Page 27 of Start With A Slap

“That’s not what I meant!” she said. “I want to know why you did this!”

“I don’t give a damn about your cooking,” he snapped. “All right? I needed to see you again, and short of clubbing you over the head and dragging you back to my cave, this seemed the only viable option.”

Jason’s key turned in the lock.

Shaking herself out of his blue-eye-vortex, Ivy turned back to the food and pretended she’d never heard that.

CHAPTER 9

Conversations

After their kitchen tête-à-tête, Sever transformed into Mr. Affable. Ingratiating his way through dinner, he told funny jokes, shared self-deprecating tales of his travels, asked his son for legal advice, listened, laughed, and even encouraged Jason to talk about himself.

It was weird. And obviously a ruse. But to what end?

‘Devil’s a silver-tongue.’

Sever tipped the Macallan spout her way. “What about you, Ivy?”

Ivy covered her glass. She’d already maxed her limit, and this was no time to get hazy...-er. “What about me, what?”

“If you could be anywhere in this big wide world, where would you be?”

Jason, buzzed enough to let his guard down, had just waxed poetic about the hilltop view in Texas that he’d cherished as a kid, giving Sever new grounds to imply that her life was somehow lacking. As if she’d take the bait. “In Downtown L.A.,” she said, “one block from Skid Row.”

“Oh, come on. Even your Bolshevik lifemate admits he’d rather be home where the buffalo roam. That your dream aswell?” He met her gaze and goaded, “Is Ivy Tyler a country mouse?”

“I’d be happy anywhere,” she said. “As long as I’m with Jason.”

“That’s the sweetest little lie I ever heard,” Jason said, getting more Texan with each sip. “Not for nothin’, honey, but I know where you’d rather be. And it ain’t the Paris inmyhome state.”

Yeah. She really needed to cut him off.

“Paris?” Sever raised a brow at her.“C’est vrai, mon chou?”

Spurred on by uninhibited tipsy, she said in French, “Let me guess. You have seven hotels and a cozy little chateau in Paris, each with breathtaking views of the River Seine. Shall I tear off my panties and leave my husband for you right now?”

His lips spread slowly into a grin. Then he returned just as fluently, “Two hotels and a pied-a-terre. The chateau is in Nice.” He slid his finger around the rim of his glass. “And you said it, sweet stuff, I didn’t.”

Jason’s phone rang, and he said apologetically, “It’s work.”

In English, Sever said, “Well go on, Ivy will keep me entertained.” When Jason took the call to the balcony, Sever spoke in French again. “And here I thought you weren’t wearing any panties at all.”

“Of course I am; your people didn’t dress me this time. And that’ll be enough about my panties, thank you.”

“You’re the one who brought them up.” He raised the glass to his lips. “I can’t stop thinking about them now. Tell me, are they black or nude?” He crunched on an ice cube. “Lacy or plain?”

It would make her laugh if it weren’t so annoying. “I don’t think it’s right that you’re—oh, how do you say this?...” she whispered in English, “stringing him along.”

Sever glanced at him and said sotto voce, “I thought you wanted us to get on.”

“If it were genuine, sure.” She saw Jason move on the balcony, so she spoke in French again. “But you’re using him to get to me like he’s a...” struggling to find the word, she talked with her hands, “those pieces on the game board, the smaller ones that protect the queen, the...”

He humored her in English. “Rook? Bishop? Knight?”

“You know what I mean,” she said in French. “I refuse to be the queen on your... on your...”

“Chessboard?” he supplied in French, and added teasingly, “...of life?”

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