Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(52)

“Lin has arranged a private table for us at Le Cinq,” Ian said, referring to the ultra-exclusive, pricey restaurant in their hotel.

“Lin Soong,” she mused, watching a couple seated at a nearby table, the woman picking at her food idly with her fingers while she laughed at something her companion had said. “She’s extremely efficient at planning things, isn’t she?”

“The best. That’s why I employ her,” he said crisply before he gave her a sideways glance. She looked at him in surprise a moment later when he paused before the entrance to the little bistro and waved his hand to enter, his expression one of subdued amusement.

“Really?” she asked excitedly.

“Certainly. Even I can be spontaneous once in a while. In very small measures, anyway,” he added drolly.

“Will miracles never cease?” she teased. He blinked, looking slightly surprised, when she went up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth before they sat at one of the outdoor tables.

“Would you like anything else to drink besides club soda?” Ian asked politely when the waiter came to their table.

She shook her head. “No, just that, thank you.”

Ian placed their order and they were left to each other’s company. She smiled at him from across the table, feeling very happy, admiring how electric blue his eyes looked even though they sat in the shadow of the canopy above them.

“You mentioned to me once that you didn’t really bloom and come into your own until you went to college. How is it that you never ended up in a serious relationship with a man in all the intervening years?” he asked.

She avoided his gaze. Her experience with dating—or lack of it—was not really the sort of thing she wanted to discuss with a sophisticated man like Ian.

“I just never really clicked with anyone, I guess.” She glanced up cautiously and saw that he continued to regard her expectantly. She sighed. He wasn’t going to drop the topic. “I wasn’t interested in most guys in college, not in a romantic sense, anyway. I like hanging around men, as a rule. I get them better than women. Women are all like . . . How do I look? Where’d you get those jeans? What are you wearing on Friday night so we can all look the same?” She rolled her eyes.

“But when it came down to it with men . . . to the . . .” she faded off, having difficulty finding the right words.

“Dirty details?” Ian supplied quietly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she admitted, falling silent for a moment while the waiter served their beverages. They both placed their orders for lunch. After the waiter left, he glanced at her again as if waiting.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said, blushing. “Men are okay to party with, and to hang out with, and to have fun with, but for me, I was never really . . . turned on,” she said, her voice dropping into a whisper, “by any of them. They were too young. Too annoying. I got sick of them always asking me what I wanted to do for a date,” she said in a burst of honesty. “I mean . . . why did I always have to be the one to decide?” She did a double take when she noticed his small smile. “What?” she asked.

“You’re a natural sexual submissive, Francesca. A more natural one I’ve never seen. You’re also singularly bright, talented, independent . . . full of life. A unique combination. Your frustrations in dating likely stem from the fact that men were striking the wrong chord with you, so to speak. There are probably only a handful of men on the planet that you would submit to.” He picked up his glass and watched her over the rim as he took a sip of ice water. “Apparently, I’m one of those men. I consider myself to be very lucky for it.”

She made a scoffing sound, all the while studying him nervously. Was he serious? She recalled how he’d used the word submissive that night he’d spanked her in his penthouse. She didn’t like what the word implied about her, and had been regularly pushing it out of her awareness ever since then.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said dismissively. This time, however, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said, couldn’t stop recalling her exhausted disgust when a man on a date had to drink too much before he made a move on her sexually, when he behaved indecisively or immaturely. . . .

. . . when he acted the exact opposite of Ian.

His brow quirked up slightly, as if he’d seen the pieces lock together in her brain.

“Can we please talk about something else?” she asked, staring out at the people strolling by on the sidewalk.

“Of course, if you wish,” he agreed, and Francesca suspected his acquiescence was so easy because he knew he’d already made his point.

“Look at that,” she said, nodding to three young people whisking past the bistro on motor scooters. “I always wanted to rent one when I was in Paris. They look so fun.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked.

She really blushed this time. She glanced around, hoping like crazy she’d see their waiter coming with their entrées.

“Francesca?” he asked, sitting forward slightly.

“I . . . uh . . . I . . .” She closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”

“Why not?” he demanded, looking puzzled.

She tried to shrug off her mortification, not sure why she was feeling it so strongly with Ian about this particular topic. All of her friends knew she didn’t drive. Lots of people in the city didn’t. Caden, for instance, didn’t have a car.