Chase Me (Paris Nights Book 2)(9)
He’d strain against the ties at his wrists, all those muscles in his arms bulging, his back arching as she…
“—Ms. Lenoir.”
“Hmm?” She blinked up at the face bent toward hers.
His hair was streaked brown and gold, his eyes blue. Lines at the corners of them suggested that he had squinted into a lot of sun and wind and dust for his age. A broad forehead and strong cheekbones and straight dark brown eyebrows. A relaxed, amused mouth that, just occasionally, briefly, firmed until it seemed to belong to someone else entirely.
Only it didn’t. Both those looks belonged to him.
And if she got him tied up to her bed, she’d not only get those photos out of him but she’d crack through that teasing manner, just shred it off him, until he was…
“Ma’am? Ms. Lenoir? Honey?”
She blinked slowly at him. He inclined that handsome chin toward the right.
Toward her hand curled over his biceps. Which he was quite politely keeping taut and bulging just for her. With a tiny smug smile on his mouth that he was trying valiantly to suppress.
She jerked back so fast she teetered. Nearly ran into the shelves behind her, jerked away before she could ruin anything for tomorrow, and—he caught her by both elbows before she could fall straight against him.
Just this firm, easy, confident catch, strong and sure. He righted her and released her, stepping back with his hands spread wide to prove their innocence.
“You really do have a scar,” she said, startled. A hair thin, barely visible line that ran from just below his eye down to his jaw. If he hadn’t mentioned it and his face hadn’t been so close, and if she herself wasn’t used to paying attention to hair-fine details in her quest for a third star, she never would have noticed it.
“Disfigured for life,” he said dejectedly. “My chances are ruined. Only a woman with a good heart would look past me now to the man I am inside.” He gave her the kind of piteous look the kitten had probably given him from that tree as he reached to save it.
She snorted with laughter before she could stop herself.
“Which you clearly don’t have,” he said severely. “Mocking my pain.”
“Sorry.” She tried to control herself. She really should not let someone as impossibly cocksure get to her. “It’s just—your chances are—” Laughter exploded and she clutched her stomach. “What do you have to do to pick up women when you walk into a bar, snap your fingers at the door and then sort through the masses that throw themselves at you until you pick the one you want?”
He looked thrilled with himself. “Damn. You think I’m hot.”
Merde, she needed to be more careful. He was definitely the type of guy who would jump on the slightest encouragement like a duck on a breadcrumb. “Are you sure that scratch wasn’t from a woman trying to gouge your eyes out?”
“You don’t think I’d save a kitten?” He looked offended.
“Oh, probably.” Flexing muscles the whole way. She sighed.
“I get no end of crap about it.” Sad look. “All the other guys, they get scars from knife fights and bullet wounds. Mine—a kitten.”
“You do know that this scar can barely be detected without a microscope?”
“You want to look closer?” He proffered his cheek.
Maybe she should invest in some kind of foam pot. It seemed like it might come in handy with him. Something she could use to beat him over the head regularly, without actually ending up in jail for battery.
Wait. Now why would she need to make any long-term investments into ways to handle him?
“Or I could help you with the knife scar problem?” she offered dryly.
“I don’t mean to suggest the guys are sexist or anything, sugar—”
Yeah, right. If she ever met a guy who wasn’t sexist, now that would be something.
“—but I’m pretty sure they would give me even more crap if I got beat up by a woman.”
“It’s better to lose to a kitten than a woman?” Vi demanded, so furious he was seriously lucky she didn’t have a pot to hand.
“I didn’t say I thought so. I’d definitely rather lose to you.” He looked hopeful. “Want to see if you can floor me?”
She growled.
“Physically, I mean. You’ve already floored me in all the figurative ways.” He gave her a bewitchingly cute smile.
“You do realize that the only thing keeping you alive right now is how badly it would ruin my chances of having your president visit if I was in jail for homicide?”
“Well…there might be one other little thing keeping me alive,” he mentioned, with this lurking amusement. As far as she could tell, amusement pretty much always lurked somewhere in him. That man had not taken her seriously once.
She gave him a blank look.
“I might be able to defend myself a teeny bit?” he suggested meekly, hunching his shoulders to try to look small and vulnerable. He completely failed to manage to shrink that tough, big body with that gesture.
She frowned at him.
“Except against pink peekaboo panties. I’d definitely lose to those.”
Yeah, see. She’d had exactly the same thought about how fast she could get him on his knees with the right panties. Damn it. Why was he doing this to her?