Trust Me (Paris Nights #3)(47)

Lina’s lips parted on the shock of that, viscerally nauseating, the image punching her right in the stomach. “Merde,” she said. Her mind couldn’t process it. “People do that kind of thing?”

Quit. Just like that. Not even trying.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s tough because—” He touched his chest. “We’re not made to be quitters.”

No. She tried to think what a quitter’s personality must be like, but quitters usually, well, quit, after their first few days in a top kitchen, and so she didn’t really know any personally.

“If you’re on the teams,” he said, “it’s because you don’t quit. Not in any situation. Not for anything. If your arm’s blown off, you have a tourniquet on your gear”—he touched the left side of his chest, where that tourniquet must be attached when he was in uniform—“so that you can tie the wound off yourself and not distract your buddies from the firefight. And keep on fighting yourself, if you possibly can.”

The shock of that image was almost too great. She had much better visuals of violence now than she had ever had up until ten days ago, and she took a step back under the pressure of what she was imagining, both hands on her cheeks. In kitchens, they worked with badly burned hands and sliced-open fingers and didn’t stop for them, so they had the same concept in essence, but the degree of difference was so great it was mind-blowing.

Jake closed his expression tight. “Sorry. Why the hell am I telling you this?” He pivoted away, prowling the kitchen again, a restless predator checking his perimeter in compulsive habit.

Lina took off her chef’s jacket and came around the counter.

On his next pass, she reached out and grabbed him. Strong sinews of his forearm under her hand. He stopped for her.

She gazed up at him, not even sure what she was going to say. And then heard herself say, “I got condoms.”

A flush immediately hit her cheeks. Okay, that was not smooth. But a wave of heat hit her, to have said it, and all that erotic heat was a lovely lure away from thoughts of death and violence. His death and violence.

Jake stood still, half-turned away from her, head angled to gaze down at her hand on his arm. He had fantastic forearm muscles, her hand couldn’t help noticing. And it sent that message of how fantastic they were right up her arm and tickling down into all her erogenous zones.

“Did you?” Jake said evenly. His eyes glinted. He turned them both suddenly, so that his lean, hard body framed hers against the counter, and the hollow of his throat was only a slight lift onto her toes away from her lips. “That was pretty nervy, Lina. Considering what I told you.”

“Oh, come on,” Lina said indignantly. “What man says no to easy sex?”

“How many have you asked?”

She pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes at him. “That is not your business.”

The frustrated heat in his eyes suggested he knew that.

“Unless you want to detail all your sexual past,” she said. Which she very definitely did not want to hear.

“Hell, no.” He pushed away from her.

She sighed as his body gave her too much space. “Mostly I date a long time first.”

At the bottom edge of her peripheral vision, she saw his fist clench by his thigh. “You don’t know how flattered I am that you skipped that step with me.”

He half turned, but at least he didn’t pace away. She watched the way his clenched fist made the muscles of his forearm more pronounced. Her hand started to reach involuntarily in her need to stroke those muscles.

“I don’t,” he said suddenly, clipped. “Usually date a long time. I usually pick women up in under half an hour.”

Oh. “Well, what are you complaining about, then?” she asked indignantly.

He looked down at her without turning. “You I wanted to date.”





Chapter 13


Of course Lina lit like a Christmas tree for that one. Instead of looking repelled or something that would at least stonewall him consistently, that heart face brightened up so much, like he was her Christmas mornin—well, maybe not Christmas, in her case, but whatever. Special. “Really?” she said.

She was messing with him so damn bad. “Give me a break, Lina. You knew that. As soon as I started flirting with you, you shut me down by asking for sex instead.”

“Well, excuse me for being just a little fragile and screwed up right now!” She flung out her hands.

Oh, f*ck. “I do excuse you.” Damn it. Otherwise, he could just run like hell. “And you’re not as screwed up as you think,” he added. “You’re impressing the hell out of me.”

She looked incredulous.

“You just don’t have a frame of reference, that’s all,” he said more gently. “You’ve never dealt with something like this before, or known anyone else dealing with it.”

She smiled wryly. “We’re going to be our own support group. The kitchen teams.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

She nodded ruefully, but then she folded her arms and scowled at him. And she would probably be pissed at him for finding that an utterly kissable look on her. “Anyway, it’s not so much that I shut you down. Maybe it’s more like I got greedy. Couldn’t wait.”