"Can I help you?"
She jumps slightly, startled by the English accent that warms her like brown velvet. His eyes match his voice, and his dimples are clearly meant to slide past personal defenses.
Damn. She doesn't need this right now. It's been a long time.
"Do I look like I need help?"
Her inquiry makes him smile, her perfect skin and burgundy lips too tempting for his own good.
Damn. It's been a long time.
"You look like a tourist who has just been forced into a change of plans," he returns, sitting on the bench beside her against his better judgment.
"And you're not a tourist?" she inquires, sipping on her coffee, ignoring pesky logic needling her brain.
"Not at the moment," he answers, angling his frame to face her. "I've lived here for nearly a year."
"Doing what?" she questions, flicking her brow in his direction.
"Teaching English," he grins, tickling senses that have been on hold for quite a while.
"So you're well acquainted with Prague, I take it," she muses as she slides a bit closer.
"Reasonably well," he assures her, leaning in her direction, reckless nerves already humming her tune. "Can I help you with anything?"
She stares at him a moment too long, feels his gaze caress her with a hint of familiarity that should trigger warning bells like mad. Instead, it lures her closer.
"My sister has deserted me for the night, it would seem," she sighs, "for some Irishman she met while touring the castle. We have dinner reservations at 6:00 and tickets for the opera afterwards, but now I'm not certain what to do. I don't really relish the thought of going alone, especially in a foreign city."
What the hell is she playing at? She bites her lower lip, knowing she is toying with fire, enjoying the stimulation far too much to back off now.
"Where are your reservations?" he asks, feeling a jolt of excitement he really should shove aside.
"The Peklo," she replies. "I've heard it's quite good."
"It's not to be missed," he assures her, moving in slightly. "The atmosphere alone is worth the reservation. And they serve a dessert called the ice cream bombe."
"Ice cream bombe," she returns, the rich texture of her tone sending prickles up his legs. "That sounds quite decadent."
"It is," he hums. "But it's meant to be shared, you understand, as is all decadence worth its while."
Her stomach quivers in time with her thighs.
"A worthy indulgence, then," she dares, spotting a slight twitch across his cheeks.
"I think so," he puts forth, rubbing the back of his neck. "I would hate for you to miss such an opportunity simply for want of good company."
"How generous of you," she ventures, unable to fight down a stubborn grin. "Can you suggest a suitable dinner partner? One who wouldn't mind taking inLa Traviataafterwards?"
"Hmmm, both an ice cream connoisseur and a Verdi lover," he muses as he rubs his chin. "That's a rather tall order, you understand."
"The only kind of order worth placing, in my opinion," she quips. His resulting smile brushes against places she cannot afford to entertain.
"Well, I would hate to leave you wanting tonight," he voices, his gaze speaking volumes. "Would my company be acceptable?"
He tries to appear composed, feeling utterly ridiculous at how nervous he actually is.
"That depends," she tosses back. "Do you promise not to steal all of the whipped cream?"
He leans in so close she can smell his cologne, its scent prompting her to cross her legs.
"I can be terribly greedy," he admits with a sly grin. "But I find delicacies like this are much better when shared in equal measure. Don't you?"
Eyes lock in a moment too charged for speech.
"As long as things don't get too messy," she breathes, her skin tingling with a surge of electricity.
"I suppose that's up to us," he manages, his throat too thick for comfort. "Although, I must confess sometimes I am tempted to lick up the leftovers."
Her breath sticks audibly.
She stares at him from under thick lashes, knowing where this is leading, unwilling to stop the madness.
"So you're thorough," she states, clearing a throat suddenly parched.
"I am a stickler for details," he returns, knowing a cold shower will be in order before their evening even begins. "Consider yourself warned."
"It's all in the details, isn't it?" she prods, wondering who gave her adventurous side permission to take over. "I'm Mary," she offers, attempting to cool parts overheating, extending her hand foolishly.
"Charles," he replies, taking her palm within his. He looks back at her, feeling much more at this initial touch than is reasonable. God, he is acting completely irrational, and he wouldn't change a thing.
"Shall I pick you up at your hotel, or would you prefer to meet at the restaurant."
"I'm staying at The Dominium," she offers, surprised at her own daring, wondering why she has not released his hand.
"I'll see you at 5:40 then," he states, reluctantly breaking contact, missing the feel of her already. "In the lobby?"
"In the lobby," she agrees, watching him stand and walk slowly away, tossing her a wave over his shoulder that finally makes her laugh.