“No, I got my ears pierced about six years ago.”

“I’ve got four brothers.” There was no way a girl from small-town Georgia with four older brothers could date a man who wore earrings. That was it, the relationship was over. I was saved. I’d just have to stick this first meeting out to be polite.

He grinned. See? I’d amused him. Just like the people in the restaurant sometimes did, only in my case not on purpose. “Do you have four brothers here in Paris?”

“Well . . . no.” One of my brothers had visited Paris for twenty-four hours and the city had survived it, but that was the closest any of them had come.

“Well, I guess I’m safe, then.” He laughed.

I frowned. “But they could fly over. If they have to.” Yeah, right. My brothers thought that if I was stupid enough to leave the good old U.S. of A., I could handle my own problems. They’d taught me how to shoot, after all, and it wasn’t their fault I’d chosen to live in a country where I didn’t have the right to bear arms.

His grin softened into just a small smile, and he looked down at me with those brown eyes of his. Today they reminded me of some dark liquor just warmed in front of a fire. “They won’t have to.”

What did that mean? That he didn’t have any dishonorable intentions because he didn’t plan on seeing me again? He’d probably thought one of the other girls had left him the invitation, and now he was disappointed. Pilar. He’d probably hoped it was Pilar. I mean, come on, if he’d wanted to ask me out, he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so.

I’m not normally this bad on a date, but I did better with people I considered lucky to go out with me rather than the other way around.

He guided me toward one of the Australian bars popular in Paris, directing me courteously from time to time away from dog poop on the sidewalks. We installed ourselves in a corner of the heavy-beamed wood room—one where we were a step above and slightly removed from the rest of the bar but could see all of it. A wooden railing separated us from the bartender on the main floor, a vaguely reassuring barrier because the bartender was massively muscled and liked the looks of Sébastien. Boomerangs and Aboriginal Dreamtime lizards decorated our surroundings, in dot painting style.

I saw Sébastien notice the bartender’s gaze without really paying it much heed. Was he so used to drawing attention he didn’t know liquid stares and helpless smiles weren’t normal human interaction? He probably didn’t even realize someone was attracted to him until the person sat in his lap. Or left him an invitation on a table.