Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I took his hesitation as a yes and didn’t give him a chance to shake me off. I hooked my arm through Alistair’s, bypassing the elevators and heading straight for the exit.
Did I mention that it was a beautiful day? The sky was an impossible shade of blue with fluffy cotton ball clouds. I inhaled deeply as I glanced up at the French flag billowing in the breeze and the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Perfect.
We walked across the street to the Jardin des Tuileries through the grand iron gates and into the park. This was easily my fifth or sixth jaunt through the gardens. I’d strolled along the tree-lined wide dirt paths, bumping elbows with tourists and Parisians taking detours on their way to work. It was a nice place to sit with a cup of coffee near the fountain, drinking in the scenery before deciding if I wanted to visit the Louvre to my left or stroll the Champs Élysées on my right.
Today, I steered us to a café hidden in the canopy of trees and chose a table for two. I wasn’t hungry at all, but I took the liberty of ordering Alistair a bowl of soup and a jambon et fromage on a baguette and tea for both of us.
“You ordered for me?” he inquired, cocking his brow curiously.
“Sorry, but you were making a meal out of that menu, and sipping tea on an empty stomach can’t be good for you.”
He frowned. “On the contrary, tea is beneficial to the digestive system.”
“So is food. And I don’t think you’ve eaten anything decent in days, so have a damn sandwich. My treat. I haven’t been to this café yet, but if it’s anything like the one I ate at yesterday, the bread alone is haute cuisine.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. And this will be better for you than eating cookies for breakfast,” I retorted, quickly adding, “Never mind. I’d rather eat cookies too, but it’s not a healthy choice for a guy who uses his brain so much.”
He pursed his lips in amusement as he fiddled with his glasses. “Thank you for thinking of me. Unnecessary, but…very kind of you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Our eyes met and held for a beat. Two seconds later, my face felt flush as a swarm of butterflies fluttered against my rib cage.
Odd reaction. I mean, sure…the professor was hot as fuck. Under his sad beige and brown exterior was a masculine specimen of pure beefy hotness. But that was a simple observation. Nothing more.
Alistair glanced up as the waiter deposited two individual teapots and cups, soup, and the sandwich on the table. He thanked him in French, reaching for his teapot like a junkie desperate for his next hit. He added milk and sugar, stirred the liquid—three times in each direction, clinking the spoon in a perfect triangle. Then he set the spoon on the saucer and sipped.
I observed his careful ritual while I poured my own tea.
“You’re staring,” he commented, picking up the ham-and-cheese baguette.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. How’s your work coming along?” I asked politely.
“Well enough,” Alistair replied, biting into his baguette with a moan. “This is very good.”
Okay, the flash of heat returned in full force. I cradled my teacup, tearing my gaze from the hungry man eliciting sexy noises with every other bite. This was what blue balls did to a guy. It wasn’t possible to get turned-on watching someone eat a fucking sandwich, was it?
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, but thank you.”
“I could organize your paperwork or do some basic data entry or—oh, my God, if you don’t quit having sex with that damn jambon baguette, someone’s gonna call the creep police on us,” I whisper-hissed.
He quirked a brow, dabbing his chin with the thin white napkin. “The creep police? Has anyone told you that you’re a very unusual person, Winnie?”
“Often. So how’s this gonna go? If you’re going to continue being a workaholic, I’m going to have to stage an intercourse to make sure you eat. Don’t think I won’t do it,” I warned.
Alistair’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he dug into the soup. “I believe you mean intervention…not intercourse.”
“Oops. Anyway, give me something. What can I do?”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have the training to help with my research, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Hmm. Can you at least tell me what you’re working on?”
He eyed me over his soup spoon for a moment as if weighing the wisdom of sharing Egyptian secrets. His intensity was jarring for someone who seemed determined to blend in with his surroundings. It was in the set of his jaw and his shoulders and his razorlike stare. This man was fierce.
“All right. I’m in the midst of contributing to a rather extensive exhibit detailing the everyday life of ancient citizens of Egypt, throughout a number of dynasties. A recent archeological dig in Saqqara turned into a treasure trove with thousands of new artifacts. As you can imagine, it’s a daunting task.”