She lifts her glass, eyes me over the rim. Her tone is serious. “Are you?”
She truly seems to want an honest answer, not a flirty one, so I give her one. “No. I’m a realist, and realism dictates my feelings about relationships and the power of randomness.” Then I toss out one more knot in the fate skein. “I suppose true fate would have been if we were on the same flight back to Paris the next day.”
She laughs lightly, and I get the sense she appreciates that answer a lot. She takes a drink. “That seems highly unlikely.”
I shrug as I swallow some absinthe. “The crazy thing is I actually thought I saw you on the flight back to Paris. I took the mid-morning one the next day.”
Her eyes pop. She emits a small squeak. Her glass starts to slip from her fingers, and I dart to catch it before it falls. My fingers cover hers, and we hold it together. “Judging from your expression, I’m guessing you were indeed on the same flight. Wearing a blue shirt, lounging in first class. With these sexy-as-hell glasses on and your eyes closed.”
She takes a deep breath and is quiet as a cat as she whispers yes. We put down the glass.
“Third time’s a charm, then?”
“Seems it is,” she says, her voice still feathery.
I raise my own glass. “Forgive my manners. We ought to toast.”
“What are we toasting to?” she asks, recovering from her surprise.
I don’t speak right away. Instead, I stare into her rich brown eyes. Wait until I see a spark there. A hint of desire, so I know she feels the chemistry between us. It’s impossible not to feel it. It’s real, it’s crackling, and I’m not letting her get away from me this time.
“To fate.”
She arches a brow, lifting her glass. “To chance.”
We take drinks, then I lean closer as the music pulses louder. “I want to know how that tastes on your lips.”
“You’re forward.”
“I am. And since our friends are friends, it’s clearly fated that I kiss you senseless tonight.”
Setting down her glass, she wraps her hand around my forearm, and I like the way her fingers feel on me. “Christian, you’re literally the most handsome creature I’ve ever seen in my entire life, but you can’t possibly believe that.”
“Why not?”
“That’s such a romantic notion.”
“Who said anything about romance? Maybe I think we were fated to . . .” I move in closer as I tuck a strand of hair over her ear and finish the sentence with a whisper, “Fuck.”
She shudders, lifting her hand to her neck as if cupping the imprint of my touch as I pull away. She looks dazed, and that’s a most excellent look on her. “You smell like coconut,” I tell her.
“You’re spearmint and liquor.” Her eyes linger on my mouth. “It’s devastatingly enticing.”
“Let me devastate you in other ways.”
She shakes her head. “You’re too handsome. Too much.”
I’m undeterred. I want her. “Elise, come home with me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because my mind is a blur of absinthe and spearmint right now.” She raises a hand, brushes her fingers over my jaw, then cups the back of my head. I’m turned on beyond all reason. Brushing her lips over my cheek, she whispers, “And because you’ve wanted to kiss me for more than a year. Think how much better it would be if I let you have a little taste of me every now and then.” She steps away.
“You’re offering me a third date? Because let’s be honest—this is almost like a second date, and you have seen me naked.”
She laughs. “This is barely a first date, and only by chance. Maybe buy me dinner, and then you’ll know how my lips taste.”
“In that case, I know a little bistro around the corner that could rustle up something if I make a reservation for, say, eleven thirty tonight? Care to join me for a late dinner?”
“Are you always this persistent?”
“Only when I know I absolutely want something.”
She’s quiet as she raises her glass and takes a sip. She sets it down, her gaze never leaving mine. “I’m free next Friday.”
7CHRISTIAN
One week.
She makes me wait one long, torturous week.
She has to know this only makes me want her more.
“And then we have this final set of paperwork to review,” my brother says, when it’s four more hours till I see her.
I stare out the window of the fourth-floor offices that overlook the Paris Opera House, then turn around, meeting my brother’s gaze. “Yes, we should have this wrapped up quickly.”
