Luc’s eyes snap up to meet mine. He stares at me for a beat too long, unknowingly telling me without words that there is more to him than it seems. Goodness, that makes him evenmore interesting. Why is he silent? Could it be that even he doesn’t know why he’s like this? Or is it because he doesn’t wish to tell me? Either way, I’m here for it, and my stomach swirls when our eye contact holds.
“It’s just a French thing,” he eventually says before looking away. I might have been convinced of his answer if it weren’t for the long stare he threw at me.
Man, if this is what “French charm” looks like, I’m in trouble. I clear my throat, trying to ground myself. “This is the second time this place has been empty aside from me. Do you even have any customers?”
“Oui.”
“Then how come I don’t see them?”
He raises an eyebrow again, and the way he does it is so graceful that it almost makes me jealous. But then he speaks, and his sharp tongue quickly makes me feel entirely different things. “Why do you think, lazy American? They all come here before you.”
My chest flutters with the insult. Do I have a degradation kink? No, I don’t, but I love a bratty bottom, and Luc is definitely bratty. One of my boxes is already checked; I only need to hope the other one will be too.
I run my hand through my hair, trying to ignore the feelings. “So, do you have any cake left for a late-afternoon shopper?”
“Why?” he asks impatiently, raising his shoulders briefly. “Do you have another coupon?”
“No, no coupon this time. Today, I plan to buy whichever piece of cake you recommend.”
A cheeky smirk appears on his face, changing his attitude entirely. “Are you saying you liked the one I gave you yesterday?”
Just hearing him talk about it makes the unpleasant taste of yesterday’s cake return to my mouth. I make a face, distinctly remembering it. Luc is lucky he’s so cute, otherwise I wouldn’thave come back here. “No, definitely not. What was that anyway?”
“Prune.”
“Prune? Seriously?! Who even likes that?”
He shrugs. “The least paying customer gets the least quality pie. Surely you’d understand that, American.”
“I already told you, I’m Canadian. And today, I plan to pay for my cake like any other customer.” I raise my hands defensively. “No coupons, I swear. If I’d known you hated them so much, I would have left it at home.”
He remains silent, thinking about it, and with his eyebrows raised, he takes a few steps to the side, eyeing me from behind the counter. “All I have left is the prune cake.”
I scoff, motioning to the display. “Are you kidding me? There are at least three other ones here.”
“Those are reserved for our other customers,” he says, his voice flat.
“Oh really?” I ask cynically, not believing him.
“Yes, really.”
I might have been annoyed if the situation were different, but who am I kidding? I love this game, this banter between us. The way he’s cold with me, treating me like he doesn’t want me here, but secretly stalling, shooting back at my replies. And the twinkle in his eyes betrays that he likes this too—at least a little bit.
So I decide to take things a step further.
“Okay, fine. Keep feeding me disgusting cakes, gorgeous. You and I both know I’m not really here for the cake anyway.”
For extra effect, I give him a wink. I want there to be no doubt that I’m into him, and he catches on quickly. I don’t know what it was exactly—the gorgeous, the fact that I told him I’m not here for cakes, or the wink—but Luc blushes, his smugness fading.Goodness, he’s even cuter when he blushes.
“Not here for the cake, you say?” he asks me once he’s recomposed himself. “So you’re an American who doesn’t like cake? I didn’t think those existed.”
“And you’re a French guy with a huge ego. I definitely knew those existed.”
“It’s only fair,” he says, shrugging and grinning. “We have the best food, the best wine, the best movies, the best—”
“Best sex?” I ask, just to see how he’ll react.
The blush on his cheeks doesn’t fade or increase. “Presumably.”
