“Sorry,” I said, slightly out of breath. “I fell asleep when I got back.”
“Good. Naps are amazing. And now I can keep you out late.”
Was it my imagination or did he squeeze my arm as he said that? Either way, my blood heated up about a thousand degrees, a hot pooling at my center.
We took the Metro to the Latin Quarter and walked to a small Italian restaurant called Marco Polo. We were seated at an outdoor table on the patio, but tall heat lamps and candles on the table made the crisp night air seem warm and cozy.
“Sorry, I didn’t even stop to think that maybe you’d like French food tonight?” Lucas leaned across the table with a worried expression on his face.
“No, not at all. This looks amazing. And I can actually kind of understand the menu.” It was in French, of course, but the names of familiar Italian dishes jumped out at me.
“Everything is good here. It’s my favorite restaurant in Paris.”
“Really? What should I have?”
He went over the menu with me, and when I couldn’t decide between two dishes, he ordered them both and promised me I could have as many tastes off his plate as I wanted. I chose a bottle of wine, an Italian red, and made him promise to let me pay for it.
“Let’s not worry about that,” he said. “Talk to me about what else you’d like to do while you’re here.”
I told him about wanting to visit the flea market, and we got into a lengthy discussion about our mutual love for old things and the stories behind them. As he talked about some of the vintage pieces in his mother’s Paris and his New York apartment, I propped my chin in my hand and thought how different he was from Tucker, who preferred modern to antique. Sometimes he didn’t mind if a piece looked old, as long as it was a pricey reproduction and not the genuine article, which might fall apart, and besides—someone else had used it. He thought that was weird.
“The flea market isn’t open tomorrow, but would you like to do something else?” asked Lucas. “I could take you to a few of my favorite vintage stores.”
My chin came off my hand. He wants to see me again tomorrow! “I’d love to! But are you sure you’re not busy? I don’t want to monopolize all your time.”
“No, I’m not busy tomorrow. I do have to go out of town the next day, but…” His voice trailed off. “Tomorrow is good.”
My happiness deflated. He’s leaving in two days? But I pasted what I hoped was a bright smile on my face. “OK. Tomorrow sounds great.”
Our wine and first course arrived, and I forced myself not to think about anything other than the present moment and just enjoy the meal. Lucas was right—the food was delicious. Each course was better than the last, and the service was leisurely, allowing us plenty of time to enjoy each other, too. When I finally tasted my veal Marsala, I could not contain the words of ecstasy bubbling from my lips. “Oh my God. Oh my God, it’s so good.”
Lucas grinned. “You say that a lot.”
“I can’t help it—it’s all the food and wine here. Good thing I don’t live in Paris, I’d be big as a house.”
“It’s nice to see you happy. I was worried last night that your first trip to Paris would be your last.”
I swallowed the divine bite in my mouth. “I think I’d come back for the veal alone.”
“It’s good, isn’t it? Here, try this.” He cut a piece of his steak and lifted it to my lips across the table.
I moaned at the velvet texture, the hint of rosemary and garlic, and especially at the intimate act of taking it off Lucas’s fork. His mouth was on it right before mine, I thought, chewing rapturously. We practically kissed already.
Of course, it wasn’t true, but each time he offered me a bite—and I him—I couldn’t help but think we were one step closer. And I really wanted to kiss him. It shocked me how much I wanted to kiss him. Quit staring at his mouth. You’re totally obvious!
Over coffee, we talked about music and his research and how his father had influenced him. We discovered a mutual love for old jazz standards—no surprise there—and he said he had quite a large collection of vintage records at his Paris and New York apartments.
“You can’t beat the sound of vinyl,” he said, setting his empty cup down. “It’s so much better than digital.”
“I’ve never noticed. Maybe you’ll show me the difference sometime.” Like when we’re listening to records and making out.
Across the candle-lit table, he smiled at me, turning my insides into hot wax. “I’d like that.”
We stared at each other for a long moment, during which my desire for him went from Butterflies in the Belly to Wet in the Panties. I no longer cared what my motivation was for wanting him. I just knew that I did—and I wanted more than kissing too. My ni**les grew stiff and tingly and I imagined his perfect mouth on them. Holy shit. My underwear was totally damp with desire, and the seam of my jeans was pressing against my cl*t in just the right way. When my mind strayed to his hands reaching under the table, I excused myself.
“I’ll be right back.” I smiled as he stood up too. Such a gentleman. What the hell was I going to do about that?
I used the bathroom inside the restaurant—yes, the panties were soaked. In fact, I nearly ditched them, they were so wet—and by the time I got out, Lucas had paid for dinner, including the wine.
“Don’t be mad.” He held up his hands. “I promise you can pay for the next one.”