Page 33 of That Prince is Mine
“I’ve never actually had Peruvian food.” He caught a glimpse of Sophie slipping into the restaurant. She pointed out a table at the back to the affable host. “I enjoy trying new things, but some guidance would be very much appreciated.”
“Oooh. You’re in for a treat, my friend.” Emma hugged the menu to her chest and leaned forward. “We’ll start with Inca Kola. I normally don’t drink soda, but there’s something irreverent about having golden cola. Are you in?”
“Yes.” He drew closer to her, hoping to catch a whiff of her scent, and… just to be closer to her. “I’m entrusting myself to your capable hands tonight.”
“That’s either really brave or very naïve,” she said with a roguish wink.
In an instant, he grew achingly hard. Fuck. He felt lightheaded with lust and wanted nothing more than to put himself in her hands. He needed to pull himself together. She was talking about food, and he was behaving like a slavering beast. She was talking about food, right? Her voice always had that husky, breathless tone.
“I like to believe that I’m being exceptionally smart.” He sounded a bit strangled but coherent. “You are a food expert, after all.”
“Well then. Prepare to be impressed.”
“Oh, I assure you,” he said, “I already am.”
Their eyes met across the table, and breathing became secondary to survival. This attraction. This connection. He’d never felt anything like it. They had found something extraordinary in each other. If Emma didn’t believe it to be anything more than a passing fancy, then he would prove her wrong.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Michel told her he’d never tried Peruvian food, Emma had immediately glommed on to that fact as a prime example of their differences. She loved Peruvian food. He hadn’t even tried it. They were so different, right?
But as they left the restaurant, she grudgingly conceded to herself that it was no longer a difference, because it turned out he loved Peruvian food, too. But the fact that he wasn’t afforded the chance to try it until now had to mean something. Like a difference in upbringing or the different crowd they hung out with. Was she reaching?
As they strolled through the picturesque Old Town area with its charming redbrick buildings and old-fashioned streetlamps, Emma pulled her powder-blue faux-fur jacket tighter around her. The spring evening held a hint of chill.
“Are you cold?” Michel asked, his brows furrowing.
“Just a little.” She shivered. “I’ll be fine.”
Drawing her away from the middle of the sidewalk, he turned her toward him and buttoned up her jacket, his knuckles brushing the bare skin above the neckline of her tunic dress. Her pulse fluttered in her throat at his gentle ministration, and she surreptitiously breathed in his warm, woodsy scent.
“Better?” He ran his hands up and down her arms.
“Yes.” If he kept that up, she was going to have to take the damn jacket off. “Thank you.”
“Hmm.” He took hold of her hand and led her a few steps back the way they’d come. “Over there. Let’s get you warmed up with a hot drink.”
Down a small alleyway off the main street, a round wooden sign read Café Monde. They walked into the atmospheric coffee shop hand in hand. Did he realize he was still holding her hand? She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice and let go. He absently brushed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles while reading the menu board over the counter. She tried not to melt into a puddle at his feet.
“Their tea selection is remarkable.” He peered at the clear jars of tea lining the back wall. “I can see white blossoms in that jasmine tea. How does that sound to you? Some fragrant tea with caffeine?”
“In the evening?” She widened her eyes and gasped into her free hand. “Whatever will become of my circadian cycle?”
His chuckle traveled down her spine in a delicious shiver. “Maybe I can tire you out enough to offset the caffeine.”
“Oh… um… hahaha.” Emma tugged her hand free and slipped out of her jacket. She’d been wrong about Michel. He wasn’t hopeless at this dating business. Not at all. He was very good. Too good, maybe. “Is it warm in here?”
His half-lidded glance and the sensual curve of his lips exuded enough male arrogance to make her whimper. His hand came to rest on her lower back as he guided her up to the counter, and the heat of his skin seared her through the thin material of her dress.
“Have you decided?” he murmured close to her ear. The innocuous words sounded like a seductive challenge. Shall I tire you out?
“I’ll have the jasmine tea,” she squeaked to the woman behind the counter.
“And I’ll have the same.” He kept his hand firmly planted on her back and withdrew his wallet from his suit jacket with his other hand.
Michel was wearing a dark gray suit minus the tie—probably because he had come straight from USC. It fit him like a glove, and he wore it so effortlessly that he didn’t look overdressed for a weeknight date. He just looked sinfully handsome.
He’d left the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and she could see where the strong column of his throat met his chest. She wanted to taste the dip of triangle under his Adam’s apple. Maybe fill it with something sweet like ice wine and drink it from there, lapping up the last drop with her tongue. And… she was officially out of her flipping mind.
