I watch him for a moment. “Do you have a lady friend here?”
“No one steady.”
That shouldn’t make me as happy as it does. “Where do you live in New York?” I ask.
“I have a penthouse in Tribeca.”
“Oh.” I frown.
“Where do you live?” he asks.
“I have a house in Long Island.”
“Long Island?” he gasps. “You commute every day?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “We wanted the kids to have a house with a yard growing up.”
“Hmm.” He thinks on my answer for a moment and rests his chin on his hand with his elbow on the table.
“I don’t know if I want to go to Moulin Rouge with you,” I say, deep in thought.
“Why not?”
I shrug bashfully. “All those beautiful young girls with their boobs hanging out.”
He smiles over at me.
“I might get jealous.” I smile as I sip my wine. “You must date some beautiful women.”
He sips his wine but doesn’t reply. The question hangs in the air between us. “What was your favorite thing you saw today?” He changes the subject.
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“It was you.”
Our eyes lock.
“You were the most beautiful thing I saw today, Tristan Miles.”
The air swirls between us, and he takes my hand again over the table. “Do you know how you can really impress me, Anderson?”
“How?”
“You can strip down to a G-string, go topless, and get onstage tonight at the Moulin Rouge and dance for me.”
I giggle as I imagine the horror. “I don’t want to evacuate the establishment.”
He drops his chin back onto his hand and gives me a slow, sexy smile. “The other women would all pale to your beauty.”
I smirk at his ridiculous statement.
“On any stage,” he whispers as his eyes hold mine.
An unwelcome flutter happens in my stomach.
The air between us is electric, and I know that I shouldn’t be feeling this . . . whatever this is . . . but when he says sweet things, I can’t help but feel something in my chest.