Page 16 of Daring to Love

Gosh, I hope my tongue won’t get tied up in knots tonight.

He opens his mouth but is interrupted once more when a young woman sets a tray down on the table with our drinks. I try to be surreptitious about it when I peek up at his profile underneath my eyelashes – he looks just as gorgeous from that angle – but once she turns to walk away, there it is again: those brown, intense eyes directed completely at me.

“I’m going to be brutally honest with you, Amelie. I don’t usually write these types of stories. In fact, when my editor assigned this feature on me, I was furious. I even considered quitting my job.”

His honesty surprises me, almost making me forget my nerves around him.

“Then what do you usually write?”

“I’m an investigative journalist, Amelie. I don’t do the high society pages – I think they’re a waste of my time.”

“Wow.” I lean towards him, now almost eager to know why he’s here.

There’s no sign of mirth in eyes now.

“Yes, wow.”

“Why didn’t you quit if you hate having to do it so much?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and leans away from me.

“Something happened during the last story I chased, and so, this is my punishment.”

I tilt my head at him.

“Punishment?”

“Well, that’s how it felt at the time, but now…”

My heart skips another beat as he runs a hand over the scruff on his chin.

“You intrigue me, Amelie.”

Alarm bells go off inside my head, his words a stark reminder of his line of work.

“I see.”

“Now that I’ve seen you dance – witnessed your passion and drive – I want to share your story with the world.”

He speaks with both words and body, his hands and arms gesturing this way and that, and I admire that kind of drive, I really do. I know he thinks his sincerity should make me happy, but the effect is the exact opposite: dread settles in the pit of my stomach, and I wonder if I’ll even be able to eat now.

“Why me?”

I try to drag it out, but the earnest way he looks at me is weakening my resolve minute by minute. Coupled with his good looks, I can literally feel all my protests vaporising into the thin air, and that is most definitely not good.

It’s horrible.

He runs his hand against the scruff on his chin and I watch his brow deepen. I’m fascinated by the speculation in his amber-coloured eyes.

“I’m not sure, to be honest.”

Hid admission throws me, causing me to lean forward in my seat.

“That’s an odd thing to say. Don’t journalists usually know why they’re chasing a story?”

His lips pull down as he nods, displeasure written all over that handsome face.

“True. But, in my case, I’m afraid I don’t really have a choice. Either I get you to agree to let me interview you, or my career is shot to pieces.”