Chase Me (Paris Nights Book 2)(34)
Mmm, yeah. Nice. A man could really enjoy learning how to cook this way.
And she still didn’t elbow him in the ribs or anything.
“Like this?” Rather than move the spatula around the pan to spread the eggs, she had held the spatula pretty still in the middle of the pan and twirled the pan rapidly to get the eggs to spread. So he tried that, just clumsy enough that she made a little sound of protest and placed her hand over his bigger one to guide him.
He grinned down at the back of her head in triumph and caught sight of her friends eyeing them with a great deal of thoughtfulness. Go away, he thought to them. You’re…whatever that French word is. De trop. I want this time. Me, mine. You’re messing it up.
Plus, Jesus, the last thing a man feeling this vulnerable and this full of emotions needed was an audience.
But he didn’t say that.
In fact, after they ate the most delicious omelet he had ever had in his entire life—it took omelet to some phenomenal level, and she’d managed that in only a few minutes’ work—he ended up washing the dishes in the background and then settling himself on the floor on the margins as the women drank wine and he frowned over the French label on Violette’s pain medication and tried to figure out how dangerous mixing the two was. Probably less dangerous than running off on a motorcycle with a strange man who had just broken into your kitchens, but still…at least that risk had had a very high reward potential, right?
She ignored him, so it took him a while to realize she hadn’t even opened the damn bottle of painkillers yet. Too tough, hmm? Well, he’d seen some friends go down a bad road that started with painkillers, so maybe just as well.
She did drink a couple of glasses of wine, and he just watched the gathering and kept his mouth shut, except when the sympathy from her friends seemed to be starting to prey on her courage. Then he would say something randomly provocative to make her spine stiffen again.
He smiled, sipping his own wine in his corner. He did like that straight spine of hers.
Mostly he kept out of it and didn’t try to grab that intimacy for himself because…well, he remembered.
All the times he had gone over to a married buddy’s house after one of their own was killed, all the times they’d hung out on a deck drinking beer and reminiscing about the stupidest, funniest, craziest things that friend had ever done, while the wife put the kids to bed and brought out a couple more beers and maybe squeezed her husband’s shoulder and gave Chase a sympathetic I-hurt-for-you-too look but let them have that time.
He wondered if Vi would ever do that for him.
He wondered if talking her into marrying him meant more than hot sex and fun challenges and finally having his own kids to play with but was…deeper. Quieter. More…there.
Her eyes lifted suddenly and met his. Their gazes held for an odd moment. He was the one who looked down.
He looked back up almost immediately, feeling almost—and this was surreal—shy. But she had already turned her head. A moment later, when he was watching vibrant Célie as she spoke, he thought Vi looked at him again, but couldn’t catch her at it.
That was okay. The less she looked at him, the more he could watch her. That fine, proud chin of hers, the beautiful cheekbones, the way her hair slid over her shoulder when she turned her head, making his own skin itch to know what that felt like sliding over his.
Watching her made him feel naked.
He frowned into his nearly full wine glass and then set it aside, resting his head against the arm of the couch behind him, trying to turn his brain off. Just be in the moment.
He was good at being in the moment, but this one scared him. He kept wanting to escape out of it to long-term planning or worrying about the past and future, because the moment itself felt too wide open and full of wishing.
It was after midnight before Vi’s friends finally went home. Chase sank his butt more firmly into the floor as they kept giving him insistent glances while they were getting their things. Célie jerked her chin at him and said something low-voiced to Vi.
“It’s okay,” Vi said. “I want to talk to him.”
Damn talking. But that sounded like a reprieve, where kicking him out was concerned, so he stood to shake hands good-bye with the women.
They looked at his handshake bemusedly. But neither of them offered to do that kissing thing instead that they’d taught him about in his LREC training.
By the time Vi had closed the door on her friends, he had managed to get back to one of the two couches and stretch out on it, making his body as heavy and supine as possible. A two-hundred-pound man who was sitting up—well, you could almost expect him to be able to get to his feet and get going. But supine…good luck moving that.
Vi stood with her hands on her hips looking down at him a moment.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Yeah, but you’re not giving answers, are you?”
It would be so nice to get it off his chest. Just tell her. I did make the call. I couldn’t risk it, honey. Have you ever seen what ricin can do? I had to save you. Your team. The world. In case.
But instead of losing all plausible deniability for his country and this operation, he could only shake his head with a little sigh. “I’m just in private security, honey.”
She gave him an annoyed look, but he really must have worn out her annoyed-look muscles, because this one lacked punch. Slinging herself down on the other couch, she crossed her long legs at the ankle and rested her head on the opposite arm.