CHAPTER THREE

      Abby

      I DIDN’T HAVE time for this.

      I should head back to Le Miel and make sure Makayla had everything under control.

      Instead, I had to play nice with him.

      ‘This table suit?’ Tanner gestured to the only vacant table for two outside the café. A cosy table.

      Swallowing my first retort of ‘hell no’, I nodded. ‘Let’s get this done so I can head back to the patisserie.’

      ‘Why the hurry to get rid of me?’ He pulled out my chair, a gentlemanly gesture at odds with the raw toughness that radiated off him. ‘I told you I’d behave.’

      I managed a tight smile in thanks as I sat, well aware that Tanner’s version of ‘behaving’ and mine would be continents apart.

      ‘What’ll you have?’ He sat and pushed his shirtsleeves up, revealing heavily inked arms.

      I didn’t like tattoos. Couldn’t fathom what drove a person to scar their skin like that. But as Tanner leaned his forearms on the table, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sheer artistic beauty that started above his wrists and wound its way up.

      Elaborate vines. Stunning roses. Intricate motifs. Symbols I couldn’t decipher from this distance but wanted to get closer to.

      I found myself inadvertently leaning forward before realising what I was doing, and when I glanced up Tanner grinned like he knew exactly how fascinating I found him.

      ‘See anything you like?’

      ‘No,’ I snapped, sounding uptight and prudish, the situation made worse by the wash of heat flushing my cheeks.

      ‘They extend a lot further than my arms,’ he said, his voice low and gravelly, the underlying hint of naughtiness making my thighs clench. ‘In case you were wondering.’

      ‘I don’t like tattoos,’ I said, making a mockery of my supercilious declaration when my gaze strayed to those forearms again.

      Strong. Sinuous. Sexy.

      Damn.

      ‘Many people don’t.’ He shrugged, like my opinion meant little. ‘They see tats and think bikers and drug lords. They don’t get the artistic angle at all.’

      ‘You like art?’

      It was the safe thing to say, a conversation starter that would get us off the topic of his tattoos and his body. I hoped.

      ‘I like ink.’ He leaned back in his chair and interlocked his hands behind his head, a guy comfortable in his own skin.

      Which he revealed more of as the hem of his shirt rode up and I got a tantalising glimpse of more ink on his lower belly. I couldn’t make out the design, but it looked suspiciously like a cutlass and a hook.

      ‘A pirate, seriously?’ The words popped out before I could stop them and while I was horrified I’d articulated my thoughts, he laughed so loud nearby patrons turned to stare.

      ‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he drawled, filling our glasses from the water bottle between us. ‘I like a good pillage like the next pirate.’

      I compressed my lips before I blurted anything else. Like how I’d rather walk the plank than be pillaged by him.

      Though that wasn’t entirely true, and after my disastrous marriage, I’d made a promise to myself to never lie again—especially to myself.

      In less than thirty minutes, Tanner King had made me feel more alive than I had in years. He riled me. He taunted me. His cocky, laid-back attitude annoyed the crap out of me.

      But I liked the buzz making my skin prickle and the weird hollow feeling deep in my belly. Like I was missing something. Like I craved something.

      Much to my horror, I had to admit that he turned me on a little. A lot. Whatever.

      Bastard.

      ‘Let me guess. You’re going to make some crude remark about what constitutes the pirate’s peg leg.’

      He laughed again, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes endearingly cute. ‘You’re funny. I like that in a woman.’

      The natural retort, that he’d like all women, hovered on the tip of my tongue but a waitress appeared and after she’d taken our orders—double shot espresso for him, soy latte for me—I was back to being scrutinised by his intense golden gaze and liking it too much.

      I needed to get this meeting back on solid ground. Professional. Far from charming smiles and pirate peg legs.

      ‘Remy told me you’ve run restaurants?’

      A shadow clouded his eyes for a moment, a hint of sadness, before he blinked and I wondered if I’d imagined it. ‘Yeah, but nightclubs are more my thing.’

      I bet. I could imagine him prowling around a dim room like a panther stalking its prey at night. Senses on high alert. Watching. Waiting. Before pouncing on some poor unsuspecting female.

      Though with the amount of testosterone radiating off his taut body, maybe I should amend that to lucky female.

      ‘I haven’t seen you around the patisserie?’

      He’d been toying with the cutlery on the table and he stilled, like I’d taken a shot at him for not being around for his brother. ‘I’ve been working in London and LA. Helping friends set up similar nightclubs to the ones I run here.’

      ‘How altruistic.’ The sarcasm slipped out before I could stop it and I wasn’t surprised when he frowned at me. ‘Sorry, that sounded bitchy. It’s an important day for me and then Remy fell and I was so worried...about him and the patisserie and getting everything done...’

      Great, now I sounded like a rambling loser. But to Tanner’s credit, he didn’t make a joke. In fact, he looked surprisingly serious, the first time I’d seen him like this in our brief acquaintance. I liked it. That he could lose the clown act when called for.

      ‘You won’t have to do it on your own, that’s why I’m here,’ he said, eyeballing me with curiosity. ‘As for my big brother, he’ll be fine.’

      He paused, a glimmer of a frown slashing his brows. ‘So it’s an important day, huh? What’s the occasion? You getting hitched?’

      I snorted and wrinkled my nose. ‘Been there. Done that. Tore the bouquet to pieces.’

      ‘You’re married?’

      ‘As of today, officially divorced.’ I made jazz hands.