“Nice menu, and since you’re doing all the cooking, I know it will be delicious.”
“Thanks. What about you?”
“Since they don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in France, I’m sure we won’t be having turkey,” he said, chuckling. “However, whatever will be on the menu, I’m sure it will be good. Franco plans to host the anniversary dinner at a restaurant near his home. I’ve eaten there before, and the food is delicious.”
“When are you and Deena leaving?”
“We’re flying out Tuesday night and will arrive in Paris on Wednesday before noon. It’s an eleven-hour flight.”
“Wow, that’s long.”
“Yes, but since it’s a direct flight and a red-eye, we’ll sleep at least eight hours.”
“Good thing it’s a short work week.”
He nodded. “With your plans, I assume your office will be closing, or will your staff still have to come in to work a few days?” he asked.
“Yesterday was our last workday. I’m closing the entire office next week, which means we won’t reopen until the Monday after Thanksgiving. I like to give my staff time to spend with their families. What about your office?”
“The same. Most left at noon yesterday, and they won’t return until that Monday as well.”
She nodded. “When will you return from France?”
“The Saturday after Thanksgiving. Deena plans to stay a few days longer to hang out with her godbrother, Marcello Franco. I figured returning that Saturday will give me enough time to recover from jet lag before going to the office on Monday.”
The waiter arrived with their pie, tea and coffee. When Iris slid a piece into her mouth, her expression was priceless. It reminded him of the look on her face when he’d given her that first orgasm on Saturday night. But what he’d given her had been a lot more explosive. That piece of pie didn’t have her eyes rolling to the back of her head or her releasing one hell of a scream.
“You like it?”
“Matt, this pie is delicious. How did you find this place?”
“The couple who owns it, James and Amy Courel, are friends of my godparents. Years ago, when Megan began designing her fashions, the Courels leased her an empty building they owned next door. And during her free time, Ms. Amy worked with Megan as her assistant to get her fashions out on time.”
He took a sip of his coffee, then added, “A few years ago, when the Courels fell on hard times and were about to be evicted, Marcello purchased the two buildings and the land, and he presented it to them as a gift. That’s the one thing I admire about my godparents. They never forget people who helped them during their early years.”
“And now they’re celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. That’s wonderful.”
“Yes, it is.”
They ate their slices of pie and shared conversation. Time was ticking away, and he figured they both knew it. After another refill of his coffee, he looked at his watch. It was close to eleven. He glanced over at her and caught her staring at him. He deciphered that look, and every muscle in his body began to throb. He could tell from the tense set of her jaw that she hadn’t meant for him to detect what he had detected.
“Are you ready for me to take you home now, Iris?”
* * *
Iris drew in a slow, calming breath. She knew, with all that was holy, that she should say yes; she was ready for him to take her home. So, why didn’t she? Why in the world had she agreed to tonight’s date knowing where it might lead? She’d discovered last weekend that she and Matt were combustible. So why was she playing with dynamite?
In a way, she had known the moment she had opened the door to him tonight, and he had stood there, leaning in her doorway, looking sexy as hell, that it would come to this. The man was temptation personified, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, and all those intimate areas she remembered so well in between.
Like her, he was dressed in slacks and a pullover sweater. Not all men could wear that outfit unless they had the shoulders and well-defined pecs for it. Not to mention a chiseled stomach. Matt had it all, especially in the right departments.
And then there was that Matthew Caulder smile. No dimples, but he honestly didn’t need them. It was a smile that had a way of snatching a woman’s breath right out of her lungs. A smile that made her automatically smile back even when she didn’t want to do so. A smile that could make a grown woman blush.
“Iris?”
Why did he have to say her name in such a throaty voice that, to her way of thinking, had a breathy catch to it? One that was playing havoc with her senses and her ability to resist him. Releasing a deep breath, she knew she needed to say something, so she did.
“I’m not ready to go home. Can we drive around a bit? Maybe even park somewhere to enjoy the sights?”