by Teri Wilson
He squeezed his eyes closed, and when he opened them, he found Evangeline peering through the peephole, clutching Bee. Her hand was clasped gently over the dog’s mouth.
They were hiding, apparently. Ryan just wasn’t sure why. Or from whom.
He watched, waiting, until she spun around.
“Good girl,” she whispered, and set Bee down on the floor.
The little Cavalier immediately began pawing at Ryan’s shins. He glanced at the dog, then back up at Evangeline. Her cheeks went crimson.
His eyes narrowed. “Care to let me in on your little secret?”
She crossed her arms, then promptly uncrossed them. In the light of her apartment, he got a better glimpse at what she was wearing beneath her blush-colored coat—a dress with a feathered skirt and a bit of sparkle on the bodice. She looked more elegant than he’d ever seen her before. Elegant, and fully embarrassed.
She bit her lip. Ryan had to force himself not to focus on her mouth again. “Olive and Bee might not technically be allowed to live here.”
He glanced down at the dog nestled in the crook of his elbow and then at the other one—Bee—who flopped onto her back at his feet, begging for a belly rub. Sweet dogs. No doubt about it. High-maintenance, though. Not exactly the types of pets that could go unnoticed. They weren’t goldfish, for crying out loud.
He set Olive down on the floor beside Bee and, as if to confirm his thoughts on the matter, they immediately began chasing one another in a loop around Evangeline’s flowery, Shabby Chic sofa.
“I’m guessing that was one of your neighbors outside just now?” Ryan said.
She nodded.
He let out a laugh. “Good luck keeping them a secret. You’re going to need it.”
She sighed. “It’s not funny.”
“Actually, it is. A little bit, anyway.” One of the dogs barked, and Ryan shrugged. “I rest my case.”
“Bee is deaf. Her bark is loud because she’s trying to hear herself.”
Understandable, but somehow Ryan didn’t think her landlord would care about that sad little tidbit. “You have one dog that can’t see and another that can’t hear?”
“Yes,” she said, as if it were completely normal. “Bee is Olive’s seeing eye dog. Olive is Bee’s ears. They help each other.”
It was official. He was in a Hallmark movie.
Evangeline brushed past him, toward the kitchen. He had a vague, wine-drenched memory of kissing her there—Evangeline sitting on the counter, her lithe arms draped around his neck. He blew out a steadying breath and averted his gaze. There was a slender wine cabinet in the living room—empty, save for a lone bottle of red.
She returned with two rawhide bones, one for each dog. They immediately settled onto opposite ends of the couch with their treasures.
Evangeline turned toward him, and a self-satisfied smirk tipped her lips. “See? Easy-peasy. No one will know they’re here.”
“For the next five minutes maybe. Although I must say, I admire your ability to convince yourself otherwise. It takes a special kind of optimism to so willingly deny the truth.” He shot her a pointed look.
They weren’t talking about the dogs anymore, and they both knew it.
That ridiculous word—disaster—floated between them. Such a blatant lie.
Evangeline’s gaze flitted around the room. She seemed to be focusing on anything and everything other than him. “Were you telling the truth earlier when you promised not to kiss me?”
“Yes.” Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice told him not to make promises he couldn’t keep. He paused and reconsidered. “With one exception.”
She licked her lips, an unconscious gesture that would have no doubt rattled her if she’d been aware of it. “And what might that be?”
He waited for her to look at him before he answered. “If you ask me to. Nicely, of course.”
It was the only way.
He was her boss, and he didn’t want to take advantage of her. But if she wanted him badly enough to ask him to kiss her, to touch her, he’d never be able to deny her. Wild horses wouldn’t be able to stop him.
Her blue eyes flashed. “Now who’s delusional? You think I’m going to beg you to kiss me?”
“I never said beg. That was your choice of words.” He couldn’t suppress his smile any longer. He grinned at her, full wattage. “Although the prospect does have a certain appeal.”
“If you want someone to beg, there are probably half a dozen women in the Bennington lobby right now who I’m sure would be more than willing to oblige,” she said tartly.
Touché.
He took a step closer—close enough that he could see her pulse pounding in the hollow of her throat. “If you want me to kiss you, you’re going to have to ask.”
“Understood, but just so we’re clear—that’s never going to happen.” Her voice was a ragged whisper, with a hint of vulnerability that crushed something tender and raw deep in his chest.
He had to pause for a moment before he responded.
“Fine. We should probably get going, anyway. There’s a car waiting outside, and our reservations are in less than fifteen minutes.” He steadied the uncharacteristic tremble in his hands by busying himself with buttoning his coat. “But you know what they say.”
“What’s that?” she asked warily.
“Never say never.”
* * *
The ride uptown through the snowy city streets was excruciating. Who knew it was possible to be so thoroughly miserable while sitting in the back seat of a luxury limousine?
Or quite so...restless.
Evangeline squirmed against the buttery soft leather at her back and did her best to ignore Ryan’s presence beside her. But no matter how hard she focused on the delicate snowflakes melting against the car’s darkened windows, she could still feel the warmth of his body, so close to hers. She still shuddered when her thigh brushed against the smooth wool fabric of his bespoke suit pants.
If you want me to kiss you, you’re going to have to ask.
She couldn’t get those words out of her head. They twirled round and round—irresistibly sweet, like spun sugar.
Worst of all, he knew she couldn’t stop thinking about them. She was certain of it. Every time she snuck a sideways glance at him, the corner of his mouth tugged into a sly grin. It was beyond embarrassing.
She wouldn’t ask him to kiss her, obviously. His enticing little ultimatum might have planted the idea right at the forefront of her thoughts, but she’d never act on it. He’d lost his mind if he thought she would. Such reverse psychology might work on the hordes of bachelorettes who threw themselves in his path, but not Evangeline.
Then why are you still thinking about it?
She glared at Ryan.
He regarded her with those blue eyes that always seemed to see too much. “Something on your mind, Miss Holly?”
The man was impossible.
“Yes,” she said primly. “Where are we going? Zander didn’t mention the name of the restaurant.”
Among other things.
The next time Zander requested her presence somewhere, she was going to make sure to get the details. She still couldn’t believe she’d unknowingly walked right into this situation.
“It’s a little French place near Lincoln Center. Mon Ami something or other.” Ryan’s French accent was perfect, because of course it was.
But Evangeline didn’t particularly care about his impressive language skills. A horrible sense of dread had washed over her, and she could barely force her next words out. “Mon Ami Jules?”
It couldn’t be. No. Please, no.
“That sounds right.” He angled his head toward her. “You know it?”
She knew it, all right. Mon Ami Jules was the restaurant where she was supposed to be employed—Je
remy’s restaurant.
She couldn’t have dinner there. Absolutely not. She’d rather cook dinner for Ryan herself.
Not that cooking him dinner would be in any way relevant to the Bennington or Carlo Bocci.
She was losing it. She was one hundred percent losing her mind. “I’ve heard of Mon Ami Jules. Honestly...”
Honestly? She had no intention of being truthful. She was planning on trying to diplomatically extricate herself from the situation by saying she already knew everything there was to know about Mon Ami Jules. But before she could say another word, the limo slowed to a stop in front of Jeremy’s bistro.
Her mouth grew dry as she stared out the window at the fresh Michelin star insignia placed prominently on the building’s glossy front door. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The Michelin star hadn’t even been on Jeremy’s radar. Before their breakup, he’d simply been focused on getting his kitchen up and running—oh, and sleeping with his sous chef in his spare time. Who had the hours to pursue excellence when there was so much sex to be had?
And now the Michelin star had fallen into his lap. The unfairness of it churned in Evangeline’s stomach, twisting into a sickening knot.
She’d been the focused one. She’d been the one who’d played by the rules. Always.
Almost always... She’d made one notable mistake, and he happened to be sitting beside her at the moment, clearly baffled as to why she couldn’t seem to get out of the car.
Tony held the car door open for her, but she remained rooted to the spot, unable to move.
“Now’s the part where we go inside and have dinner.” Ryan straightened the already-perfect Windsor knot in his tie and nodded toward the dark green awning where Mon Ami Jules was spelled out in elegant script.
The tangle of dread in her stomach tightened, and bile rose to the back of her throat.
Oh God.
She was going to have to do it, wasn’t she? She was going to have to walk in there and pretend she was having the time of her life while she shared a lengthy four-course dinner with Ryan Wilde in her ex’s restaurant.
“Evangeline,” Ryan prompted, his expression growing more serious. Wary even, as if he was afraid she might do something crazy like refuse to emerge from the back seat.
No way. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d rattled her to such an extent that she couldn’t do something as simple as sit across a table from him and eat a dish of beef bourguignonne. Nor would she jeopardize her job and hide from Jeremy when she’d done nothing wrong. He was the cheater. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
Still, her legs wobbled beneath her as she climbed out of the limousine. She was actually grateful for the gentle pressure of Ryan’s palm on the small of her back, steadying her, as his touch seemed to smolder right through the beaded bodice of her dress.
“Wilde, party of two,” he said to the hostess.
“Yes, of course.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him without giving Evangeline so much as a cursory glance.
So this is what it must feel like to go on a date with the city’s most eligible bachelor.
Oh joy.
They were quickly seated at a table for two in the far corner of the crowded dining room. At least six tables had been added since the last time Evangeline had stood in the cozy, wood-paneled space. Every one of them was full at the moment. She glanced around and didn’t set eyes on a single unoccupied chair.
“I guess a Michelin star really does translate into a full reservation book,” she muttered once she and Ryan were alone, menus in hand.
“Exactly.” He reached for the wine list and slid it across the crisp, white tablecloth toward Evangeline. “Give it a look. See what you think.”
She scanned the selection. Six reds, seven whites plus a generous offering of champagnes, ranging from extra brut to doux. All French. “It’s a finely tuned list, but appropriate given the dinner menu.”
Ryan frowned. “How can you know that? You haven’t opened your menu yet.”
Busted.
She blinked. “It’s a French bistro, with a French name. I’m assuming all the cuisine is French, as well.”
She really didn’t want to get into the sad, sordid history of her love life. Not here. And definitely not with Ryan.
Was it too much to hope that Jeremy would stay in the kitchen all evening and she’d never be forced to look him in the face or, heaven forbid, introduce him to her bachelor boss?
God, she hoped not.
“Well, I hope you like foie gras because the cuisine here seems pretty one-note,” Ryan said drily.
She pulled a face. “I don’t, actually. Do you know how foie gras is made? It’s inhumane and just plain mean.”
“That makes sense coming from a woman presently risking eviction for the sake of two special-needs dogs.” He closed his menu and pushed it aside. “What’s the story there, anyway?”
Why did he care?
She swallowed. “I thought we established this is a business dinner.”
“It is, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a conversation about something other than the Bennington. It’s going to be a long night if we sit here in silence, don’t you think?”
He had a point.
She took a deep breath. It’s not a date. “I think I told you that until recently Olive and Bee belonged to my grandfather. He can’t have pets where he is now, so I took them in.”
Ryan studied her in that way he had that always made her heart beat too hard. Too fast. “Even though you live in a building that doesn’t allow animals?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she said.
“Yes, you did. But not many people would choose what you did.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why? Because I’m an idiot?”
“On the contrary. It means you’re caring. Passionate.” The still, silent way he held her gaze made her head spin a little.
It was a relief when the sommelier interrupted their conversation to take the wine order. Evangeline tore her gaze away from Ryan to consider the gentleman standing over them, holding a corkscrew. Her replacement, presumably. Her heart sank a little when she spotted the lapel pin on the man’s suit jacket, indicating he’d already passed the advanced sommelier exam.
Without missing a beat, Ryan declined to choose a wine and instead asked the sommelier for a recommendation. A test. He suggested a Côtes du Rhône, an uninspired choice, as far as Evangeline was concerned. But what did she know?
She was beginning to get the definite feeling she was in over her head. Being back on Jeremy’s turf was getting to her. He’d replaced her, in every way possible.
“Well?” Ryan asked after the sommelier had gone. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re wrong. I’m far from passionate. That seems to be the consensus, anyway.” The words flew right out of her before she could stop them.
She didn’t know what it was about Ryan that made her say things she ordinarily wouldn’t dream of saying.
Ryan went still. “I was referring to the wine selection.”
“Right. Of course you were. Um, the wine sounds fine.” She clamped her mouth closed before she said something else even more humiliating. Although she was hard-pressed to think of anything more embarrassing than announcing she was deficient in the passion department.
“Fine? The wine is fine? I know that can’t be right.” He furrowed his brow, oh-so-handsomely.
She really didn’t have the energy to argue with him. It was all she could do just to get through this horrible night. “It’s a Côtes du Rhône. I’m sure it will be lovely.”
“I’ve never heard you describe a wine in so few words before.” Clearly he had no intention of letting it go. “The Evangeline Holly that I know tends to wax poetic about such matters.”
She busied herself with metic
ulously unfolding and refolding the napkin in her lap so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye...
...until he said the words that made her heart stop. “Which is just one of the reasons that I know she’s brimming with passion.”
Her gaze collided with his, and the way he was looking at her left no doubt he was telling the truth.
“Shall I list the other reasons? Or would that be inappropriate, given this is a business dinner? Your call.” His deep voice rolled over her in a wave.
She sat stone still. She didn’t trust herself to breathe, much less speak.
He was saying everything she’d once longed to hear from Jeremy. And for reasons she couldn’t fathom, those words meant even more coming from Ryan. Somewhere along the way, his opinion had become the one that mattered. She wasn’t sure when, or how, but it had.
“Seriously, Evangeline. Whoever told you that you lack passion is a fool.” He leaned forward, looming above the candle in the center of the table, eyes blazing.
“It’s there. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. I’ve tasted it. If you’re wondering if I’m talking about the night we spent together, the answer is yes. But it’s not just that. It’s more. So much more. It’s the way you sliced the top off that champagne bottle and the history lessons you give everyone before you’ll let them taste a sip of wine. It’s the way your eyes go all soft when you talk about your grandfather, and yes, it’s the way your breath catches in your throat when you and I are in the same room together. It’s the way you’re looking at me right now. I go to bed every night—alone, contrary to what you might think—and I dream about that look. That’s passion, Evangeline. And you’re no stranger to it.”
He stopped abruptly, sighing mightily as the sommelier returned.
Neither of them said a word while he presented the wine for Ryan’s inspection, then uncorked the bottle. An agonizing lump swelled in Evangeline’s throat. She felt like crying all of a sudden, and she wasn’t sure why.
She did her best to focus on the swirl of dark liquid in her wineglass as the sommelier poured, but her gaze was drawn back to Ryan’s like a magnet. And when their eyes met once again, she saw her own yearning written all over his face.