hurt?
"Hungry?"
Before she could speak, the loud growl of her stomach provided the
answer. McKenna gave into a small grin. She could lie without blinking an
eye, but her stomach always told the truth.
Apparently hearing the growl, he laughed. "Good. It just got here."
Her eyes widened as she surveyed the feast he'd ordered for them.
They were in Paris. This kind of meal shouldn't even be available in this
country, much less in the most elegant city in the world.
The scraping of the chair on the hardwood floor pulled her from her
lustful staring at the massive meal. She plopped inelegantly into the chair
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Christy Reece
he'd pulled out for her and watched as he proceeded to heap a plate with
eggs, smoked ham, fried potatoes, and biscuits.
"Where did this food come from?"
A small enigmatic smile played around his mouth. "I made a call to
the chef after you fell asleep. He was kind enough to create the masterpiece
you see before you."
Oh hell . Emotions clogged her throat and tears stung her eyes. Trust
her to cry over something as silly as the mental image of a French chef
running all over Paris looking for someone who could sell him a smoked
country ham or perusing a cookbook for a biscuit recipe.
Obviously recognizing the signs of an overwhelmed woman, Lucas
urged softly, "Eat."
McKenna took a sip of strong French coffee, pulled herself together,
and dived into a breakfast fit for a Nebraska farmer. Her father would have
loved it.
Lucas ate, because if he didn't, it would make McKenna selfconscious. However, he enjoyed watching her eat much more than he
enjoyed the meal. He needed to get over this odd fascination of watching her
consume food. Not only was it making him as hard as a rock, it was damn
freaky.
His taste in women had always been a bit on the eclectic side, but the
things he found physically attractive were, for the most part, predictable and
traditional. A pretty face, a beautiful smile, a shapely ass. McKenna had all
those things, but she also had a way of eating food that made him want to
push that food away, pull her onto the table, and devour her the way she
devoured her meal.
She leaned back into her chair with a groan of apparent fulfillment,
and he gripped the table. His erection pressed against the zipper of his
pants--painful, inconvenient, and embarrassing as hell.
"That was wonderful, Lucas. Thank you."
"Where are you from?"
Shit. Shit. Shit .
Her eyes flaring with fear, she stood. "I think it's time for me to go."
Lucas remained seated. The knife in front of him was tempting. Hell,
never had he thought to wish that Victor had gotten the chance to cut out his
tongue. Why the fuck had he asked the one question that was guaranteed to
put every radar and defense mechanism she possessed on the highest of
alerts? Damned idiot . His mind had been on other things and he'd blurted his
thoughts.
Having no choice, Lucas tried to dig himself out of the hell pit he'd
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Christy Reece
just thrown himself into. "I apologize, McKenna. I know that was out of the
bounds of our agreement. Don't leave."
She sighed. "No, I'm the one who should be apologizing. You've been
incredibly kind...fed me like a queen." Her lips tilted into a tiny smile he had
become very familiar with. It was an endearing little gesture she was
probably not even aware of, and it made her look so incredibly vulnerable
and alone. Once again, Lucas gripped the edge of the table, this time to keep
from jumping to his feet and pulling her into his arms.
"But I really do have to go."
Lucas stood then. The erection that had been throbbing for release had
disappeared. His stupidity and her fear had effectively doused it.
"Last night was..." Hell, what could he say? Amazing? That would
scare her out the door before he got in another breath.
"Nice," she said. "I haven't talked like that in ages." Another tiny
smile. "Thank you."
"Do you know where I live?"
Her brow wrinkled.