Ram leaned back in his chair, trying to school his thoughts, his breathing, his body, into some sort of order.
‘She’s impressive, your partner,’ he said, when finally the waiter left them alone.
He watched her face soften, the blue eyes widen with affection, and suddenly he wondered how it would feel to be the object of that incredible gaze. For someone to care that much about him.
The idea made him feel strangely vulnerable and, picking up his glass, he downed his water so that it hit his stomach with a thump.
She nodded eagerly. ‘She was always top of the class.’
He nodded. ‘I can believe that. But I wasn’t talking about her tech skills. It’s her attitude that’s her real strength. She’s pragmatic; she understands the value of compromise. Whereas you...’
He paused, and Nola felt her skin tighten. That was Anna in a nutshell. But how could Ram know that? They’d only met once, when they’d signed the contracts.
And then her muscles tensed, her body squirming with nerves at what he might be about to reveal about her.
‘You, on the other hand, are a rebel.’
Reaching out, he ran his hand lightly over her sleeve and she felt a thrill like the jolt of electricity. This wasn’t like any conversation she’d ever had. It was more like a dance—a dazzling dance with quick, complicated steps that only they understood.
She swallowed. ‘What kind of rebel works for the system?’
Beneath the lights, his eyes gleamed like brushed steel. ‘You might look corporate on the outside, but if I scratched the surface I’d find a hacker beneath. Unlike your partner—unlike most people, really—you like to cross boundaries, take risks. You’re not motivated by money; you like the challenge.’
The hum of chatter and laughter faded around them and a pulse began to beat loudly inside her head. Reaching forward to pick up her glass, she cleared her throat with difficulty.
‘You’re making me sound a lot edgier than I am,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m actually just a “white hat”.’
‘Of course you are!’
Ram shifted in his seat, his thigh brushing against her leg so that her hand twitched around the stem of the glass. It was a gambler’s tell—a tiny, visible sign of the tension throbbing between them.
‘It’s not like I’d ever catch you hanging out in some grimy internet café with a bunch of wannabe anarchists.’
He lounged back in his seat, one eyebrow lifted, challenging her to contradict him.
Remembering their first meeting, Nola felt her heart beat faster, her stomach giving way to that familiar mix of apprehension and fascination, the sense that there was something pulling them inexorably closer.
But even as she felt her skin grow warm his teasing words stirred something inside her. Suddenly the desire to tease him back was overwhelming—to put the heat on him, to watch those grey eyes turn molten.
‘Actually, wannabe anarchists are usually pretty harmless—like sheep. It’s the wolf in sheep’s clothing you need to worry about.’
She kept her expression innocent, but heat cascaded down through her belly as his gaze locked onto hers with the intensity of a tractor beam. A small, urgent voice in the back of her head was warning her to back down, to stop playing Russian roulette with the man who’d loaded the gun she was holding to her head.
But then suddenly he smiled, and just like that nothing seemed to matter except being the focus of his undivided attention. It was easy to forget he was self-serving and arrogant...easy to believe that breaking the rules—her rules—wouldn’t matter just this once.
Her heart began to beat faster.
Except she knew from experience that it would matter. And that smile wasn’t a challenge. It was a warning—a red light flashing. Danger! Keep away!
Breathing in, she gave him a quick, neutral smile of her own. ‘Now, this menu!’ Holding her smile in place, she forced a casual note into her voice. ‘My French is pretty non-existent, so I might need a little help ordering.’
‘Don’t worry. I speak it fluently.’
‘You do?’ She gazed at him, torn between disbelief and wonder.
He shrugged. ‘My mother always wanted to live in Paris, but it didn’t work out. So she sent me to school there.’
Nola frowned. ‘Paris! You mean Paris in France?’
‘I don’t think they speak French in Paris, Texas.’
His face was expressionless. but there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.
Her eyes met his, then bounced away. ‘That’s such a long way from here,’ she said slowly.
‘I suppose it is.’
Her pulse twitched.
It would have been easy to take his reply at face value, as just another of those glib, offhand remarks people made to keep a conversation running smoothly.
But something had shifted in his voice—or rather left it. The teasing warmth had gone, had been replaced by something cool and dismissive that pricked her skin like the sting of a wasp.
It was her cue to back off—and maybe she would have done so an hour earlier. But this was the first piece of personal information he had ever shared with her.
She cleared her throat. ‘So how old were you?’
Along the back of her seat, she could feel the muscles in his arm tensing.
‘Seven.’ He gazed at her steadily. ‘It was a good school. I had a great education there.’
She knew her face had stiffened into some kind of answering smile—she just hoped it looked more convincing than it felt. Nodding, she said quickly, ‘I’m sure. And learning another language is such an opportunity.’
‘It has its uses.’ He spoke tonelessly. ‘But I wasn’t talking about speaking French. Being away taught me to rely on myself. To trust my own judgement. Great life lessons—and brilliant for business.’
Did he ever think of anything else? Nola wondered. Surely he must have been homesick or lonely? But the expression on his face made it clear that it was definitely time to change the subject.
Glancing down at her menu again, she said quickly, ‘So, what do you recommend?’
‘That depends on what you like to eat.’
Looking up, she saw with relief that the tightness in his face had eased.
‘The fish is great here, and they do fantastic steaks.’ He frowned. ‘I forgot to ask. You do eat meat?’
She nodded.
‘And no allergies?’
