“I’ve missed wearing jeans.”
“They look good on you. I … uh … didn’t mean any disrespect by that, Sister.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “No insult taken.”
Dylan was doing his best to hide his reaction to seeing her in regular clothes. It was endearing, and it might have amused her more if she weren’t fighting her own battle.
When they’d been running from the bad guys, she hadn’t had time to appreciate how freakinghothe was. But now that they were just two people walking down the street, she couldn’t seem to ignore the pull between them.
Everything about him turned her on. His dark, smooth voice. The muscles beneath his T-shirt. Those biceps. His smile. Those gray eyes and long eyelashes. That square jaw with its growth of stubble. His lips. Even the way he moved—graceful, masculine, sure of himself. Then again, he’d served as an elite SEAL and had mastered using his body in ways most men never would.
Damn.
It was best not to think about his body. She was clearly drowning in pheromones and suffering from toxic levels of chastity. But she couldn’t do anything about that now, not if the Agency expected her to maintain her cover.
“Over there.” She pointed with a nod of her head toward a restaurant across the street. “It’s going to be expensive. Many of the restaurants in the city have shut down. Those that are open are expensive.”
“Don’t worry about the cost. I’ve got money.”
They crossed the street. Dylan opened the restaurant door for her and followed her inside. The mingled scent of spices and roasting meat hit Gabriela in the stomach, almost making her moan. She hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.
A hostess in big hair and makeup walked over, her lips flattening into a line of disapproval at their casual attire.
Dylan slipped her a twenty. “Sorry about the clothes. Our luggage got lost on our flight back from Paris.”
She accepted the money, tucked it away. “How awful.”
“A quiet table for me and my lady, please.”
She led them to a table in the corner that faced onto the street and left them with menus, her attitude toward them transformed. “I hope they find your luggage.”
Dylan sat with his back to the wall, which was Gabriela’s instinct also, as it would enable her to see everyone who entered the restaurant.
“Order whatever you want,” he said. “I know you must be hungry.”
She perused the menu, her stomach growling audibly. Arepas prepared a half dozen mouth-watering ways. Steak with sautéed mushrooms. Roast chicken with new potatoes. Heartypasticho, the Venezuelan lasagna her grandmother had once made.
She was almost too hungry to make up her mind. “It all looks so good.”
You’re supposed to be a religious sister, and gluttony is still a sin.
She settled on thepastichoand a glass of wine, while Dylan ordered an appetizer of arepas, steak, and a beer.
The drinks arrived quickly.
Dylan raised his glass. “Salud.”
“Salud.” She allowed herself only a sip, knowing that, without food in her stomach, the alcohol would go straight to her head and make her say something stupid, something about how sexy he was and how she wasn’t really a Sister and how she wasn’t into casual sex but she’d be willing to make an exception for him.
Dylan took a sip of his beer, seemed to study her. “You are not at all what I expected, Gabriela.”
The sound of him saying her real name sent a shiver through her.
“How is that?”
“You swear more than I thought you would.”
She winced at her lapses. “Ah. Yes. Sorry.”