“Ms. Dior,” he said, out of breath. A flood of compliments tumbled through his brain in three different languages, but instead of finding the right words, the translations wouldn’t click and he ended up staring at her.
The driver turned around in his seat. “Hey, buddy. Are you blind? This cab is taken. Get out!” He picked up his cell phone from the seat beside him.
“It’s okay,” the woman interrupted, leaning forward. “He’s with me.”
The cell phone was half way to the driver’s ear, he glanced between Antony and the woman. Then his gaze lowered. Antony could tell he was memorizing the woman’s cleavage, there was still a few mint leaves tucked there.
Antony moved forward, blocking the view, his jaw set in place. His shoulders dwarfed the cabbie’s slight frame. “Like the lady said, I’m with her.” Then he pointed straight ahead. “A fast trip would be appreciated, s’il vous plait.”
Cowering and suddenly pale, the driver pulled into traffic. A horn blared from behind.
The rush of Antony’s anger dissipated as they traveled several blocks in silence. He snuck a look at the redhead and caught her staring at him. He smiled as she looked away, his pulse kicking up a pace.
“You still have bit of…” he whispered, nodding to her cleavage.
She sat taller, trying to straighten her dress. “I prefer my mint body temperature,” she said, plucking a green leaf from between her breasts and placing it on her tongue. “A girl never knows when she’s going to need fresh breath.” Despite the coquettish style, he noticed a quiver in her voice.
The memory of the kiss she’d hastily stole in the club—or rather the moment when the kiss changed, replayed in his mind. There had been a definite pause, a small lapse in which she’d softened against him. And when Antony tasted her lips, a ripple of heat flowed across his skin, and he was certain she’d felt it too.
Then he’d spied the managers and tried to catch them, but by the time he made it to the sidewalk, they had a town car waiting for them and slipped away effortlessly. And when he turned to go back into the club, she ran out, practically stumbling into the nearest cab. Before he knew what he was doing, Antony disregarded his own rules and pursued her—his mysterious belle rousse.
“Look,” she began, careful to keep her voice low. “If this is about earlier, I’m sorry about, um…grabbing you at the club.”
“But not sorry for running away?” Antony gave her his best smoldering grin.
She looked surprised, her mouth dropped open to a perfectly shaped ‘O’ and he found it unbelievably sexy. “Run away? From you?”
The cab driver swore loudly as he blasted the horn. Antony’s side mashed up against the door as the car moved violently to the left.
“Oh!” The redhead tumbled into his arms. She clutched his jacket, practically curling herself into his chest.
The cabbie hit the gas and cursed under his breath. He muttered a few more insults then the drive began to smooth out again.
Once the panic was over, Antony felt her grip loosen on his jacket. “Ça fait plaisir de te revoir, Ms. Dior?” he asked.
“I bet that’s what you tell all the girls,” she said. “I get it, you’re French.” Antony noticed there was a sassy edge to her tone.
“And Greek,” he grinned.
“Sounds like a lethal combination.”
Antony watched the blush creep up her neck, highlighting her cheeks. He felt the smile take over his face. She had a certain awkward charm that completely surprised him. Of all the clubs in Toronto, he pondered, mesmerized at the odds of bumping into her again so soon.
“And still, you ran,” he said, leaning closer. “Why?”
He felt her heavy stare as she took in his face. But it wasn’t like most people when they’re trying to figure out why he looked familiar, and not like the women who lined up outside the dressing room. This stare was different, like she was sad, almost.
She said, “I wanted to be the one to leave first, I suppose.” Then she turned to the window, rubbing her arms against the cold.
A deadening sensation of failure overtook Antony. He’d missed the managers and somehow succeeded in depressing his mystery crush. Tonight had been an epic failure on all fronts. He could only imagine what kind of deal had been struck—what turn his future had taken. A turn he’d been unable to interrupt tonight. He slumped in the seat.
The excitement of the last half hour had been all spent and now they were stuck in no man’s land. The woman started shivering. He slouched off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She stayed perfectly still, letting him untuck a thick wave of red hair from the collar.
“What did you say to me?” she asked, her voice no longer flirtatious, but instead careful, hesitant. “In the club, just before you left, je ran ear or something?”
His hands were still on the collar of his jacket. His fingers trailed down the sleeves, stopping shy of her hands. “Je vais revenir,” he repeated. “It means, I’ll come back.”
“I never suspected that,” she said. “I didn’t stay.” “I know.”
They locked gazes and everything seemed to hinge on a held breath. He replayed the scene in the bar. Why had she pulled him into that kiss?
He thought the ball cap had been enough of a disguise—no one else knew who he was. It’s like she had to kiss him.
Except now, he wanted to kiss her. And now that he was thinking of kissing her, he couldn’t un-think it. An invisible pull kept his eyes trained on hers.
The blare of the cab’s horn made him jump. The woman blinked a few times as if coming out of her own trance. She was so close he could smell the mint; a few leaves were still stuck on her chest.
“This your stop, right?” the cabbie said, some of the docility of earlier had worn off.
She turned to the window. “Yes, this is me.” Then she looked back at Antony.
He suppressed the urge to take her by the shoulders and kiss her again—kiss her for real this time.
Her eyes drifted to the meter.
Antony wanted to smack himself in the forehead. “I’m klutz,” he said, raising a hip and pulling out his wallet from his back pocket.
“That’s okay,” she opened her purse, but Antony had already handed the driver a fifty-dollar bill. “Thank you,” she said as she started to shrug out of the jacket.
“Non.” He put a hand on the shoulder, keeping it in place. “Keep it. You’ll freeze outside.”
The lingering staring contest ensued.
The cabbie cleared his throat. “One stop, right?
You guys still together or what?”
She dropped her chin. “I guess this is goodnight,” she whispered. Then her gaze traveled up his chest, lingered on his mouth, and then finally met his eyes. “Unless…”
Antony felt time slow down again. “Oui?” “Unless you want to come up.”