Unable to stop himself, Luc traced an index finger along the sharp line of her jaw, dragging the pad of his finger down to her stubborn chin. “Guess you shouldn’t have flirted with a cop then, lady. No such thing as an interview in my line of work.”
“No?”
“Nope.” He moved in closer, shifting so that his upper body leaned into hers. “We start with interrogations.”
“And then?” Her voice was flirty and light, but her eyes were pure heat.
His gaze dropped to his hand, which had found its way to her knee somehow. “Depends. If the cop’s skilled at interrogation, things generally progress to handcuffs…and other things. If the cop’s unsuccessful…”
Luc broke off and shrugged.
Ava looked at him over the top of her wineglass. “Which one are you? The skilled interrogator or the other?”
“Depends.”
“On.”
He leaned in and pressed his lips to her ear. “Whether or not you like handcuffs.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The hostess at La Printemps either had very good timing, or very bad timing, depending on how you looked at it.
Considering that sex with Luc Moretti was a terrible idea, Ava was inclined to think she should tip the hostess for interrupting.
Her humming body said otherwise.
And although the sexual tension eased slightly as they were seated at their table, the evening continued to feel like a date.
The best date she’d had in a long, long time.
Luc leaned back as the server cleared their appetizer plates. “I just can’t picture you as a small-town, Midwest girl.”
“Believe it,” she said, looking down as she swirled her wineglass. “My graduating high school class had under a hundred people. I passed cornfields on my way to cheerleading practice.”
“Cheerleader. That’s hot,” he said, taking out a piece of bread after offering the basket to her.
She rolled her eyes. “What is it with men and cheerleaders?”
Luc chewed his bread thoughtfully before leaning toward her. “What is it with women and men in uniforms?”
“Nuh uh,” she said, holding up a finger, even as she enjoyed his blatant cockiness. “We already established that I’m not going to be one of your groupies.”
“Is that why you kept that parking ticket as a love souvenir of our first meeting?”
Ava giggled. Giggled. What was wrong with her? “Believe me, that is so not what it was.”
“No? Because it had lipstick on it, Sims.”
“So that’s your theory? You think I kissed it good night for three years?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “You tell me.”
“All right,” she said, giving a little shake of her head. “I get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why you’re the family charmer. You’re pretty good at it when you’re not being an uptight bore.”
“Such sweet love words coming out of that pretty mouth.” He gave her that lady-killer smile that she was pretty sure had caused many a damp panty.
Not Ava’s though.
Well maybe hers. Just a little.
Ava inhaled, trying to remember all the reasons she hadn’t kissed him on the ferry the other night.
She couldn’t remember a damned one.
“Stop flirting,” she said, desperate to get them to safer ground. “You’ve been whining for two weeks about how I’m prying into your life. Here’s your chance to pry into mine.”
He dunked another piece of bread in the flavored oil as he considered. “Okay then. I do have a question that’s a little bit…prying.”
“Bring it,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the way her shoulders hunched. She didn’t have any intention of letting him get too personal. She was much too skilled at evasions. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t a little worried about him getting beneath her skin.
“Well I’m just wondering…how short was that cheerleading skirt?”
Ava blinked a little in…disappointment?
Obviously Luc had every intention of keeping the evening flirty and superficial.
She should be grateful. Hell, hadn’t the thought just crossed her mind that she didn’t want him to get too close?
But if she was honest with herself—really good and honest with her apparently fickle brain—a little part of her wanted Luc to ask the hard questions.