Romancing the Dark in the City of Light by Ann Jacobus Page B

because she will find him. And apologize for being so flaky last night. She must.
    Although he’ll probably roll his off-kilter eyes and walk away.
    She sighs. Wise move.
    A whiff of stale cologne, old beer, and cigarettes makes her turn. Kurt stands too close behind her.
    “Fancy meeting you here,” he says, white teeth gleaming.
    “Ohmigod,” she says. Part of her is horrified, part is thrilled. Her knees are weak. He takes her arm. That same warm iciness spreads from his touch.
    “Let go!” she blurts out. People turn around and stare at her. He lets go, but looks hurt. Now she feels like an idiot. She’s too touchy. No, she’s not used to people touching her.
    He speaks quietly. “I had an appointment on rue Copernic and saw you come in here. I thought a little ice cream might hit the spot.”
    She blinks. That’s what she thought.
    “What kind of appointment?”
    “Business.”
    “You’re following me.”
    His eyes widen in alarm. “Honestly, I’m not. I did follow you in here, but I thought you were following me at Les Puces. Maybe great minds think alike.”
    “Um. Sure.”
    “Will you at least sit down with me for a moment? To eat your ice cream?” His voice is bedroom low.
    She doesn’t answer. His pupils are oversized. Dilated. That means you’re looking at something you like, right? Or you’re high.
    Or brain damaged.
    “I’m such nice company. And you are—besides heart-stoppingly gorgeous—spunky and charming.”
    She snorts. There’s no getting rid of him. Besides, no one has ever called her charming before. Certainly not gorgeous.
    Or spunky, for that matter. “Okay, okay.”
    He sits at one of the small tables and she orders two single Belgian chocolate ice creams in a cup. She could bolt, and go to school like she planned. But honestly, what’s the point? She’s already late, another half hour won’t make much difference. Besides, he’s watching her from across the room, smiling, godlike. He’s muscular, lean, and somehow tanned. Maybe from skiing or a recent weekend closer to the equator. His face is balanced perfectly between rugged and pretty-boy. He’s wearing a satiny, blue oxford shirt—that she’d like to run her fingers across—under a jacket and jeans. He absently pulls his hand through his unruly mane of hair.
    She wonders why no one else is staring at him, wondering which celebrity he is. Probably because they’re too cool in this neighborhood. People either seem to look right through him, or stare at him in alarm.
    “Thanks,” he says as she sits down across from him. “I’ll get it next time.”
    He leans over the table and x-rays her with his eyes as he takes a bite of the rich dark ice cream. Then he holds the spoon in his lips and closes his eyes. She can’t help staring. “Mmmm. Orgasmic,” he murmurs.
    She pokes her spoon in her cup then puts it, ice cream–smeared, into her mouth and sucks. Her blood is humming too fast through her veins now to eat. She wants to sit in his lap and kiss him. At least. She knows almost nothing about him but imagines her tongue tracing his cheek, down his throat to that smooth hollow—
    “What’s up with the crippled guy?” he demands severely.
    “Huh?” She’s snapped from her fantasy. “I—he’s my friend.”
    “I don’t think so.” Now he laughs. “Not anymore. He’s a waste of your time anyway.”
    “What? Look, if I want your take on things, I’ll ask. Anyway, he’s not ‘crippled.’ He’s disabled. And not even.”
    “I’m starting to get jealous. You need to pay more attention to your true friends now, like me.” He glances out the window, then gives her another sexy grin. “Hey, the sun’s out and we must make hay.”
    “What?” He’s so Jekyll and Hyde–like. The sun isn’t out. And all she can think of is a “roll in the hay.” She’s also dying for a slug from her flask.
    “Come with me,” he says, standing. “I’ve got a great idea.”
    “I—I can’t. I’ve got