He nodded.

“So what kind of classes do you take?” she asked, and he told her about the CIA, and what he was good at and where he wasn’t so hot.

“What’s your dream job?” she asked as their dinners were served.

He hesitated. “I’d like to own my own place,” he said.

“Something fancy, like this?”

“No, no. Something small and humble but with great food. Really thoughtful food, you know? Not just burgers and nachos, but with the best burger you’ve ever eaten, nachos with three kinds of cheddar and fresh tomatoes and jalapeños. A place with a really good wine list, and specials based on what was in season and what looked good at the market that day. Nothing frozen or premade, nothing that came shipped in a plastic bag and was offloaded from a trailer, you know?”

Shit. Hugo’s had food that came off a trailer.

But she didn’t take offense. “It sounds good. Where would you do it? Manningsport?”

“Maybe.” He hadn’t really thought about it too much; if he followed the course of most CIA chefs, he’d sous-chef somewhere terribly impressive and uptight for a couple of years, probably in Manhattan or Europe. He was one of the best students in the class. He could go to Paris or Milan or Sydney, easily.

“What about you, Jess? What’s your dream job?”

She took a deep breath. “Oh, I don’t know. Not a waitress. Something where I could make enough to take care of Davey.”

His Catholic guilt shot up into the red zone. “Will he ever be able to...uh...live on his own?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “He’ll always be with me.” She didn’t seem bothered by that in the least.

Connor never did know what caused Davey’s handicap. It seemed too personal to ask.

“He has fetal alcohol syndrome,” Jessica said, pronouncing the words carefully, as if she wasn’t used to saying them.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “He’s the best thing in my entire life.”

“Sorry,” Connor said again then winced. Jess gave him a wry look and then smiled.

Dessert was brought out without their ordering it, as well as two cappuccinos. “Raoul made this special for the two of you,” said their server, a girl Connor didn’t recognize. “It’s a tartin des pommes de terre with caramelized ginger, served with clotted cream, and he said if that doesn’t make you believe in God, he doesn’t know what will.”

“Please thank him for us,” Jessica said.

Happiness was watching her take a bite, close her eyes and lick her lips. “Oh, God, that’s incredible,” she said.

If he could make her look like that—and not because of dessert—

Better cut that thought off right there. Jess had more than enough men lusting after her.

But come on. Jessica eating that dessert was complete and utter food porn. And he was a chef. It’d be wrong not to enjoy the way her eyes fluttered closed, the little smile, the quiet moan of pleasure.

When the bill came, he grabbed it.

“No, no,” Jessica said. “Let me.”

“Not on your life,” he said.

“At least let me pay my half.”

“Nope.”

“But Hugo—”

“I’m buying you dinner, Jessica. Live with it. And thanks for tolerating me.”

“It was very tough.” She smiled. “It was nice to see you, Connor. I didn’t think it would be, but it was.”

Huh. Mixed praise.

He followed her through the restaurant, noticing the looks she got from men and women both, and wondered if she knew how beautiful she was. He didn’t think so. Or if she did, it didn’t make a lot of difference to her.

At the elevators, she turned to him and thanked him once again.

“Maybe I’ll see you at home,” he said.

“Probably,” she said. “Small town and all that.”

He looked at her another minute. “Take care of yourself. And Davey.” Then he hugged her for the second time in his life, and this time, her arms went around his waist.

Her hair was as silky as he thought.

He turned his head just a little, to breathe in the smell of her lemony shampoo, and then he felt her cheek against his, and he wished he’d shaved today, because her skin was so soft.

Then their lips were touching, just brushing, not really a kiss at all, and that wouldn’t do, not when he was so close to finally, finally kissing Jessica Dunn.

He cupped the back of her head and went for it. Her lips were full and soft under his, a perfect fit, and it was so, so good.

And she kissed him back. Her mouth was lush, but the kiss was innocent and gentle and a little shy, and Connor didn’t want anything more than that—such a lie—but it was enough, it was so much... Jessica Dunn against him, her lips on his.

Then she stepped back.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat.

“I should... I...” She ran a hand through her hair, not looking at him. “Sorry about that. A guy buys me dinner, I guess it’s a reflex.”

He wasn’t sure she was insulting him or herself. Her hand was shaking, he noticed.

“It was good seeing you,” he said.

“You, too.” She pushed the button for the elevator. “Take care.”

He nodded once then turned and walked away.

Shit, shit, shit. Whatever he’d just done had been all wrong. She probably hated him more than ever now. She told him she’d wanted a night alone, but he’d gone ahead and accepted what had probably been an obligatory offer, and then he’d kissed her as if he deserved something, and seriously, he would never get it right where she was.

“Connor?”

He turned so suddenly he almost fell. She was still there, looking at him, not smiling. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to come up?”

She was very still. Frozen, really. Then she bit her lip.

She was nervous.

“Yes,” he said, very, very quietly. “If you’re sure.”

The elevator doors opened behind her. She glanced back, then looked at him again. “I am.”

And much to his surprise, she smiled, and it caught him right in the gut, as strong as a punch and almost painful.

Almost not trusting her words, he walked back to her, and she grabbed the pocket of his coat and pulled him into the elevator, pushed 11, and they were kissing again before the doors even closed, and she tasted so good, like apples and lemon and that hint of wine, and he was already drunk with wanting her before they hit the eleventh floor. When the doors opened again, he just picked her up and carried her out into the hall, smiling as she laughed against his mouth.

She fumbled for her room key, inserted it upside down, then got it right, and they were inside. She stopped for a second. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said then kissed him again, shoving his coat off his shoulders, and Connor had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. She was lean and strong and soft in all the right places, and she smelled so good and clean, like lemons and cilantro. He kissed her neck, tasting her skin, and she yanked his shirt out of his jeans.

“Wait,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“There are condoms in the drawer,” she said. “Full-service hotel.”