Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

‘But dinner...’

He shrugs. ‘We can go any time.’

My heart lifts and my stomach grumbles audibly.

He lifts a brow. ‘Like right now?’

‘Yep. Just give me five minutes.’

I push into the bathroom and smile, imagining Theo here. It’s gold. Everywhere. Gold claw-foot bath tub, gold-edged mirror, marble tiles with gold details, marble vanity with gold taps.

But there’s no shower, so he must have had a bath after I left this morning. Bless him. I can’t stop grinning as I touch up my make-up and hair, imagining Theo Hart, all six and a half feet of him, folded into this tub.

When I emerge he’s standing up, a glass of wine in his hand. He’s still looking around the apartment with that same look of bemusement.

‘I’ve just never seen anywhere like it,’ he explains in response to my unasked question.

‘I have to admit, I’ve been laughing to myself imagining you folded into the bath tub...’

‘I showered at my office,’ he says with a shake of his head. ‘If we come back to Paris, we might have to get a hotel.’

I spin away from him before he can catch the expression that crosses my features, my heart jackhammering against my ribcage, because it sounds so happy and domesticated, so normal, but it’s not, because we won’t be coming back to Paris. His brother’s wedding is only two and a half weeks away, and that’s when this ends.

I briefly imagine that we don’t end it. I wonder what he’d say if I suggest an extension to our agreement, but all the reasons for having that line in the sand are still there.

He’s quicksa

nd and if I’m not careful I’ll sink deeper and deeper into him until eventually I find I’m unable to escape. He’s addictive and beautiful and fascinating and there’s absolutely no future here. He’s been stone cold clear about that from the very beginning, and I have no reason to think I’d ever be able to change his mind.

He wants this—just this—and even if I decided to want something more, something meaningful, that’s not what Theo’s offering. I reach for my clutch purse and paste a confident smile on my face. ‘Let’s go.’

The restaurant is not what I expected, and I don’t know why, given that the one other time we dined together he took me to an equally out-of-the-way eatery that was big on atmosphere and small on pretension. This is just like that—so charming and unique, a classic French bistro with touches of flair everywhere. It’s a warm night and the windows to the sidewalk are thrown open. Chairs are lined up against the walls in the European style, but we sit inside, in another booth, this one lined with black velvet. The table between us is pale marble and a small gold lamp sits on the top, making the ambience moody. The walls are papered with a floral print; huge watercolour blooms in shades of green and pale pink pop against their creamy background. The window frames are glossy black and the floor is grey concrete.

But it’s the food that takes my breath away. Delicate offerings, each beautifully arranged on the plate, without being overdone. There’s seafood, meat, chicken, vegetables. We eat until I can literally eat no more, and in between I drink the fine red wine Theo has chosen.

‘This is beautiful.’

Across from me, his eyes rest on my lips for a moment too long, so my heart rate kicks up a notch. Beneath the table, our feet brush and I remember we said we’re better off avoiding restaurant situations—and why. Desire is a wave inside of me, gaining speed and urgency.

‘Do you come here often?’

‘To Paris?’

‘Yeah, and here. The waiting staff seem to know you.’

He nods. ‘A friend of mine owns it, and the gin bar across the street.’ He nods across the cobbled road, where I see a packed bar. It has marks of the same bohemian charm as this restaurant. His expression shifts for a moment and then he smiles, a smile that warms my blood. ‘I actually thought you might be interested in meeting him.’

I sip my wine. ‘Why? Is he looking for teen make-up?’

He grins. ‘Nah. I meant for Operation Happily Ever After.’

He says it so easily, so comfortably, whereas his words make my ears fill with pounding blood. It’s just because it’s weird, that’s all. Sitting opposite Theo, a man with whom I’ve had the closest thing to a relationship in my adult life, prosaically discussing my next partner? It’s weird.

‘What’s he like?’ I ask, just because he’s looking at me expectantly, and I have to say something.

‘He’s a cool guy. Great surfer, likes to rock climb.’

And, despite the absurdity of this situation, I laugh. ‘How well you know me.’