Page 69 of Mountain Target

“I said, you’re staring at me. Do you like what you see?”

“You know I do,” she said, biting her bottom lip.

“I like what I see as well. That dress is … a temptation.”

Her mouth went dry. They were still in the driveway. They could still—

“What does it tempt you to do?”

“It tempts me to call the restaurant and cancel our dinner reservation,” he whispered—nibbled—in her ear.

God.

The feel of his lips on her skin was electric. And this lighter, happier version of Beau … she felt like he was meeting him for the first time.

“I’m … all for that,” she stuttered.

He looked at her for a long instant, then surprised her by shaking his head.

“No. I want to take you to dinner. There’s time for everything,” and she didn’t know if it was her he was trying to convince or himself.

He surprised her by taking her up to the Brevent cable car.

“What … what are we doing up here? Surely you don’t expect me to put on a pair of skis—“

“No,” he laughed. “But the restaurant is up on the ski slopes. Wait till you see the view.”

He was right. From their table by the window, they could see the entire town of Chamonix. She saw the shimmering lights, the houses that looked so tiny she could pick them up between her finger and thumb.

And, while she watched the valley, Beau watched her.

“You’d never been up here before?”

She shook her head. “It’s beautiful.”

“The food’s great as well, you’ll see.”

And it was.

“Try this,” he said, pulling up a forkful of potato gratin from his dish.

She laughed, realizing she’d probably been eying it enviously, and leaned forward to take it in her mouth. And even though her lips didn’t touch the metal, the mere thought that she was eating from the same fork he’d been eating from, the intimacy … was like another electric shock.

Then the creamy, crispy potato fairly melted into her mouth.

“Hmm … That’s so good! I should have ordered this myself.”

He pushed the plate towards her. “Have some more.”

“I’m not going to take your food,” she argued.

“I’m not that hungry,” he argued. Then added quickly, “I’m nervous.”

The fork she was holding stopped its way mid-flight. “Nervous? What do you have to be nervous about?”

“I want … I want to impress you. Whatever it is we’re doing, I want to get this right.”

She was filled with a sudden bout of tenderness—yet another feeling to add to everything he made her feel.