Page 59 of My Ex's Best Friend

“Only to make sure you don’t keep pissing off your prospective clients like Mr. Richards.”

“Oh, you mean the charming old gentleman you loved so much,” Jake says sarcastically.

“Come on, he was nice.” I bump his shoulder.

“Too nice, to you,” he mutters under his breath.

My eyes widen in realization. “Wait, is that why you were so pissed?”

He just raises both his brows.

“Come on, Jake.”

“I can’t help myself,” he says. “I’m an irrational man when it comes to you.”

My heart skips a beat at his words. “You’re a bad man.”

He leans. “Wait till you hear the bad thoughts I’ve been having about you.”

My heart skips a beat. “You have?”

He sighs, his warm breath fanning my face. “I really can’t help myself around you, Kiera. Just being close to you, not being able to touch you, was torture enough for me. It was the seventh circle of hell.”

Oh my. My knees shake, and my legs almost go weak.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Jake puts an arm around me and pulls me to him. His erection pokes against my belly. “Even now, I cannot help myself.”

I shake my head as I push him away. Inside, my heart is beating so loudly that I’m surprised that he can’t hear it. "You really are incorrigible, Jake."

“I promise I can make it up to you.”

“How?”

“It’s late now, so they probably won’t be open. But tomorrow, I’m taking you to one of the best ice cream spots in the city.”

“You better. It's a small victory, and we deserve a sweet celebration.”

***

The sun hangs low over the Seine River, casting a warm glow on the small bistro we've chosen. The scent of freshly cooked food permeates the air. I inhale deeply. Every single spot in this city has a little bit of magic in it.

Jake and I settled into a cozy table in the corner and have just been served profiteroles, the view of the river stretching before us. I can't help but steal glances at him.

He tastes his dessert, the indulgent sweetness evident in the satisfied curve of his lips.

As I take my own profiterole goodness to my mouth, my gaze inevitably wanders back to him. The way he savors the treat, the flicker of amusement in his eyes when he catches me looking. “Do I have cream on my face?”

“Not yet,” I say as I take some from my fork and put it on his cheek.

He glares at me. “Now, that’s unfair.”

I laugh before pulling my phone out and taking a picture of him.

Every now and then, his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and my heart skips a beat. I find myself captivated by the play of emotions on his face. I want to memorize every dent, every curve.

“Who's Ellie?" he asks, his tone casual but genuinely interested.

I'm taken aback for a moment, surprised by the unexpected question. "Ellie?"

---