“You look—”Beautiful. Devastating. Like every reckless choice he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.“—appropriate for the venue.”
Her eyebrow arched. “‘Appropriate for the venue.’ Wow. Be still, my heart.”
“That’s not what I—” He stopped. Started over. “You look beautiful. I’m having difficulty with vocabulary.”
The flush that spread across her cheeks was deeply satisfying. “Oh. Well. Thanks, I think.”
She took his arm when he offered it. The contact burned through the fabric of his sleeve. Leo led her to the car, held her door, rounded to the driver’s side with the predator inside him practically vibrating beneath his skin.
Four hours. He could maintain composure for four hours.
EIGHTEEN
LEO
La Côte d’Azur announced itself first through its security checkpoint.
“Leo.” Junie’s voice had gone slightly strained. “Why is there a guardhouse?”
“Standard precaution. The clientele values privacy.”
“The clientele. Meaning what, exactly?”
He pulled up to the checkpoint, lowered his window, presented identification to the uniformed attendant. The man’s nostrils flared slightly—scenting Leo’s alpha status—before nodding them through.
“Was that a shifter? Did that security guard scent you?” Junie twisted in her seat to look back at the guardhouse. “Leo. What restaurant has shifter security?”
“One that caters to certain communities.”
“Paranormal communities? This is a paranormal fancy restaurant?” Her voice climbed an octave. “Are you telling me there’s an entire circuit of supernatural fine dining establishments I didn’t know about?”
“It’s a relatively small circuit.”
“And you’re a member? How often do you—you know what, never mind.” She faced forward again, hands pressedto her cheeks. “I’m underdressed. I’m absolutely underdressed. Everyone in there is going to be wearing designer gowns and ancient family jewels and I’m wearing a dress I bought at the summer solstice sale.”
“You look perfect.”
“You can’t even look at me when you say that. You’re staring at the road.”
“Because if I look at you right now, I’ll crash the car.”
That silenced her. Leo kept his eyes on the curving driveway, lined with manicured hedges and subtle ward markers. His lion was pleased. Leo wasn’t sure what he was, except increasingly certain this had been a terrible idea.
The restaurant came into view: a converted estate that looked transplanted from the French countryside. Stone walls softened by ivy. Fountains catching the evening light. Valets in matching uniforms waiting at the entrance.
“Oh god,” Junie breathed. “This is a place that doesn’t list prices on the menu, isn’t it?”
“The tasting menu is prix fixe.”
“That’s a yes.”
A valet appeared at her door before Leo could respond. He watched her climb out, wobbling slightly on heels she clearly wasn’t accustomed to wearing, chin lifting with determined confidence despite the uncertainty in her eyes.
His lion rumbled approval. Whatever else happened tonight, she wouldn’t be cowed by wealth and pretension. That wasn’t who she was.
Leo rounded the car, offered his arm again, felt her grip tighten as they approached the entrance.
“If anyone judges me for not knowing which fork is which,” she muttered, “I’m absolutely causing a diplomatic incident.”
