6
He takesme to a lovely restaurant overlooking the Seine. It’s quiet, candlelit, and cozy, the view of the river breathtaking as it sparkles under the glow of the rising moon. Like the rest of Paris, it’s a spot perfectly designed for romance.
I feel sorry for anyone who dares to be single in this city.
We’re seated in a corner of the room by an immaculate maître d’. He and James exchange a few words in French, then the waiter disappears. We’re left gazing at each other across the table as the elegant notes of a jazz trio wafts over from another room.
James says, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
No. I’m wound so tight I could snap.
He takes a moment to examine my expression. “Let’s try that again. And this time tell me the truth.”
I flatten my clammy hands on the linen tablecloth on either side of my plate. I draw a breath, let it out, then say, “I originally thought not jumping into bed with you right away would enhance things—you know, heighten desire and whatnot—but now I’m thinking I underestimated the effect you have on my nervous system.”
When he simply sits there, waiting for me to continue, I admit sheepishly, “I could be in danger of passing out.”
His eyes burn, but he keeps his tone light. “If you fall face first into your entrée, I promise to rescue you.”
“You won’t let me aspirate my bouillabaisse or choke on my coq au vin?”
His lips twitch as he tries to suppress a smile. “No, I won’t. And if you require CPR to dislodge a chicken bone that might fly down your throat when your face hits the plate, I’m your man.”
I smile a little. It’s much easier to do this when we’re being silly. “But are you certified in CPR? I don’t want anyone with such bulky muscles as yours bashing away at my sternum like it’s a bongo drum. You could crack something.”
His smile breaks through in all its dazzling glory. “I think we’ve already established that I’m going to be careful with you.”
When I swallow hard, he chuckles. Then, eyes twinkling, he reaches across the table, squeezes my hand, and lets me off the hook by changing the subject.
“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered us cocktails. I know you’re a modern woman, but a gentleman does like to make some things easier for a lady.”
His hand is big, warm, and rough—exactly how I imagined it would be when I masturbated to the thought of him.
It’s a good thing I recently had a complete physical that showed I was in perfect health, because otherwise I’d be convinced this feeling I’m experiencing is either a stroke or some obscure variety of seizure where you appear normal on the outside, but inside every muscle has clenched to stone.
“As long as you don’t go overboard and try to order my dinner for me,” I manage to say. “There’s a fine line between being gentlemanly and being domineering.”
His gaze holding mine and his tone serious, James replies, “That’s a line I love to walk.”
Stroke. Seizure. Acute aortic catastrophe. Through it all, somehow my lungs continue to work. “Now you’re deliberately baiting me.”
“It’s just nerves. You’ve been through worse.”
The way he says it—and the similarity to what Kelly said earlier on the phone—startles me. It’s as if already knows me, as if he knows everything there is to know about me, where all my deepest scars and wounds are hidden, where every black hole of anguish lies.
My mind starts to whir.
Did Estelle tell Edmond why I came to Paris? Did Edmond then tell James about me? Does heknow?
A waiter arrives with two bourbons in cut crystal glasses and sets them on the table in front of us. I release James’s hand. The waiter begins to speak in English, but I’m tuned out, listening instead to my churning thoughts.
What if he looked me up online? There were articles in the paper. He knows I’m a writer, all he’d need to do is type in my name—
“Olivia?”
I jerk back into the present to find James and the waiter looking at me. Waiting for an answer to a question I missed.
“I’m sorry, what were you asking?”
Patiently, the waiter repeats the evening’s specials. I feel the weight of James’s stare, but I don’t look at him.
“The scallops sound lovely, thank you.”
“Anything to start?”
I realize I must’ve missed that part of his speech, too. “Um, whatever you suggest.”
He beams. “The foie gras is incredible.”