Perfect for You

say anything."
    "Right." She slanted him a look before continuing. "Then I decided that being a gypsy was the perfect thing. I would wrap my mother's tablecloth around my neck and tie a scarf to my head and dance around in circles. I tried to get my family to move to France so I could roam the countryside, just me and my cart pulled by a bull named Philippe."
    "Your parents must have loved that."
    "Actually, Dad got out a map and plotted the route Philippe and I should take." She laughed, remembering the intent look on her dad's face as he poured over the map, like they were planning a surgery. She shook her head in wonder. "I hadn't remembered that. It's a good memory."
    "How did you go from being a gypsy to working in web design?"
    She sobered, remembering her parents' car crash and the subsequent downward spiral that led her to begging Eve's dad for a job. "It was an accident."
    He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "How was it an accident?"
    She blinked at his sudden intensity, like he actually cared. "My best friend's dad offered me a job out of high school and then I just stayed."
    His fingers drummed the table, his gaze still fixed on her. She thought he was going to cross-examine her about her decision to work at Evolve but instead he asked, "You didn't want to go to college?"
    She would have given a lung to go to college. "It didn't seem necessary. I was only thinking of studying art anyway. Being an artist didn't guarantee making a living, so I stuck with web design."
    "Are you looking for guarantees?"
    "Interesting question."
    "Are you going to answer it?"
    She shrugged. "Doesn't everyone want guarantees?"
    "Some people want to roam the country and be free. Do you still paint?"
    The sudden tangent caught her off guard. "I—um—I haven't been, but I'm thinking about starting again."
    "Maybe you'll show me one of your works when you do."
    Their food arrived before she could reply—thank God. The thought of showing him her artwork made her stomach churn.
    The two stews she had ordered and the two Greg asked for were served on one thin silver platter. Another platter carried the flat, spongy bread used to scoop them up.
    She closed her eyes and deeply breathed in the aromas. When she opened her eyes, Greg was watching her so intently she felt her heart stop for a second, starting up again beating double time.
    As she opened her mouth to tell him to knock it off, he lifted the bread platter and asked, "Want some?"
    Freya narrowed her eyes at his innocent question. Except it didn't sound very innocent to her. She accepted the bread suspiciously and dug in.
    They fell into a comfortable silence as they ate. Every now and then she glanced at Cavanaugh. She hadn't thought he'd attack his food with so much—well, honest passion. He was a lawyer. He wasn't supposed to have an honest bone in his body.
    Distracted by her thoughts, she reached for a bit of lamb and brushed his hand as he went for the same morsel. When she looked up, the look in his eyes made her drop the food onto the platter.
    "You lost it." He scooped up the lamb with a piece of bread. "Open your mouth."
    She looked at his fingers. She imagined her tongue rasping against his skin—a little salty, a little spicy. She pictured how his eyes would go all bedroomy, how his voice would deepen, and she leaned forward...
    What was she thinking? She didn't even like the man. Frowning, she resettled on her seat and took the morsel from his hand. "You're quite the little helper, aren't you?"
    "I try."
    She ignored the amusement, heat, and hint of disappointment in his gaze. She tried not to notice his hands as she ate, but she couldn't help it. She'd never noticed how they were so masterful. She remembered how his hands felt over the silk of her robe and tried to keep from fidgeting.
    Eating Ethiopian wasn't helping—not with the way their hands kept brushing each other's as they ate. Each touch of his fingers caused goose bumps up her arms.
    "Did you place your ad yet?"
    Freya blinked, startled from her tangled thoughts. "Excuse me?"
    "The personal ad you were going to take out. Did you go through with it?"
    "Of course I went through with it." The stakes were too high to chicken out. "I posted it last night."
    "Do you need help screening the emails?"
    She snorted. "I think I can manage on my own, thanks."
    "Freya."
    "Cavanaugh," she answered flatly.
    "You have some food on your lip."
    Cheeks burning, she lifted her napkin.
    Before she could wipe it, he