Page 53 of The Stipulation
“I did not wince.”
“You absolutely winced.”
I lean forward, lowering my voice. “If I admit to wincing, will you stop bringing it up?”
“Never.”
“Then I deny everything.”
She laughs softly and takes a bite of her duck. I watch the way her eyes close briefly in appreciation.
She sets her fork down slowly, and I hold her gaze. Reaching across the table, I brush my thumb lightly against her wrist.
“You’re beautiful, Jo Button.”
Outside, the lights of the Eiffel Tower flicker in the distance. Inside the restaurant, Jo Button’s cheeks are flushed from wine, argument, and art. Her eyes are bright and tantalizing.
“I’ll admit something,” I say.
She arches a brow. “A confession?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“I spent less time admiring the sculptures than I implied.”
Her lips curve knowingly. “That’s hardly a confession.”
“I was watching you,” I finish, looking into her eyes as I say it. She doesn’t look away. When we finally break our gaze, I smile at her.
“You really did enjoy today, didn’t you?”
“I did,” she admits enthusiastically. “I loved seeing the pieces through your eyes too. The way you notice everything. The architecture, the light, the history. It’s actually pretty damn impressive.”
I lean back, pretending to be modest. “It was your knowledge, your eye, that made everything better.”
Jo throws her head back and laughs. “You really do have a way with words, Axel.”
I wait a moment before I speak again. “So,” I murmur, leaning in slightly and lowering my voice. “What happens in Paris stays in Paris, right?”
Jo raises an eyebrow, her lips curving with mischief. “Fine. But you have to promise to behave until we’re back in the room.”
“I promise to try,” I say, though my smile likely gives away my intention to test that promise as soon as possible.
Dessert arrives, something delicate and architecturally challenging involving chocolate and spun sugar.
“It’s so pretty I almost don’t want to ruin it,” Jo remarks.
“You didn’t hesitate with the duck.”
“That was different. That was destiny.”
I shake my head, amused, and pour more of the wine into both of our glasses. The lights have dimmed, and the low light catches her cheeks and lips. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and looks at me across the table.
“Tell me something real about you,” she invites.
“I’ve told you many real things about me.”
