Chapter Three

Francine fought down the urge to roll her eyes. Did she remember him? Ummmm… yeah. Hell, yeah. What hot-blooded woman would ever forget Mark Hayden? The man was a trained doctor, he was a former battle surgeon, he was a bodyguard. Throw in his mint-green eyes sparkling with humor and intelligence against his café-au-lait skin, and his hulking, mountain-of-muscle frame, and he was also panty-meltingly hot. Like, scorching, burning, five-alarm, call-every-truck-in-town hot.

“Sure,” she said now, her voice a bit chilly. No sense encouraging him, she figured. In both her personal and professional experience, guys who looked like this were all-too-aware of it, and seemed to expect women to fling themselves at them as their due. “How are you, Mark?”

God, the way she said his name, with that sexy rolling ‘r’, that hard, breathy ‘k’. Francine was from Canada, from Québec, and her French accent was faint, but still present. He’d never forgotten that smoky, almost dirty voice – so at odds with her delicate, blonde-and-blue-eyed angelic features – and listening to it now was a kind of exquisite torture.

“I’m good,” he managed.

“Good.”

Mark paused. “You?”

“Me what?”

“You good?”

“Yes. I’m good.”

OK, so, they were both good. Mark ran his large hand through his cropped dark hair, stared down at her, at a bit of a loss. She was stiffly courteous and distant, and he wondered just what the hell he’d done to upset or offend her. He was pretty sure nothing.

“Would you –” he started, just as she said, “Well, I’d better –”

They stopped speaking at the same time, stared at each other. Waited.

“I’m sorry,” Mark said. “What were you going to say?”

“I was just going to say that I’d better go and order my dinner.” Francine turned away. “Have a nice night.”

“Well, actually… maybe…” he faltered. He took a deep breath as she turned back to face him. “Maybe you’d like to join me?”

Francine almost fell over backwards. Mark Hayden was asking her to have dinner with him? It was like every birthday, Christmas, and dirty fantasy of her life had just been handed to her on a silver platter, all wrapped up in a big, red bow.

Banishing the thought of Mark wearing nothing but a strategically-tied bow, Francine scrambled for cool. Dinner. Yeah, sure. Dinner was doable.

Everything about this man is doable.

Mon Dieu. Shut up, Francine.

“Are you sure?” she said, indicating at the files and papers on his table. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

He grinned at her. “You’re not interrupting.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said firmly. “Sit. Please.”

“OK,” she said, relenting at last. “Thank you.”

He gathered up the papers and shoved them into his briefcase, snapping it shut and locked. Then he just looked across the table at her, stunned that Francine was actually right here. Close enough to touch.

She was carefully studying the menu, so he took advantage of her lowered eyes to drink her in, fully and greedily. Yeah, she was as beautiful as he remembered, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

Francine was staring hard at the menu, but she saw nothing in front of her eyes. She had the damn thing memorized anyway, and besides, she already knew what she wanted to eat.

She knew that those amazing green eyes were on her now, and all she could think about was that she hadn’t checked her hair or makeup before leaving the clinic. She was strangely embarrassed that she – almost definitely – looked terrible, and she was sorry to look so bad in front of Mark. Then she wondered why she gave a good goddamn why she cared how she looked in front of Mark.

“So.” That deep, sexy voice rolled on over her like a molten wave. “You know what you want?”

Francine forced herself to meet his eyes. “Yes.”

“OK.” He waved at Mei, and she came over with a big smile.

“What you want, Doctor?” Mei asked Francine.

Francine flushed furiously. No matter how many times she’d asked Mei to call her ‘Francine’, the older woman had refused. She said that a doctor was a respected, revered profession in China, and she and her staff had to pay it the proper respect in the U.S. When Francine had pointed out that she was, in fact, not a surgeon, Mei had shaken her head at her.

“Who care?” The older woman’s eyes had been dark with anger. “Some doctors take care of bodies, some take care of heads and hearts. Why you say body doctor is better than you? Why? Not true!”

“‘Doctor’?” Mark echoed now, looking amused.

“Yes. Doctor.” Mei was half his size and less than half his weight, but she glared at Mark the way that she glared at her great-grandkids when they came to her restaurant and made too much noise. “Very respected job!”

“Indeed.” He hastened to agree with her. “Very.”

“Bodyguard also good job,” Mei admitted. “But doctor is much harder, I think.”

“Actually, Mei,” Francine began. “Mark is also a –”

“A manager,” Mark interrupted her smoothly. “An upper manager.”

Francine paused, peered at him uncertainly.

“Ah?” Mei said with approval. “Upper?”

“Yes.” Mark gave her his disarming grin. “Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad,” Mei conceded. “But doctor better.”

“You’re totally right, Mei,” Mark said. “Francine is better.”

“So,” Francine said, a bit unnerved at Mark’s grinning at Mei so sweetly, and his compliments. “I’ll have the green tea, please, Mei. Won-ton soup, extra spicy, and some garlic pork.”

“You hungry,” Mei said with approval. “Very good. I like when you eat lots of food.”

Francine flushed again. “Well… yes. I was too busy today to eat anything much.”

“That why you look so tired and bad?” Mei said.