“Goomph,” she said inadequately, trying not to drool.
Luc grinned and popped the remainder of the appetizer into his mouth.
Peachy didn’t know whether the move was intended to be suggestive of more intimate kinds of sharing. But if it wasn’t, it should have been. A quiver—part anticipation, part apprehension—raced through her. She reached for her flute of champagne.
“As for the question you didn’t ask,” Luc went on once he’d chewed and swallowed. “I usually eat alone. The last time I brought a woman here—women, actually—was about ten months ago. It was the MayWinnies’ birthday and I invited them to dinner.”
Peachy nearly choked on her champagne.
“Oh,” she was finally able to say, wondering if her cheeks were as flushed as they felt.
“Are you all right, cher?” Luc asked solicitously.
“Just…fine,” she said. Control, she told herself firmly. She had to regain control of this situation!
Regain control? a little voice inside her skull mocked. Who are you trying to kid, Pamela Gayle? Luc’s been running this show from the moment he told you, “Not tonight”!
Well, yes, she conceded irritably. Maybe he had been. But she’d been in charge—sort of—before that. She’d been the one who’d seized the sexual initiative. Oh, all right! Not seized it, exactly. But she’d definitely been the one who’d broached the subject of giving up her virginity.
Peachy took a cautious sip of the champagne. As untutored as her palate was about such things, it was still capable of discerning that she was imbibing something very special. The taste of the wine was incandescently delicious.
“Did you order this?” she asked, setting down her glass and gazing across the table at her future lover with what she hoped was a no-nonsense expression.
“Would you object if I had?”
“Luc—”
He spread his hands in apparent conciliation. “It came compliments of the management.”
“Oh.” She glanced away, wishing she’d done less doodling in French class.
There was a pause. Then: “My question stands, Peachy,” Luc said pointedly.
Her gaze slewed back to his face. “What question?”
“Would you object if I had ordered the champagne?”
“Yes.” She cocked her chin. “I would.”
He remained silent for a moment or two, seeming to weigh her unequivocal answer. Then he asked, “Why?”
Peachy took a deep breath. It was the perfect opening for what she’d told herself she was going to say.
“Because this is not a date, Luc,” she declared. “You and I—it just isn’t, all right? We’re not going out together. I mean—yes, we’re out. And yes, we’re together. But we’re not, uh, uh—”
“Dating,” he finished, reaching for a second toast point.
“I’m serious!”
“I realize that, cher.”
“Seriously serious.”
“Fine. This is not a date.”
Although she was uncertain whether he was genuinely conceding the point or simply humoring her, Peachy decided to proceed to the second item on her agenda.
“And another thing,” she said.
“Yes?”
“I want—no, I’m going to pick up the tab tonight.”
“All right.”
“This isn’t open for discussion. I’ve thought it through very carefully and I’ve decided that—” She broke off abruptly. “What did you say?”
“I said, all right.” While Luc’s tone was mild, there was a glint in his dark eyes that was anything but.
“You don’t…mind?”
“Not unless you’re classifying this meal as payment for services you’re expecting me to render in the future.”
It took Peachy a moment or two to understand what he was saying. Once she did, she was appalled.
“No,” she said, shaking her head so vigorously she felt her gold and jade earrings bounce against her cheeks. “Oh, no, Luc. Of course not!”
“Good,” her dinner companion responded. “Because while I freely admit to engaging in some less-than-respectable activities in my life, I draw the line at turning gigolo.” He raised his pâté-laden toast point to his lips. “Even on a one-time-only basis.”
The sight of Luc’s even white teeth snapping down on the tidbit he was holding sent a tremor running through Peachy.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a pause, aware that her voice was much huskier than normal. “I never meant to suggest—I mean, my paying for dinner tonight isn’t—” She grimaced, then opted for bluntness. “Look, Luc. You have a tendency to overwhelm people. Maybe you got used to giving orders in the army. Or maybe you’re accustomed to bossing around the characters you create. The point is, you like to take charge of things. And given our—no, given my situation—”
“You want to be the one who’s in control.”
There was something in his tone that caused Peachy’s breath to jam at the top of her throat.
She wasn’t unaware of the fact that Luc’s childhood had been infinitely less idyllic than hers. The MayWinnies’ pseudo-clucking over their mutual landlord’s rakish behavior was frequently leavened with delicate references to his mother’s “popularity” with the opposite sex and his father’s “fondness” for fine wine. Laila Martigny—who’d financed her education by doing domestic duty for the Devereauxs and others—was even blunter in her comments.
“When I think about the bad that’s been done to that boy,” she’d once told Peachy, abandoning her normally flawless diction for a patois phrasing that carried the lilt of her Caribbean heritage. “I’m amazed he grew up any kind of good.”
Still.
To hear the empathy in Luc’s voice…
To sense that he understood—truly understood—her feelings of vulnerability…
Peachy hadn’t expected it. She hadn’t expected it at all.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s what I want.”
An odd smile ghosted around the corners of Luc’s mouth then disappeared. Propping his elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers and leaned forward.
“Yesterday,” he began slowly, “when you were explaining why you’d decided to come to me first, I wondered whether you were leaving something unsaid.”
Peachy’s heart performed a queer, cardiac somersault. She suddenly found herself recalling her previous evening’s impression that Luc had been holding back from her on some key level—that even as he’d accepted her proposal, he’d been silently amending their verbal agreement with an escape clause.
“Like what?” she asked warily.
“Like—” his gaze slid away from her face “—you trust me.”
Peachy’s initial response was to wonder why Luc should sound so skeptical. But then she realized that what she’d thought was skepticism was something much deeper. Much darker.
“Is there some reason why I shouldn’t?” she countered.
His