Chase Me (Paris Nights Book 2)(3)
“I mean hot in terms of body temperature,” he said innocently. “I could warm you up.” He tried to channel puppies as he looked at her with limpid eyes.
A grin flashed across that haughty, high cheekboned face of hers and was quickly bitten back.
Yes. He managed not to pump his fist in victory. He’d gotten her. A full grin.
“I’m afraid it won’t do,” she said mournfully. “I like a man who can focus.”
“Oh, I can focus,” he promised her, his voice dropping deep. Oh, yeah, I promise I can focus on you all night lo—
“You broke in here to ask me to marry you? And here I was thinking you’d gotten easily distracted.”
Now that was a low blow. Showing up with that leather clinging to her sleek body and waving knives at him and then blaming him for getting distracted. “A man has to have his priorities straight.”
“What was your other priority?” she asked dryly. “The one that brought you into my kitchen.”
Oh, well…he coughed awkwardly. “Saving the world.”
She stared at him with both eyebrows raised.
“One small restaurant at a time,” he said gamely.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“But don’t worry,” he assured her hastily. “If you’re about to say yes, the world can wait.”
Chapter 2
If there was one thing a young female chef in charge of a major establishment learned how to deal with fast, it was cocky, physical males who thought they could push the female around.
Vi had been hoping to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s banquet, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d pulled an all-nighter because an arrogant idiot had screwed up her plans. In her world, you handled things or you packed up your knives and slunk off to find some other career.
“I lied,” her burglar admitted.
It was so redundant when the male of the species said that. What else was he going to admit to? Being arrogant? Thinking she was a cute, feisty little thing?
“Damn it.” She set down the smaller knife and began to sharpen her butcher knife. “Your grandmother isn’t really ailing, is she? You just said that to try to get the wedding where you wanted it. I’m going to sic my mother on you.”
“No, that part was true!” he said indignantly. The dim LED lights that glowed in the kitchen all night made it hard to tell his hair or eye color. But she could see the size of him, the strong, stubborn chin, the outrageously delighted grin, and the insane cockiness. She’d nearly knocked him out, she’d planted a knife three centimeters from his ear, and she was holding a butcher knife and knew how to use it, and he was having the time of his life.
The idiot was flirting with her. That was what was so annoying about men.
Well, one of the many things.
Like how hard did she have to beat them with a pot over the head before they respected her abilities?
“Then you’re not actually going to have the kids.” She made her voice severely disappointed. “I knew it.” She gave her mouth a bitter twist as she angled her face away. Not enough to let him escape her peripheral vision, of course. She didn’t trust him for a second.
“You’re twisting my words.” He sighed. “I never promised that.”
“Then you don’t really want to marry me?” She pointed her butcher knife at him. “I hate it when men lie about that.”
He gave her that wicked, hungry grin. “Honey, I’d marry you tonight, if you’d put down that knife and come over here.”
“Ha.” She stabbed her butcher knife in his direction. “Got you. How are we going to get to Texas and get all your family together in one night? You probably don’t even have a grandmother who wants to see your wedding.”
He grinned at her. “I’d get engaged to you tonight. And your mom and my mom can fight the wedding details out.”
“Right.” She went back to sharpening her knife. She did like a sharp blade. “You know, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old female who heads a two-star establishment of nearly all male chefs. Trust me, the last thing I need in my life is another cocky, arrogant man who thinks he is the shit.”
“But I really am the shit,” he protested, grinning.
She sighed. At herself, because it made attraction kick hot and hungry through her when he said that. It would make her life so much easier if she didn’t find cocky men who thought they were the shit a major turn on.
“Also, I don’t mean to be greedy, but could you say shit again in that accent? Or if you want to broaden your English vocabulary, there’s this fantastic swear word you might try.” He pressed a fist to his heart and stared at her like a starving puppy, as if he could just will the word right out of her. “Fuck.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Were you, like, Navy SEAL before you took up ‘security consulting’ or something?”
He angled his head just a little. The dim lights showed a strong jaw and a gleam in his eyes, but she still couldn’t tell their color. His hair must be brown, though—not light enough for blond, and if it was black, it would be all shadow now. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Wait, what? She’d been being sarcastic, trying to come up with the cockiest archetype of American manhood she could think of. What nail had she hit?