Intrigued, Sarah pumped him for more details about his family. “I know you grew up on a ranch. In Nebraska, wasn’t it?”
“New Mexico, but it was more like a hardscrabble farm than a ranch.”
“Do your parents still work the farm?”
“They do. They like the old place and have no desire to leave it, although they did let me make a few improvements.”
More than a few, Sarah guessed.
“What about your sisters?”
He had four, she remembered, none of whom had agreed to be interviewed for the Beguile article. The feeling that their business was nobody else’s ran deep in the Hunter clan.
“All married, all comfortable, all happy. You hungry?”
The abrupt change of subject threw Sarah off until she saw what had captured his attention. They’d reached the Pont de l’Alma, which gave a bird’s-eye view of the glass-roofed barges docked on the north side of the Seine. One boat was obviously set for a lunch cruise. Its linen-draped tables were set with gleaming silver and crystal.
“Have you ever taken one of these Seine river cruises?” Dev asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’re, uh, a little touristy.”
“This is Paris. Everyone’s a tourist, even the Parisians.”
“Good God, don’t let a native hear you say that!”
“What do you say? Want to mingle with the masses for a few hours?”
She threw a glance at a tour bus disgorging its load of passengers and swallowed her doubts.
“I’m game if you are.”
He steered her to the steps that led down to the quay. Sarah fully expected them to be turned away at the ticket office. While a good number of boats cruised the Seine, picking up or letting off passengers at various stops, tour agencies tended to book these lunch and dinner cruises for large groups months in advance.
Whatever Dev said—or paid—at the ticket booth not only got them on the boat, it garnered a prime table for two beside the window. Their server introduced herself and filled their aperitif glasses with kir. A smile in his eyes, Dev raised his glass.
“To us.”
“To us,” Sarah echoed softly.
The cocktail went down with velvet smoothness. She savored the intertwined flavors while Dev gave his glass a respectful glance.
“What’s in this?”
“Crème de cassis—black-currant liqueur—topped with white wine. It’s named for Félix Kir, the mayor of Dijon, who popularized the drink after World War II.”
“Well, it doesn’t have the same wallop as your grandmother’s Žuta Osa but it’s good.”
“’Scuse me.”
The interruption came from the fortyish brunette at the next table. She beamed Sarah a friendly smile.
“Y’all are Americans, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we are.”
“So are we. We’re the Parkers. Evelyn and Duane Parker, from Mobile.”
Sarah hesitated. She hated to be rude, but Evelyn’s leopard-print Versace jacket and jewel-toed boots indicated she kept up with the latest styles. If she read Beguile, she would probably recognize Number Three from the Sexiest Singles article. Or from the recent news coverage.
Dev solved her dilemma by gesturing to the cell phone Evelyn clutched in one hand. “I’m Dev and this is my fiancée, Sarah. Would you like me to take a picture of you and your husband?”
“Please. And I’ll do one of y’all.”
The accordion player began strolling the aisle while cell phones were still being exchanged and photos posed for. When he broke into a beautiful baritone, all conversation on the boat ceased and Sarah breathed easy again.
Moments later, they pulled away from the dock and glided under the first of a dozen or more bridges yet to come. Meal service began then. Sarah wasn’t surprised at the quality of the food. This was Paris, after all. She and Dev sampled each of the starters: foie gras on a toasted baguette; Provençal smoked salmon and shallots; duck magret salad with cubes of crusty goat cheese; tiny vegetable egg rolls fried to a pale golden brown. Sarah chose honey-and-sesame-seed pork tenderloin for her main dish. Dev went with the veal blanquette. With each course, their server poured a different wine. Crisp, chilled whites. Medium reds. Brandy with the rum baba they each selected for dessert.
Meanwhile, Paris’s most famous monuments were framed in the windows. The Louvre. La Conciergerie. Notre Dame. The Eiffel Tower.
The boat made a U-turn while Sarah and Dev lingered over coffee, sharing more of their pasts. She listened wide-eyed to the stories Dev told of his Air Force days. She suspected he edited them to minimize the danger and maximize the role played by others on his crew. Still, the war-torn countries he’d flown into and the horrific disasters he’d helped provide lifesaving relief for made her world seem frivolous by comparison.
“Grandmama took us abroad every year,” she related when he insisted it was her turn. “She was determined to expose Gina and me to cultures other than our own.”
“Did she ever take you to Karlenburgh?”
“No, never. That would have been too painful for her. I’d like to go someday, though. We still have cousins there, three or four times removed.”
She traced a fingertip around the rim of her coffee cup. Although it tore at her pride, she forced herself to admit the truth.
“Gina and I never knew what sacrifices Grandmama had to make to pay for those trips. Or for my year at the Sorbonne.”
“I’m guessing your sister still doesn’t know.”
She jerked her head up, prepared to defend Gina yet again. But there was nothing judgmental in Dev’s expression. Only quiet understanding.
“She has a vague idea,” Sarah told him. “I never went into all the gory details, but she’s not stupid.”
Dev had to bite down on the inside of his lower lip. Eugenia Amalia Therése St. Sebastian hadn’t impressed him with either her intelligence or her common sense. Then again, he hadn’t been particularly interested in her intellectual prowess the few times they’d connected.
In his defense, few horny, heterosexual males could see beyond Gina’s stunning beauty. At least not until they’d spent more than an hour or two in the bubbleheaded blonde’s company. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he chose not to share that particular observation.
He couldn’t help comparing the sisters, though. No man in his right mind would deny that he’d come out the winner in the St. Sebastian lottery. Charm, elegance, smarts, sensuality and...
He’d better stop right there! When the hell had he reached the point where the mere thought of Sarah’s smooth, sleek body stretched out under his got him rock hard? Where the memory of how she’d opened her legs for him damned near steamed up the windows beside their table?
Suddenly Dev couldn’t wait for the boat to pass under the last bridge. By the time they’d docked and he’d hustled Sarah up the gangplank, his turtleneck was strangling him. The look of confused concern she flashed at him as they climbed the steps to street level didn’t help matters.
“Are you all right?”
He debated for all of two seconds before deciding on the truth. “Not anywhere close to all right.”
“Oh,