Page 9 of Kisses and Paperclips

“What?”

“You drifted off for a sec there.”

She picks up her sandwich, takes a bite, and moans a soft, effortless sound that lands low in my stomach and settles deep.

My jaw flexes.

Damn.

“Guess I did well for my picky eater,” I said, voice even changing the subject, but my body’s already betraying me.

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the way her tongue flicks out to sweep a stray crumb from her lip, slow and precise, like she knows I’m watching. Like she likes it. She knows exactly where I’m drifting off to.

Shit.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, reaching for a fry, popping it into her mouth before she’s even finished chewing the last. “And you’re really just gonna sit there and watch me eat alone?”

She flicks a glance at my drink, her eyes lingering. I let her take her time. She said she doesn’t drink; now I wondered what was on her mind.

“I’m on a strict diet,” I said, slow and easy. “Everything here is drenched in oil or packed with starch.”

Her gaze drags over me at my words, slowly taking me in, measuring, like she approves.

She tilts her head, lips curving slightly. “Couldn’t be me.”

Then, with a lazy shrug, she pops another fry into her mouth, chewing like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

“I’d never skip a meal.”

I chuckled, watching her eat without hesitation. A lot of women pick at their food, self-conscious under someone else’s gaze. But Serena? She tosses back three more fries like she couldn’t care less.

“What?” She grins. “I’m a hardworking woman. I should be draped in jewels, stretched out on a velvet couch, with half-naked men feeding me grapes and fanning me.”

I lift a brow. “Let me guess, you’re the spoiled type?”

She tilts her head, considering, her eyes locked onto mine. “Depends…”

“On?”

A slow, knowing smile curves her lips. “On who’s doing the judging. If you’re not used to what I’m used to, you’d probably think I’m spoiled.”

I take a slow sip, letting her words settle. “Sounds like something a spoiled woman would say.”

She lifts a brow, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips, and I swear it’s got me locked in tighter than I care to admit. “And you’re telling me you’re not a little spoiled yourself?” Her gaze dips, taking in the sharp lines of my suit, the cut of my sweater. “That’s not off the rack. And this…” She reaches out, running her fingers along the fabric, her touch lingering longer than necessary. “Cashmere?”

I shrug, keeping my voice even, but her words land deeper than she realizes. “Guess you’ve got a good eye for quality.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “I do. In more ways than one.”

My jaw tightens slightly, and before I can stop myself, I break eye contact, adjusting my sweater—an old habit, something I haven’t done since I was a kid.

It’s unsettling, the way she looks at me, not like a woman impressed, not like someone trying to figure out what she can get from me. No, she looks at me like she already knows exactly who I am. Like she’s already made up her mind.

I lift my glass, let the weight of it sit in my palm as I watch her across the table.

Serena is impossible to ignore.

The way she moves, the way she carries herself, like she doesn’t ask for attention, but it always finds her anyway.

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