conference-like table had a laptop on it along with a decanter of wine and a glass. Ian sat in front of the computer screen while Lucien stood looking over his shoulder, a glass of bloodred wine in his hand.
Elise had noticed that Ian had seemed preoccupied and tense when they arrived, but he currently laughed unrestrainedly at something Lucien had said. Francesca gave her a quick, pleased smile before she led her over to the fireplace mantel. Elise stared with wide-eyed wonder at Francesca’s painting.
“I can’t get over how talented you are,” Elise praised sincerely. “And to think . . . you painted Ian all those years before you ever even met, and he recognized himself and bought the painting without knowing you. Talk about fate, the way you two ended up together. It’s very romantic.”
“A more unlikely couple you wouldn’t find anywhere. And yet . . . once we got together, nothing could have been more right,” she said for Elise’s ears only.
“I suppose you could say the same of Lucien and me,” Elise said, looking back at the two men as they chatted. Lucien glanced up and caught her staring. He gave her that small, secret smile that always made her cheeks heat and her heartbeat escalate.
Oh Lord. She really did have it bad.
“You and he actually have similar backgrounds, though,” Francesca pointed out quietly.
“Yes, but he’s the most disciplined man I know. And I’m about as controlled as a tornado,” Elise murmured before she took a sip of soda.
Francesca laughed warmly. “Somehow, I suspect that’s precisely what Lucien loves about you. Sometimes oil and water really do mix for the best results.”
Elise blinked at the word
love
but she quickly hurried to hide her discomposure. “In Lucien’s and my case, the more apt analogy is more like a match and dynamite,” Elise muttered under her breath.
Francesca chuckled, but her gaze was fixed on Ian across the room. She wore a worried expression.
“Is Ian doing all right?” Elise asked delicately.
Francesca sighed. “He’s had a lot on his mind lately. I told you Lucien has a good effect on him.”
Elise glanced at the men, glad to see Ian lean back in such a relaxed manner and nod in interest. She and Francesca walked across the large room to the long, oval table.
“I understand Lucien has already found himself a very talented executive chef for his new restaurant,” Ian said with just a hint of a smile as they approached. Elise was learning that for Ian Noble, that ghost of a grin was the equivalent of beaming for the average person.
Francesca looked around, a delighted expression on her face. “You?”
Elise nodded.
“Really? How exciting. Why didn’t you say something?” she said accusingly.
“Well, we’re still in talks,” Elise said, meeting Lucien’s warm gaze. “And I still have to finish my stage. But I think all the details can be worked through. I’m no fool, to turn down such a wonderful opportunity.” His eyebrows arched slightly as if in interest at what she’d said. She hadn’t been so forthright with him but had hedged, worried she was taking advantage of his generosity. Elise broke into a smile.
Lucien shrugged negligently, bringing her attention down to his broad shoulders draped in a bluish-gray button-down shirt that did marvelous things for his eyes. “I’m the one who took advantage of a wonderful opportunity.”
“Lucien’s been telling me about your concept for the restaurant. Sounds very interesting,” Ian said as the phone on his desk began to ring. He made no move to answer it. “I have a friend from my college days who is a recovering alcoholic, and he’s told me point-blank he finds the sight of alcohol and people drinking challenging. I worry at times, meeting him out at restaurants. And as you can see”—he nodded toward the well-stocked sideboard against the wall that contained several crystal decanters of cognac, brandy, and bourbon—“this is hardly a safe
Elise had noticed that Ian had seemed preoccupied and tense when they arrived, but he currently laughed unrestrainedly at something Lucien had said. Francesca gave her a quick, pleased smile before she led her over to the fireplace mantel. Elise stared with wide-eyed wonder at Francesca’s painting.
“I can’t get over how talented you are,” Elise praised sincerely. “And to think . . . you painted Ian all those years before you ever even met, and he recognized himself and bought the painting without knowing you. Talk about fate, the way you two ended up together. It’s very romantic.”
“A more unlikely couple you wouldn’t find anywhere. And yet . . . once we got together, nothing could have been more right,” she said for Elise’s ears only.
“I suppose you could say the same of Lucien and me,” Elise said, looking back at the two men as they chatted. Lucien glanced up and caught her staring. He gave her that small, secret smile that always made her cheeks heat and her heartbeat escalate.
Oh Lord. She really did have it bad.
“You and he actually have similar backgrounds, though,” Francesca pointed out quietly.
“Yes, but he’s the most disciplined man I know. And I’m about as controlled as a tornado,” Elise murmured before she took a sip of soda.
Francesca laughed warmly. “Somehow, I suspect that’s precisely what Lucien loves about you. Sometimes oil and water really do mix for the best results.”
Elise blinked at the word
love
but she quickly hurried to hide her discomposure. “In Lucien’s and my case, the more apt analogy is more like a match and dynamite,” Elise muttered under her breath.
Francesca chuckled, but her gaze was fixed on Ian across the room. She wore a worried expression.
“Is Ian doing all right?” Elise asked delicately.
Francesca sighed. “He’s had a lot on his mind lately. I told you Lucien has a good effect on him.”
Elise glanced at the men, glad to see Ian lean back in such a relaxed manner and nod in interest. She and Francesca walked across the large room to the long, oval table.
“I understand Lucien has already found himself a very talented executive chef for his new restaurant,” Ian said with just a hint of a smile as they approached. Elise was learning that for Ian Noble, that ghost of a grin was the equivalent of beaming for the average person.
Francesca looked around, a delighted expression on her face. “You?”
Elise nodded.
“Really? How exciting. Why didn’t you say something?” she said accusingly.
“Well, we’re still in talks,” Elise said, meeting Lucien’s warm gaze. “And I still have to finish my stage. But I think all the details can be worked through. I’m no fool, to turn down such a wonderful opportunity.” His eyebrows arched slightly as if in interest at what she’d said. She hadn’t been so forthright with him but had hedged, worried she was taking advantage of his generosity. Elise broke into a smile.
Lucien shrugged negligently, bringing her attention down to his broad shoulders draped in a bluish-gray button-down shirt that did marvelous things for his eyes. “I’m the one who took advantage of a wonderful opportunity.”
“Lucien’s been telling me about your concept for the restaurant. Sounds very interesting,” Ian said as the phone on his desk began to ring. He made no move to answer it. “I have a friend from my college days who is a recovering alcoholic, and he’s told me point-blank he finds the sight of alcohol and people drinking challenging. I worry at times, meeting him out at restaurants. And as you can see”—he nodded toward the well-stocked sideboard against the wall that contained several crystal decanters of cognac, brandy, and bourbon—“this is hardly a safe
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