deserve to breathe the same air as a gentle, beautiful woman, let alone touch them. He pushed his chair back and kneeled beside Serena, grasping her hands as she stared down at him. She seemed a bit stunned by his appearance there.
Christ, no wonder she'd reacted as she had the first night when he'd been so out of sorts with where he was and with all that had changed. Had she relived that awful experience because of his error? All he could do to amend it was prove he wanted her beyond the intimacy they would eventually find in each other's arms. If he was anything at all, Christophe was a patient man. "I cannot right his wrong, but I can promise you this: I was drawn to you the moment you shoved your way into that crowd and placed your hand upon my arm. I am yours." What could he say to even begin to atone for his own actions?
The corner of her lips tilted up and she rasped out a chuckle. "That's so cheesy."
"There we are." He lifted his palm to her cheek and she trembled. "Give us a smile. That's all I wish to see lighting your face. Never sorrow, or pain, or distrust. Though you do say the strangest things sometimes."
She pulled her other palm free of his and clasped her hands in her lap once more. Was she hiding her fidgeting, or did she long to touch him? He wished she would put her hands on him. "You're smooth. I'll give you that," she said.
"Ooh, congratulations on the engagement!" her chaperone shouted from across the room.
Serena's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she held his gaze. "Oh. My. God." She whirled around. "We're not engaged! Who shouts that across a restaurant?"
Her friend, Becky Ann he believed her name was, brought a hand to her cheek. "Oops. My bad." She blew a curled strand of blonde hair from her eye and grinned. The dark-haired man she was with appeared ready to sneak away. The few other diners were staring at Serena, who'd gone silent and still after her outburst. She covered her face in her hands and swore colorfully.
He tried, he really did, but in keeping his lips pressed together, a great snort escaped when he inhaled again. Hearing a gentle woman use such language was so absurd on its own, then given the situation...
"Shut up." Serena slowly twisted back in her seat to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, as well as her chest. Suddenly he wasn't laughing anymore as he imagined what else would cause that color to appear there. "It's not funny."
"No." He gulped down wine, barely tasting it and returning to his seat before the evidence of his arousal became apparent. "No, it isn't." When she realized he wasn't going to carry on and tease her, the tension left her shoulders and she slumped. "Tell me about this movie you are taking me to see." He hoped to distract her back to being at ease with him again.
"You've never seen Pirates of the Caribbean ? Oh, that's right. You're from 'the past.'" She wiggled the first two fingers on each of her hands in the air. "You probably lived it."
"Pirates, eh?"
She giggled. "It was scheduled already. I didn't pick it, but I do own the films on DVD."
Christophe had no idea what she was talking about, but he smiled as she continued to talk to him about movies, which he gathered were like moving photographs that told a story, like a play. It would be interesting to see, if anything. One day, perhaps he would understand all the changes in the world. At the moment, the only thing that mattered was what made her happy. Her smile warmed him. One day, perhaps she'll talk about me with such affection.
Before long, their food arrived and Christophe was riveted to her tales of some notorious Captain Jack Sparrow he would see in the movie. Aye, if she admired this other pirate, there was hope for him.
Chapter Eight
S erena found a set of upright wooden chairs with cushions on the upper deck overlooking where the screen was set up. They were on a step up from the walkway so the railing wouldn't obscure their view, and far enough to the end that there
Christ, no wonder she'd reacted as she had the first night when he'd been so out of sorts with where he was and with all that had changed. Had she relived that awful experience because of his error? All he could do to amend it was prove he wanted her beyond the intimacy they would eventually find in each other's arms. If he was anything at all, Christophe was a patient man. "I cannot right his wrong, but I can promise you this: I was drawn to you the moment you shoved your way into that crowd and placed your hand upon my arm. I am yours." What could he say to even begin to atone for his own actions?
The corner of her lips tilted up and she rasped out a chuckle. "That's so cheesy."
"There we are." He lifted his palm to her cheek and she trembled. "Give us a smile. That's all I wish to see lighting your face. Never sorrow, or pain, or distrust. Though you do say the strangest things sometimes."
She pulled her other palm free of his and clasped her hands in her lap once more. Was she hiding her fidgeting, or did she long to touch him? He wished she would put her hands on him. "You're smooth. I'll give you that," she said.
"Ooh, congratulations on the engagement!" her chaperone shouted from across the room.
Serena's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she held his gaze. "Oh. My. God." She whirled around. "We're not engaged! Who shouts that across a restaurant?"
Her friend, Becky Ann he believed her name was, brought a hand to her cheek. "Oops. My bad." She blew a curled strand of blonde hair from her eye and grinned. The dark-haired man she was with appeared ready to sneak away. The few other diners were staring at Serena, who'd gone silent and still after her outburst. She covered her face in her hands and swore colorfully.
He tried, he really did, but in keeping his lips pressed together, a great snort escaped when he inhaled again. Hearing a gentle woman use such language was so absurd on its own, then given the situation...
"Shut up." Serena slowly twisted back in her seat to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, as well as her chest. Suddenly he wasn't laughing anymore as he imagined what else would cause that color to appear there. "It's not funny."
"No." He gulped down wine, barely tasting it and returning to his seat before the evidence of his arousal became apparent. "No, it isn't." When she realized he wasn't going to carry on and tease her, the tension left her shoulders and she slumped. "Tell me about this movie you are taking me to see." He hoped to distract her back to being at ease with him again.
"You've never seen Pirates of the Caribbean ? Oh, that's right. You're from 'the past.'" She wiggled the first two fingers on each of her hands in the air. "You probably lived it."
"Pirates, eh?"
She giggled. "It was scheduled already. I didn't pick it, but I do own the films on DVD."
Christophe had no idea what she was talking about, but he smiled as she continued to talk to him about movies, which he gathered were like moving photographs that told a story, like a play. It would be interesting to see, if anything. One day, perhaps he would understand all the changes in the world. At the moment, the only thing that mattered was what made her happy. Her smile warmed him. One day, perhaps she'll talk about me with such affection.
Before long, their food arrived and Christophe was riveted to her tales of some notorious Captain Jack Sparrow he would see in the movie. Aye, if she admired this other pirate, there was hope for him.
Chapter Eight
S erena found a set of upright wooden chairs with cushions on the upper deck overlooking where the screen was set up. They were on a step up from the walkway so the railing wouldn't obscure their view, and far enough to the end that there
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