She flexed her arm again, and said, in a thoughtful almost sad voice, 'I know I have to think about the future and move on. But it's really not that easy to just wipe away the past. To ignore everything that happened. To bury the pain. I can't help but wish that things had turned out differently.'
Something sharp pierced into him and he practically growled out, 'Were you in love with Ed?'
She blinked rapidly and her mouth fell open. Eventually she answered, 'I thought I was.'
A strange sensation of jealousy seeped into his bones and he had the sudden urge to punch something. He had never felt so possessive of a woman in his life. He needed to change the subject quickly-to distract them both.
'Try to forget him-and everything that happened. I appreciate it's hard, but it's vital you focus on the future. Tell me about your dreams, what you personally want to do in the coming years.'
She eyed him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. But then she shrugged and said, 'Well, that's a big question.' For the longest while she paused, her brows knitted together in concentration. 'Nothing extraordinary, really. I've always wanted to visit St Petersburg. And travel to Dharamsala in India. Where the most incredible mulberry silk is woven. Afternoon tea in Vienna has always sounded like fun. Oh, and I want to learn how to bake a soufflé.'
'A soufflé?'
'They always sink on me-it drives me crazy.'
Curiosity got the better of him and he couldn't help but ask, even though he wasn't certain what answer he wanted. 'And family and relationships?'
She eyed him warily and it was a while before she answered. 'Check back in with me in a few years' time. Right now I'm not exactly in the mood to be in a relationship. All you men have a black mark against your names.'
'All three and a half billion of us?'
'Yes, every single one. Well, apart from my dad and my brothers.' She hesitated, glanced at him briefly, and then said in a rush, 'And possibly you if you continue being such a good neighbour.'
Trying but failing to ignore the reality check her words had caused, he answered drily, 'Glad to hear that.'
'So what about you? What's on your list?'
Like her, it wasn't something he had overly thought about. And yet it was a question that filled him with unexpected excitement. 'I want to continue on with the restoration of Ashbrooke. The east wing in particular needs conservation work. And there's an old bathing house on the grounds I want to restore, as well.'
'You really love Ashbrooke, don't you?'
'Yes, I do. I suppose I have a lot of emotional attachment to it because of Lord Balfe. His family owned the estate for generations and it was a huge honour that he was happy to sell it to me. There were several other interested parties, but he chose me. He spends most of his time in the Caribbean now-growing old disgracefully, by all accounts.'
'Do you see him often?'
'Unfortunately, no. Maybe I should buy a business in the Caribbean so I'd have an excuse to go there.'
'Or...an easier solution...you just take a holiday and go and visit him.'
She smiled cheekily at him and he couldn't help but laugh.
For a while they just looked at each other, the warmth and understanding in her eyes causing his heart to thump in his chest. A deep connection reverberated between them.
A slow blush formed on her cheeks and she leant into the table, her fingers drawing down over the grain of the wooden tabletop. 'What else is on your list?' she asked quietly.
His blood thundered in his ears at the strength of the connection he felt with her. He wanted to tell her about Orla and his dreams of them being close once again. But where would he even start to explain the jumbled up, contradictory one hundred and one emotions he felt for his sister?
Instead he said, 'I want to take part in the Isklar Norseman Xtreme Triathlon in Norway.'
'Now, that sounds impressive.' Her eyes sparkled with admiration, but the sparkle slowly faded. 'And relationships?'
What would she say if he told her he could never be in a permanent relationship? That he wasn't interested in being in one? That he was no good in relationships? That he had lost everyone he had ever loved and never wanted to expose himself to that again?
It was easier to be non-committal rather than get into a debate about it. 'Some day, perhaps.'
She moved forward in her chair, a familiar look of determination growing. 'You won't meet anyone if you're stuck in your office twenty-four-seven.' When he didn't respond, she asked bluntly, 'Are you going to sacrifice the rest of your life to work for ever? Are you so determined not to let other people in?'
He gave a disbelieving laugh. 'I spend my days speaking to people on the phone. I travel. I speak to my staff.'
'Okay, let's call a spade a spade, here. Work conversations and travel don't count. You don't really have people in your life-meaningful relationships. And you want it that way. Plus, you've stopped knowing how to have fun.'
Thrown by the uncomfortable truth of her words, he chose to answer only her latter accusations. 'No, I haven't.'
'Prove it.'
'And if I don't?'
'I'll cook dinner for you tonight.'
'Am I supposed to be scared of that prospect?'
'Just imagine the mess I'd make of your kitchen.'
Despite his best efforts he winced. 'Fine. If you want fun, we'll go out tonight. I'll take you to dinner at one of my favourite restaurants.'
'You're on. But I'm paying.'
'No. It's my idea. I'll pay.'
She threw him a stern look. 'I'm sure you appreciate why I would want to pay.'
He breathed out in exasperation. 'I wish you would just accept my help.'
She looked at him with quiet dignity. 'I don't want to feel like a freeloader.'
Something pulled in his chest and he said in a conciliatory voice, 'Let's just go out and enjoy ourselves. By all means you can pay.'
* * *
Though she had insisted she would be paying for the meal, the moment she got back to her bedroom, fretting at the likelihood of jaw-dropping décor with matching prices at his favourite restaurant, she checked her online bank account's balance. Thankfully she wasn't yet in the red.
But it turned out that the restaurant was a traditional bistro, located in the back streets of St Germain. The menu proudly announced that it had been established in 1912. She guessed that the décor-Bakelite lights, simple wooden tables and chairs, tiled floors-hadn't changed a whole lot in all that time. It was utterly charming.
After they'd been shown to their seats by the maître d' she continued to look around. 'It's really lovely here.'
'This is one of my favourite restaurants in Paris. The cooking is excellent and the service friendly.'
Yes, and it was also very romantic, with its low lighting and small, intimate tables with a single candle on each. In fact they were surrounded by fellow diners who were totally engrossed in one another.
This was awkward.
She shuffled in her seat and looked away from the amused glance he threw in her direction.
She was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of their waiter, who brought them a glass of champagne along with their menus.
Holding his glass up towards her, Patrick said, 'Here's to the success of Little Fire.'
Taken aback by the sincerity in his voice, and his support of her cherished dreams, she felt unexpected tears form at the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away rapidly and took a sip of her champagne.
She read the menu with both relief-she could afford the prices-and growing excitement. Every item on the menu was a mouthwatering classic of French cuisine.
'They have Grand Marnier soufflé for dessert-I'm going to have to order that.'
'Why don't you order dinner for both of us?'
She looked from him back to the menu and then back at him, taken aback and slightly horrified. 'But I have no idea what you like.'
He shrugged with amusement. 'I don't care.'
Ed would have walked over hot coals rather than allow her to order for him.
'Are you sure?'
He watched her with an assuredness and yet an intimacy that had her looking back down at the menu with a ricocheting heart.
'Absolutely.'
As she ordered she couldn't stop fretting that he wouldn't like her choices. She exhaled in relief when he proclaimed the Pinot Noir she had chosen perfect. But when his starter of rillettes and her warm artichoke salad arrived she pushed the food around her plate nervously.
'Aideen.'
She looked up at the command in his voice and her breath stalled when she looked into his formidable serious eyes.
'My food is delicious... Why are you so nervous?'