Crap. Busted. The only option was to go on the offensive.
“What is this scent?” he demanded—casually, he hoped—dropping the shirt to the pile. “It’s driving me crazy.”
“Jasmine and orange blossom,” Sadie replied. She’d showered; her wet hair was raked back from her face. In faded jeans and a loose cranberry-colored sweater, she looked younger than her years.
“Remind me to buy you ten years’ supply.”
Sadie smiled, reluctantly charmed. “I wish you could. But the perfumer refuses to make big batches and only opens his shop in Montparnasse when he’s in the mood. And he’s frequently not in the mood.”
Her eyes flickered over his bare chest, bracketed by his open shirt. He started to button up, but suddenly dropped his hands, and Sadie suspected he was enjoying her appreciation. He was a smart, experienced guy, and he’d obviously noticed the desire in her eyes, the heated flush on her cheeks.
There would be no round two—why complicate this further?—and he probably assumed that a little mutual appreciation couldn’t hurt anyone.
He was wrong; this type of thing could lead to lots of pain down the line.
Play it cool, Sadie, and for goodness’ sake, resist the urge to touch that wide chest. Find something else to do with your hands!
Breakfast. She could make breakfast...
Smart thinking, Slade.
“I understand you have an apartment in Paris,” Carrick said, following her to the kitchen, watching as she pulled croissants, butter and jam from the fridge.
“I have a rabbit’s hutch in Montparnasse, a tiny one-room apartment just big enough for me and my clothes and my reference books.” Sadie gave him an up-and-down look. “You would look like Gulliver in Lilliput in it.”
“Gulliver? Lilliput?” Then his face cleared and the penny dropped. “Right, Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels.”
“Sorry, I’m a book nerd. And an art nerd. And a useless facts nerd.”
“I like nerds. They are some of my favorite people,” Carrick said, looking at her like she was the hottest nerd he’d ever seen. But that had to be her imagination...
“My brother Finn is the king of obscure references and trivia. I’m used to hearing odd bits of useless information,” Carrick told her.
Noticing that the coffee was nearly ready, Carrick looked around the kitchen and asked where she kept her cups. After opening the cupboard she directed him to, he pulled out two mugs and filled them while Sadie placed warmed croissants on plates and pulled flatware out of a drawer.
She gestured to a stool on the other side of the island and Carrick sat down, immediately reaching for a warm buttery pastry.
Look at her, being all adult about this. And yeah, it wasn’t as awkward as she’d expected it to be.
But as sophisticated as she was acting—presumably Carrick, having the morning-after-the-night-before routine down to a fine art, was being his normal self—she needed to say something, anything, to make it clear that they were on the same page, that this was a onetime deal.
But Sadie was so out of her comfort zone. She didn’t routinely jump into bed with strange men. And she never slept with people she worked with. And she never, ever slept with men—like her ex and, supposedly, Carrick Murphy—who treated women, and sex, like playthings...
That thought was obliterated by Carrick’s next sentence. “So that shouldn’t have happened.”
That was her line!
Carrick popped a piece of strawberry jam-smeared croissant into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He took another big bite, obviously enjoying the flaky pastry and tart jam.
“I came around to check up on you, but obviously we got a bit carried away,” Carrick said in that genial tone that set her teeth on edge. “I hope it won’t affect our working relationship.”
What exactly did he mean by that? Did he think that, in her mind, sex equaled a relationship? She was a modern woman, fully capable of separating sex and emotion, carnality and commitment. She was in no danger of falling for him after one night of fantastic, mind-blowing sex. She’d heard that he’d left a trail of broken hearts and disappointed damsels throughout Boston, but she wasn’t that weak.
Not anymore.
“I’m sure we’ll be just fine,” Sadie stated, her tone firm. “As long as you realize that nothing but the evidence will affect my findings on the Homer.”
Carrick placed the corner of his croissant on his plate, reached for his coffee cup and she saw the flash of temper in his eyes. “Why the hell would you think that I’d expect you to fudge results on the painting, to tell me what you think I’d want to hear? The art speaks for itself. It always has and it always will.”