“You’re staring,” she said.

“You look very nice,” he said. Those legs. He was going to think about those legs all through his overnight flight to Paris. But oddly enough, it was her big, soft brown eyes that interested him even more than the legs. A feeling of unease stirred inside him. He’d grown accustomed to keeping things simple, and he already knew instinctively that Camille Adams was complicated.

“Fair enough,” she said, “considering how I was dressed the first time you met me.”

He didn’t remember what she was wearing that day, but it was not a tight skirt and high-heeled sandals. “Thanks for meeting me here,” he said.

“Well, I thought since I’m the client this time, I should come to you.”

“You’re not a client,” he said. “I don’t have clients. I’m a teacher. I have students.” Oh my God, he thought. Please be my student, Camille.

“Your services aren’t for hire?” The wind lifted her silky dark hair away from the curve of her neck.

He wanted to bury his nose there and inhale deeply. He wanted to— “Nope,” he said. “My advice is free.”

“Then you have to let me buy lunch.”

“No way. Don’t even think about it.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and he held up a hand. “It’s not a date,” he said. “Okay? It’s lunch, and I’m buying, end of story. Come on, Camille. Let me be just a little bit nice to you.”

Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled at him. She was even prettier when she smiled. “I would love to let you be nice to me.” She looked up and down the lush, elegant street. “I’ve always liked this neighborhood,” she added. “There’s something about the atmosphere.”

“Agreed. It reminds me of my favorite boulevards in Paris. When was the last time you visited Paris?”

“Not since I was in college.” Her gaze shifted. “I don’t travel much anymore, so . . .” She didn’t finish. Instead, she seemed to mentally regroup, and looked up at him with those gorgeous, sunshiny eyes. “What made you think of Arnaud Loves Patsy?”

“It’s trendy, I know, but it follows one of my favorite trends.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s quiet. You can actually have a conversation here.” And to his own amazement, he actually wanted that from her. His meddling sisters would be amazed. “So I thought it would be a good place to talk about the pictures you found. Also, it’s closer to the airport than Annapolis. I’m catching a nine P.M. flight.”

“Oh. Where are you going?”

“Marseille. Back to work.”

She hesitated, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t read. Not disappointment. Relief? “Then we should get started.”

He stepped aside and gestured for her to precede him up the figured gray stone steps of the 1880s building. A pair of Louis Tiffany lamps flanked the entryway. “How’s your daughter?” he asked. “Julie?” He hoped like hell he got the girl’s name right.

“She’s fine. Thanks for asking. You caught us both on one of our worst days.”