Page 18 of Daring to Love

“What kind of interview do you have in mind?” I try my hardest not to look at his mouth again and so glance away quickly. Never before has a white napkin looked as interesting as it does now. I almost roll my eyes at my own silliness, but I don’t want him to think I’m even more of a turd than I believe myself to be already. Squaring my shoulders, I meet his curious gaze once more.

“I mean, is this going to be all about my professional career, or will it include funny or peculiar information about me?”

“Such as what?”

Ï tilt my head as I try to come up with a silly detail about me.

“Such as what my star sign is, and that I spend my Saturday evenings watching reruns of Midsummer Murder?”

He throws his head back and laughs, the sound loud and carefree in the quiet pub. I stare in wonder at him as the warm, rough timbre of it reverberates in the air, and my skin breaks out in goose bumps when his head tips back to me. His amused eyes strike right into mine.

Gosh, he’s even cuter when he laughs. Life’s unfair.

Before I get the chance to ask him why he’s laughing like a maniac at me, Maggie returns to our table with our dinner.

“So sorry, dear,” she apologises in a tuft of air as she places the huge bowls in front of us. “We ran out of bread, so just had to grab the dough and bake a fresh loaf.”

“Oh, Maggie, that wasn’t necessary,” I start, but she waves me off and dries her hand on her apron.

“Fiddlesticks, of course it was. Can’t bring you soup without my garlic bread, can I?” She gives Finlay the side-eye and pats my hand. “Enjoy your meal, dear.”

Then she’s off again, and I shake my head in wonder at her big heart. The scent of the leek and broccoli soup tease my nose, and my mouth waters. Quickly, I take the plate with perfectly crispy bacon strips and tear them into smaller pieces, drizzling them down in the heavenly soup.

“What are we having?” Finlay asks as he takes his napkin and unfolds it, placing it in his lap.

I don’t answer until I’ve added a third of the cheese next to the plate of bacon into the aromatic dish and look up at him as I tear off a piece of my bread. I dunk it as I explain.

“My favourite food – leek and broccoli soup.” I take my spoon and stir the soup, giving the cheese time to melt a little before I push the spoon away and up, blowing lightly at it so I don’t burn my tongue. “It reminds me of home.”

“Where is home, exactly?” he asks and mirrors my careful ministrations.

I hesitate for a beat but shrug. It can’t hurt to give him what he wants now, can it?

“Avignon in Provence is one of my homes – the other is London. I grew up in both countries, really.”

“You’re part French.”

I incline my head.

“Yup.”

He hums as he takes his first taste of our dinner, making me smile widely atop the rim of my spoon. But when the sound of his low moan reverberates from his mouth, my smile freezes, and I become lost in him. Oh, my…the hum isn’t drawn out, but it’s enough to cause heat to rise to my cheeks. My focus is entirely on his closed eyes and air of appreciation that washes over his features.

In romance novels, this only ever happens to the hero as he watches the object of his desires find an inordinately amount of pleasure in her food, but now the exact same thing is happening to me. It’s so absurd – laughable, even – yet here I am, gawking at a man whose only reason to seek me out tonight was because of his bloody story.

Just my rotten luck.

I’m so drawn to this man, it isn’t funny. The strongest urge to lean across the table, run my nose along his neck, and physically feel his moan against my skin courses through me, but I daren't move from my chair. I'm not that bold.

The trouble is I wouldn't have the first clue how to seduce this guy if I had the courage to actually go through with it.

I'm pathetic.

He's temptation personified, luring me in, and if he only felt the same way, I'd be more than willing to hand him my virginity on a silver platter.

If only...

I feel like the world is spinning, and there’s not a single thing I can do to make it slow down a bit. Obviously, I could turn him down – and there’s still a fair chance I will – but the primal part of me who isn’t this shy hot mess when she’s around a man she fancies wants to spend more time in his company.