Page 16 of Falling for Paris
The truth was, she didn’t want to leave. Not yet. And this was way too much chocolate, even for her.
“I would love to,” was an answer she did not expect.
He watched as she bustled about the kitchen, grabbing two plates on which she lathered a pretty swirl of caramel as backdrop. On it, Tori placed a sliver of the tart.
Looking adorably serious, a small line creased between her brows. He wanted to reach out and smooth it. And then she would sigh, maybe, and lean into him so he could get his fill of her honeyed scent.
Rafael slammed the fantasy shut along with all the other images that flooded his brain when she was close. Shut them in a sturdy box—a trunk even—impenetrable and solid. Then wrapped that lidded container in rope before throwing it into the River Seine never to be opened again.Au revoirinappropriate fantasies of honeyed skin and sweet lips.
He had expected their sexual tension to evaporate after she’d seen him helpless and delirious with pain. After all, disgust at his weakness was an understandable reaction. Maybe she hadn’t run away at the first instance of seeing his illness, but it would be inevitable.
Wasn’t that what history showed him?
Rafael had been dating Allison when the initial inklings of the pain began. When the illness took hold, it was swift. She had a front row seat to his decline. He had been grateful for her loyalty and, despite the physical challenges, believed the painful attacks would be manageable with effort and patience. The majority of people with Parsonage Turner Syndrome had symptoms disappear in time. But not Rafael. In fact, since being diagnosed with brachial neuritis two years ago, the attacks hadn’t lessened. He just got better at controlling the pain and anticipating the outcomes.
He knew he wasn’t what Allison signed up for. When Rafael could no longer function at celebrity culinary events—the scrutiny and pressure were too much for his nerves—the first signs of his girlfriend’s frustration showed through the cracks of fake smiles and curt responses. And when his arm was ravaged by the burns of his intolerable clumsiness and sheer stupidity, well, what did he think would happen? He couldn’t blame Allison for leaving.
You can’t expect this kind of sacrifice from anyone, Rafael. It’s too much.
The voice of his past echoed, shutting out the image of Victoria’s concerned eyes and gentle hands. The care of the woman in front of him was achingly beautiful because Rafael sensed, but could never trust, her sincerity.
She timidly placed her offering in front of him. He took a bite and focused on the flavors instead of on her irresistible mix of pride and shyness, defiance and reserve.
“Smooth. Balanced.” His voice was steady. It was impossible to look away from her doe-eyed anticipation. “You were right to keep the salted caramel with the crust. It provides just the right…” He struggled to find the word. “Contradiction. What matters, however, is whatyouthink.”
She took a bite and closed her eyes. “I’ve never had chocolate like this.”
“Yes, me too,” he said blandly and mostly to himself. She didn’t need to know that watching her enjoy food was his new favorite thing. She would be a delight to feed, wouldn’t she? So responsive, so enthusiastic, so—
“I, um, I bought your cookbook.” Her statement was a welcome interruption.
“Ah,” he said vaguely.
“Don’t you want to know which one?”
He shrugged, though it wasn’t from disinterest. If anything, he couldn’t help feeling smug. If there’s one thing he didn’t need to be insecure about, it was how well his cookbooks were received. He was proud of them, which reminded him of her earlier reprimand.
“I don’t want to be accused of having a superiority complex.”
“Maybe I don’t mind a superiority complex if it’s in a book.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip to capture a sliver of chocolate. The sheen on her lips made them look even fuller.
“I’ll remember that,” he croaked.
“Anyway, I haven’t decided how useful it is yet, so there’s no need to be flattered.” She hid her grin behind a sip of iced tea.
Her haughty reprimand, softened by a sweet tone, made him chuckle. Before he could stop himself, Rafael blurted out, “You do a lot of things to me, Tori, but flattery isn’t one of them.”
Tori sputtered on her drink. “Jesus, warn a woman when you come on to her like that.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” Rafael was asking a serious question. What the hell was he doing alone with this dangerously distracting woman? A student, of all things. A woman whose opinion of him meant more to Rafael than it should. Who also happened to live in another continent.
The thought reminded him of something he was curious about. He doubted there would be a better time to ask. “Why are you in Paris, Victoria? Why a cooking school? Why here and now?”
She sighed before taking another bite. He waited, enjoying the way her breasts moved as she wiggled in her seat. No rush on his end.
“I needed a change of pace.”
“Why here? Why now?”
