Sweet as Pie Crimes by Anisa Claire West Page A

I’m sure we’d be pummeling each other with hard cover books if we spent any more waking hours together.
    “That’s really sweet.  Thanks,” I said, softening my tone. 
    “But you won’t consider it?” He asked rhetorically as I shook my head.  “What if I stopped smoking on the balcony and started smoking on the sidewalk?” He proposed with a full-lipped grin.
    “Maybe,” I replied teasingly while he appraised me from head to toe, as though noticing my dress for the first time.
    “You look very pretty tonight,” he commented before abruptly putting out his cigarette and heading towards the door.  “I’m going to bed early.  It’s been a long day.  Maybe see you at breakfast.”
    “Okay, good night,” I replied, perplexed by his sudden departure. 
    Slowly, I walked back to my room and turned on my bedside lamp with the earnest intention of studying.  But my eyes simply wouldn’t focus on the pages, and my brain wouldn’t process any of the information.  It was too early in the semester for me to be suffering from burn-out.  I slapped my wrist, annoyed at myself for being distracted.  I had yet another exam to study for plus a research paper to write.  It was going to be a long night.  Instead of my usual calming glass of wine, I decided I needed a heaping dose of caffeine.  So I hurried to the kitchen cabinets, furious to find that we were all out of coffee.  Damn it, Xavier , I thought.  Did the man do nothing else but burn through cigarettes and chug down black coffee? 
    It was only 9 pm, not nearly as ungodly an hour as it had been when I witnessed the cream puff crime.  Maybe it would be safe if I ran down to a café and grabbed a quick cup of java.  If I didn’t, there was no way I was going to plow through my law textbooks and start researching my paper.  Grabbing my purse, I cruised down the stairs with visions of a double espresso dancing in my weary head.
    A few doors down and I was inside a classically European café, complete with an array of French pastries---gag! Just the sight reminded me of being at work---along with steaming, fizzing cappuccino machines and, of course, tables full of people getting their nicotine fix.  Sigh.  Xavier was right.  Paris was a city that embraced smokers, and I just had to learn to live with it.  Holding my breath as I walked to the counter to place my order, I felt a pair of eyes penetrate my back.  Prickly hairs immediately stood out on the nape of my neck as I felt instinctively that I was being watched.  Quelling my suspicions, I gave my double espresso order to the barista.  As I made my way down the line to collect my coffee, I still felt strongly that someone was staring at me.  But I didn’t want to turn around and give into the unexplainable fear that was crawling its way up my spine.
    Holding the delicate espresso cup between two hands, I took a sobering sip and strode towards a corner table.  As I sat down and licked the thin layer of foam off the top of the cup, I found myself under the intense perusal of Patric, who looked arrestingly handsome in the candlelit cafe.
    “ Bon soir , Mademoiselle.  Are you ready to finally have coffee with me?”
 

Chapter 3
    Scorching espresso burned my tongue as I met the artist’s disconcerting gaze.  Something in his stare made me feel hunted as he didn’t blink at all.  But something even stronger in his eyes made me feel reeled in like a rainbow bass trapped on a fish hook.  The man was indisputably gorgeous.  With eyes deeper than the double espresso in my cup and lips more luscious than all the pastries of Paris combined, he was an intoxicating vision.  I guesstimated that he must be somewhere in his early 30’s.  Feeling a blister form on my injured tongue, I set my cup down and lowered my gaze along with it, breaking eye contact after what felt like an hour-long staring contest.
    “May I join you?” He asked incongruously, as he had already snatched a seat