Page 78 of Boss of the Year
“She’s a chef,” Lucas added. “A damn good one.”
The ambassador’s eyes popped open. “Magnifique! And what do you think of the Brazilian cuisine compared to French?”
I thought about that for a moment. “To me…French cuisine is about technique. It’s all about the perfect cut of meat, the exact crumb of bread, the subtle art of a sauce. Brazilian ingredients are more spontaneous and unexpected, I think, with their flavors. Together, they create something beautiful.”
As the ambassador and I launched into a discussion of Brazilian and French culinary traditions, I was vaguely aware of Lucas watching me. The conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from the influence of Portuguese colonization on Brazilian food to the evolution of nouvelle cuisine in France. This certainly had nothing to do with Lucas’s intentions for the evening. But he remained, listening like it was the most fascinating discussion he’d ever heard.
“Your friend is very charming,” Ambassador Rousseau told Lucas when we were called to take our seats. “You’re a lucky man.”
“Indeed.” Lucas’s hand found mine and squeezed. “I am.”
The dinner progressed through multiple courses, each more elaborate than the last. I found myself in conversation with a Brazilian senator’s wife about the art scene in São Paulo, then with a German trade attaché about the challenges of sustainable agriculture. Each interaction boosted my confidence a little more until I almost forgot to be nervous.
Almost.
After the meat course, an orchestra began playing, and couples started moving toward a dance floor that had been cleared near the pool.
“Shall we?” Lucas rose from his seat.
It wasn’t a crazy request. Many people were dancing now, and we had already watched the guests of honor, together with the Brazilian president and his wife, take to the floor. The music playing was a simple two-step, which I thought I could manage.
Even so, the request surprised me. “This isn’t the conservatory. You want to dance with your cook in front of all these people?”
“I want to dance withyou. Especially in front of all these people.” He offered his hand, just as he had among the roses. “Unless you’d prefer to discuss monetary policy with the Minister of Finance.”
I laughed and allowed him to pull me up and escort me to the floor.
“I should warn you,” I said as the soothing notes of “Corvocado” floated from the bandstand. “Joni’s the dancer. I can probably avoid your toes, but the only other time I’ve danced with anyone since I was maybe ten was that night of your parents’ anniversary party.”
“I don’t remember many other times myself,” he admitted, though he negotiated a perfect turn that left me no option but to follow. “But I do remember how you move.”
We turned again, his broad palm warm against my back, his other hand cradling mine like piece of china. Precious. His grip wasn’t possessive, but it anchored me all the same. He kept me from drifting somewhere I wasn’t ready to go.
“I knew you were the person to come with me.” His breath warmed my temple. “Speaking French like a native, charming diplomats, looking like you were born to wear diamonds.”
“Well, the diamond is yours,” I reminded him.
“Technically, it’s Harry Winston’s. But it looks better on you than in any showcase.” His eyes met mine. “Everything looks better on you.”
We were moving closer together now, the formal distance shrinking until I could feel the warmth of his body through his tuxedo. Not indecently, but just there. Present. Steady.
The hand at my back pressed a little harder, urging me closer, and I found myself following that lead too.
I had a feeling I might follow Lucas Lyons almost anywhere.
“Lucas,” I started, though I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say.
“I didn’t mean it, you know.” He swept me through another turn, one that made him pull me completely to his broad chest.
“Mean what?”
“That night.” His voice was so quiet, only I could hear it. “When I said it was a message.”
I blinked. And then the things I had momentarily forgotten sprang back into my cloudy vision. Things like home. My job.
Daniel.
Whom I hadn’t even spoken to in over a week.
