. His entire focus was fixed on Jacqueline and how beautiful she looked in the soft light on deck.
“It’s these moments that make me happy to be back in Paris,” she said with a pleasure that radiated from her. “Nowhere in the world has the kind of street music we do. Not even New Orleans, in my opinion.”
He took another sip. “I don’t have an opinion on this one, but I agree hearing street music is one of the best things about Paris. But then again, there are so many. Do you want to know what my favorite moment is right now?”
She leaned against the railing, and he thought about the note in his pocket about not letting her fall in the Seine. He tested the railing to make sure it was solid, because it would very much suck if it came loose.
“You were saying…” she said, the words like a whisper in the cool, dark night.
He stepped closer to her—not enough to cage her in, of course. You had to let the woman decide what came next. “My favorite thing right now is spending a romantic rendezvous with the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Her brow rose—a touch of amusement, a touch of heat, and a touch of disbelief. A look only a woman could pull off. He was a goner when she inched a sliver closer, and in that moment, he knew she was giving him the go-ahead.
He slowly lowered his head, watching her face to make sure she was still on board, and then he kissed her on the lips. He pulled back a few inches, feeling her breath against him, lingering over her, letting her know that he wanted to take this kiss one step further—and would, if only she would give him another hint.
She wet her lips, and his heart started to drum like a symphony’s percussion section as she cupped the back of his neck. This time he let her close the distance between them, and when she pressed her lips softly to his, he was lost. Everything but his drumming heart went quiet, and it was like the boat and time had frozen in place so the perfect moment could linger. Their mouths met, and he tasted the sweet wine on her lips, heard her breathing change, and felt the race of her pulse when he trailed his hand down her neck as he deepened the kiss.
When her hand touched his chest, the slightest of pressure, he eased back. Her gaze was heated, yes, but there was a touch of shock in her eyes. He understood. He’d never wanted that kiss to end.
She watched him as she lifted her glass to sip her digestif, and he had to give her points for not dropping it. He’d forgotten he was holding his until that very moment, and when he lifted his glass in a toast, he caught the hint of a satisfied smile.
Yeah, he imagined he had a pretty satisfied smile on his face too.
He pointed to the bridge as they passed under it, the music loud enough for him to make out the strands of Paris’ eternal theme song to his mind:“La Vie En Rose.”Yeah, it might be for tourists, but he still got a little dreamy when he heard it because it embodied Paris down to her soul.
“Care to dance?” he asked her, his voice an octave deeper after that mind-blowing kiss.
