She shuddered. ‘No, not my favourite thing at all.’
‘That’s because the English murder them, death by boiling. A softer touch is always preferable.’ His eyes met hers and she wondered if the almost-there double entendre was deliberate or not. A small frisson of excitement danced along her skin. ‘They are delicious fried up with onions, garlic and lardons.’ Delicious indeed! How could a man make something sound so delicious just by lowering the tone of his voice and maintaining eye contact?
She eyed him cautiously trying to sound normal although inside she was feeling increasingly antsy. ‘I’ll take your word for it. What’spoulpe?’
‘Octopus.’
Hattie wrinkled her nose. ‘What do you recommend?’
‘Thecacasse à cul nuis a local speciality and it is particularly good here.’ A mischievous quirk lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘The literal translation is bare ass.’
She raised her eyebrows and took a hasty sip of her drink, unable to quash the image of his half-naked body. Of course, she choked, because sod’s law was having a field day this evening.
‘Bare ass,’ he continued, a wicked light in those blue eyes, ‘as in without meat. Originally it was a working man’s dish. Although, these days it’s served with bacon and pork sausages. It’s cooked in a cast-iron lidded dish with potatoes, onions, garlic, thyme and bay leaf.’
She managed to get her equilibrium back and sound relatively normal when she replied, ‘That sounds delicious, I’ll try that.’
‘And wine, what colour would you like to drink?’
‘I’m definitely leaving that up to you, you’re the ex … pert.’
‘In that case I would suggest a white Burgundy. It’s a nice full-bodied wine with buttery and honey flavours that complement the potato element of the dish.’
‘Okay,’ said Hattie, feeling that the conversation was back on a more even footing. ‘Although as I’ve told you, I don’t know anything about wine.’
‘White Burgundy comes from Eastern France and is made from the grape variety chardonnay.’
‘And this is why French wine is so complicated. How am I supposed to know that? Why not just call it chardonnay and have done with it? I know I like chardonnay.’
He gave her a naughty grin. ‘Your education has been sadly lacking.’
‘Are you going to be my teacher?’ The words popped out before she could stop them.
His Adam’s apple dipped before he said, holding her gaze, ‘What do you want to learn?’
It was one of those now or never moments. Jump in or bail.
‘Everything,’ she said, meeting his gaze head on.
She almost laughed out loud when she saw the fingers on his wine glass tighten.
‘Everything?’ he murmured. ‘That’s a lot.’
‘Worried you might not be up to the task?’ She flashed him a mischievous grin and he burst out laughing.
‘I think France is having an effect on you, Hattie,’ he said, his thumb stroking the palm of her hand.
Hattie was pretty sure it was Luc that was having an effect on her. Her body felt as if it were fully charged with static electricity, every move she made sparked another tingle.
Thankfully, a young waiter glided over to the table and took their orders and Hattie sat back while Luc discussed the wine choices and breathed an internal sigh of relief. All that seductive, smoky interplay had died down and she could relax.
‘Luc,cherie.’ Hattie looked up. Dear God, not again. Marine and a woman, who could only be her mother, were bearing down on them.
‘Marine.’ He stood and accepted her kisses on each cheek before accepting another set of kisses and bestowing a charming smile on the older woman. While he was doing that, Marine turned her attention to Hattie.
‘Oh, the wedding planner. You’re still here then.’
‘Still here,’ said Hattie brightly, although all the warm happy Mexican jumping bean feelings in her stomach had withered and died. ‘It’s full steam ahead for the wedding.’
