Once again, I found it impossible to say no when those eyes of his watched me like that. So I simply nodded, and he smiled, another battle won.
Theo Whitman surprised me. I didn’t really understand why, provided I didn’t know all that much about him. But watching him walk in the narrow streets of Nice, saying bonjour now and then as we passed locals and tourists alike, I wondered who he was. I wondered why he wasn’t as stuck up and mannerless as the guests he entertained onboard. I wondered why he was sometimes severe and cold when this warm and friendly version of him existed. Was it a front put on for clients? Was it a way to assert his power?
I wondered about his home life, about how he grew up, about whether he wanted to get married and settle down and have children of his own. And I hated that, if I were being honest with myself, the likelihood of me ever finding out the answers to those questions was slim to none. I’d be on his yacht for the next few months, and then I’d never see him again.
My chest pinched.
I was surprised yet again when we made it to the breakfast spot Theo had mentioned. I’d expected him to lead us to a grand restaurant, one where we’d be asked what kind of water we wanted, and each plate would cost at least a small fortune. Would you like Grey Poupon with your poached eggs, sir? But instead, he took us to a small bakery, its doors open to the street and two kind, older women working behind the counter. One whiff of the fresh bread and pastries and my mouth was watering too much to dissect the choice further.
Theo ordered in what sounded like perfect French to me, a chocolate croissant for each of us, along with two Caffé Americanos. Then, Theo left a tip so large it made both the women nearly weep in gratitude, and we took a seat at one of the small tables in front of the store.
“So, you speak French?” I asked as Theo pulled our pastries from the paper bag and handed one to me.
“A little,” he said. “A little Spanish, too. German. And about ten words in Mandarin.”
“You sounded fluent,” I said, nodding toward the bakery doors.
He chuckled. “Far from it, but I try.” Theo bit into his croissant, the buttery flakes littering the table as he did. He groaned his approval, leaning back in his chair long enough to catch one of the woman’s attention inside. He gave her a big thumbs up, pointing to the pastry, and she and the other baker laughed in tandem, the sound filling the street like a song. Their eyes were still glossy from the tip Theo had left, and I wondered if he did that often, if he realized how much it made their day.
In the same moment Theo sat up straight again, a beautiful, luxuriously dressed woman walked by our table, her high heels somehow steady even on the rutted stone. Her eyes found Theo, and she nearly broke her neck watching him even after she had passed our table. Theo smiled and arched a brow in her direction.
Bonjour, she said.
Bonjour ma belle, Theo said back.
And the woman flushed so hard it rivaled the natural red state of my cheeks.
“How do you say heartbreaker in French?” I teased.
“Bourreau des cœurs,” Theo said, the words rolling off his tongue, nasally and beautiful. But his next words were curt. “Why, is that what you think I am, Miss Dawn?”
My smile slid from my face like a blob of jelly, cheeks heating. “Oh… I’m sorry, I was just—”
Theo laughed. “It’s alright. Tease away. If the shoe fits, right?” He smiled with the comment, but I couldn’t help but notice the way his brows ticked together, like the joke wasn’t all that funny at all.
“I’m sorry if I offended you.”
He shook his head quickly, sipping his coffee. “I’m not capable of being offended.”
I snorted at that. “Sure, you are. Everyone can get their feelings hurt by something.”
“Not if you don’t have feelings at all.”
“Stone cold, are you?”
“I’ve found life is easier that way.” He shrugged, and I hated how much I liked the smile that found his lips, how sexy it was in its nonchalance.
When did I start to notice how sexy a smile was?
“Can I see the photos you took yesterday?”
I reached into my bag, retrieving my camera and turning on the preview mode before handing it across the table. It was always uncomfortable to hand my baby to someone else, to trust them to hold onto her and care for her and not drop her. But to his credit, Theo put the strap around his neck just in case, and he held the machine steady as he scrolled the photos.
He cringed as much as I did the night I took the photos as he looked through them, and after a few silent moments, he shook his head, handing the camera back to me. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”
“It was fine,” I lied. “They were nice.”
Theo arched a brow. “Do you always lie to make others feel better?”
“What? No, I…”
Theo took another bite of his croissant as he waited for me to defend myself.
“Okay, fine,” I conceded. “It wasn’t my favorite way to spend an evening, but this was part of our deal.”
Theo nodded. “Yes, well, it’s my hope that any other jobs I have for you won’t be as taxing. Once you send those to me, you can delete them forever and purge your memory,” he joked, but it was followed by a pause and a lift of his brows. “Audrey and Nicolette are one of a kind.”
The words by themselves made my stomach roll, visions of their tongues and hands on Theo’s body flashing in my mind. But the way he said them,
