Page 7 of That Prince is Mine
“I wanted to.” He sighed, relieved he hadn’t offended her somehow.
Before he could think of what to say next, his gaze dropped to her dimple and stayed there. Her lips parted on an indrawn breath. He should look away. She might think he was staring at her mouth because he wanted to kiss her. He slammed a door on that thought. It was too much. Her dimple provided more than enough distraction without having to imagine what she might taste like. Perhaps if he could just explain to her…
“I like your dimple,” he blurted. It had sounded a lot better in his head.
Her lashes fluttered as she blinked several times in quick succession. He resisted the urge to sink low into his chair. While true in essence, it was the most juvenile, asinine sentence he had ever uttered. He’d blown it even before he had a chance to figure out what it was.
But then something miraculous happened. Her smile widened—and her dimple deepened—until she burst into laughter. He didn’t know what he’d done to make her laugh. Chances were high she was laughing at him. It didn’t matter. Her laughter was incandescent and joyous. She laughed with her whole body—her eyes curved into double crescent moons, her nose crinkled, and her torso bent at her waist.
Michel watched her with wonder, holding his breath so he wouldn’t miss a single detail. The moment imprinted itself onto his mind—the moment a stranger’s laughter made him forget the weight of his identity.
“Sorry. I…” She held up her hand as she caught her breath. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked in a low, husky voice.
“For the madeleines. For taking care of my check.” Lingering laughter clung to her words. “And for the compliment. That was… unexpected.”
“Unexpected?” He cocked his head to the side.
“Let’s just say you don’t strike me as a man who goes around complimenting women on their dimples.”
“Well, that depends on the dimple,” he said with a wry smile, then curiosity got the best of him. “What kind of man do I strike you as?”
She glanced down at her hands as color rose to her cheeks. Her blush made him even more curious, but she said in a rush, “The kind who sends consolation madeleines to jilted women.”
“So that man was your date? And he jilted you?” An unfamiliar burst of jealousy and outrage coursed through him.
“Yes and yes?” She shook her head with a rueful laugh. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“How so?” As his head cleared, he recalled what had prompted the man to flee from her. He bit his cheek to rein in his grin. “Does it have anything to do with you using the cloth napkin as a tissue?”
She sat utterly still as though she wanted to become invisible. It was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. After a moment, she slowly came back to life, a reluctant smile curving her lips. His mouth dried out when her dimple made a reappearance.
“I didn’t actually blow my nose in the napkin.” She drew little circles on the tablecloth with her finger. “I really like Anne. She’s our…”
“I know who Anne is,” he interjected. He enjoyed chatting with the friendly server.
The woman nodded approvingly, then said, “Yeah, I would never do that to her.”
“I believe you.” He leaned in slightly. “But why go out with someone only to chase them away fifteen minutes into the date?”
“Did I mention it was complicated?” Her teeth snagged on her bottom lip. “I…”
“You don’t have to tell me.” He held up his palm. He wouldn’t cause her discomfort to satisfy his own curiosity. “We can save that story for another time.”
Michel realized what he’d implied when surprise flickered across her face. He opened his mouth to retract his accidental slip. Although he hoped—more than he was ready to admit—that there might be another time, he would never make such a presumption.
“Okay.” A shy smile curved her pink lips.
Was she saying there would be a next time? His face split into an enormous grin that made his cheeks ache. He might have bumbled his way into securing another chance to see the woman. Or she was just being polite. Either way, he really needed to stop thinking of her as the woman.
“I don’t know your name,” he confessed. He knew nothing about her, and that was suddenly unacceptable to him.
She huffed a laugh and stuck out her hand. “My name is Emma.”
“And I’m Michel.” He clasped her outstretched hand and something electric shot up his arm. It was fortunate he managed to introduce himself before his brain short-circuited. Did the slight widening of her eyes mean that she felt it, too? He reluctantly released her and cleared his throat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”
For a second, she frowned down at her open palm. Then, with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she looked back at him with a polite smile. “Pleased to meet you, Michel.”
