“Kam, I’m not trying to patronize you. I’m trying to help.”

“I know that, and you will,” he said so earnestly he took her off guard. “But what I want to do right now is take you to lunch. Please?” he prodded, probably sensing her crumbling resistance.

She hesitated.

“I don’t want Ian to know. Or Francesca. Or anyone,” she stated finally.

“About today?”

“I haven’t done anything regrettable today with you, except for lose my temper in Ian’s office.” Not yet, you haven’t, a knowing voice in her head sneered. She suppressed it with effort. “I meant I don’t want you making Monday night public.”

“Because Ian is your boss?”

“Because I don’t want him to know,” she repeated.

He shrugged in that insouciant way of his. “Fine. It makes no difference to me. Ian isn’t my concern. Not at the moment, he isn’t.”

She hesitated but then noticed his small smile. A thrill prickled through her. That grin was piratical, yes, and daring, but there it was . . . that hint of shyness. She shouldn’t, but that smile told her she would.

“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Sometimes the risk is the only thing that makes something worthwhile.”

Before she could respond, he’d taken her hand in his and was leading her to the curb to hail a cab.

“I read about it in a travel magazine while I was at school in London and always wanted to come,” Kam said by way of explanation when they pulled up to a restaurant and Lin stared out the window in amazement. She glanced around curiously when Kam held the cab door open for her and helped her alight onto the sidewalk. They were in the midst of an established North Side neighborhood. Kids played in the schoolyard across the way. Neat brick row houses lined the street for blocks.

“Lou’s Ribs and Pizza,” she read the sign in the window. The building looked like it’d gone through its share of years and renovations. It was a hodgepodge of materials from different eras.

“You’ve never been here?” Kam said as he walked ahead of her and opened the door.

“No,” Lin admitted. She followed him into a surprisingly crowded bar and eating area. A jukebox played a muted pop classic, and people chatted at booths and tables. Everyone’s conversation automatically went up in volume when someone turned on a blender behind the bar, as if the crowd was accustomed to the sound. “It’s doing a good business for weekday lunch. How in the world did you know about a neighborhood place like this?”

“I told you, I read about it when I was in college. It’s known for ribs and deep-dish pizza and incredible milk shakes. It’s been around forever. Frank Sinatra used to come here with his buddies. It’s crowded today because there’s a Cubs game at three. You grew up in Chicago and never heard of Lou’s?”

She shrugged apologetically. “I guess it took a Frenchman to introduce me to something in my own hometown. Besides, my grandmother was a vegetarian. She was very selective about where we ate.”

“You’re more used to places like Savaur or one of Lucien’s restaurants, but it wouldn’t hurt you to step out a little.” A flicker of irritation went through her at his smug certainty, but she quashed it as she glanced around at the homey restaurant. Maybe he was right. Maybe she should expand the boundaries of her world a little.

A stocky woman wearing an apron over stretchy polyester pants approached them. “We’re full at the moment. Give me fifteen minutes?”

“What about those two?” Kam asked, pointing at two empty stools at the bar. The woman looked doubtfully at Lin’s high heels and lightweight tailored coat, then more appreciatively at Kam. Again, Lin had chosen Kam’s clothing: a pair of jeans, a white shirt that set off swarthy skin, and a rugged gray overshirt that doubled as a jacket for the pleasantly cool fall weather. He fit in here. The waitress’s glance told her clearly she did not.

“They’re yours if you want them,” the woman conceded with a shrug.

Lin smiled at Kam and nodded. He took her coat and hung it on a coat rack at the front of the bar.

“Belly up to the bar yet again,” he said quietly when he returned and sat next to her, leaning his elbows on the scarred, yet gleaming walnut bar.

Lin glanced away, unsure what to say to that. She was strangely happy to be there with Kam in the bustling restaurant, but she was torn by that happiness. He’d been very rude to her Monday night, but she’d believed his apology. She’d actually been touched by his admission of vulnerability. That wasn’t what was bothering her.

“You mentioned earlier that Ian was upset by what happened in his office this morning?” she asked with forced casualness.

“Not upset. No,” Kam said, his gaze running over her face. She schooled her features into a neutral expression. “He was more surprised. I’ve only seen Ian riled a few times. Even when he got shot, Ian was calm,” Kam mused, referring to a horrifying event that had occurred earlier this year when Ian’s cousin Gerard Sinoit betrayed Ian and shot him in the shoulder. Kam had saved Ian and Francesca on that occasion. “He was just put-off,” Kam explained presently. “I got the impression he’s not used to seeing you rattled.”

“I wasn’t rattled. I was . . .”

“Pissed off and good,” he finished for her.

“Thank you,” Lin said to the bartender when he set down two ice waters and a menu before them. “What did Ian say, exactly?”

Kam didn’t reply immediately, just took a sip of ice water and idly watched the bartender making a milk shake behind the bar. The machine made a discordant clunk, clunk, clunk sound.

“He was a bit shocked at the idea that I told you that you take your job too seriously. According to Ian—and to a few other people I’ve talked to—Lin Soong and her work are practically synonymous.”

She sat back. “You were talking to other people about me?”

“Not anything major. People talk,” he said impassively.

“Especially when you ask,” she returned wryly.

“Nobody has explained one thing. Why does a gorgeous, single woman bury herself in her work to the exclusion of almost everything else?” he asked, watching her with a sidelong stare.

“Why don’t you tell me why a good-looking, brilliant man with the potential to do anything he wants in life lives holed up in an underground laboratory for years?” She picked up her menu and studied it, but he continued to look at her. She knew he did because her cheeks heated beneath his steady gaze. He leaned closer.

“Maybe Francesca and Elise and some of the people at Noble have it all wrong. You do appear to be secretive,” he mused, choosing to ignore her question. Like it had in the restaurant on Monday night, his low, confidential growl caused the tiny hairs on her neck and ear to prickle in awareness. “Maybe you do have a man stashed away somewhere, someone you carefully hide from Ian.”

She dropped her menu to the bar with a slapping sound. “Why would I do that?”

“You tell me.”

She shot him a glare and really tried to read the menu this time instead of just pretending she was. “For your information, I’ve introduced several men to Ian over the years. Francesca has even met a few of my dates.”

“Several, huh? Nothing sticks?”

She was glad that the round, harried-looking bartender chose that moment to come and get their order. She ordered a salad, ignoring Kam’s frown of disapproval. He ordered a small stuffed pizza, a large chocolate shake, and a rib dinner.

“Hungry, are you?” she asked, chin in her hand, watching him as the bartender walked away. He placed his elbow on the bar next to hers. A prickle of awareness went through her at the feeling of him pressing lightly against her. The fabric of the shirt she’d purchased for him was thick and hardy, a stark contrast to the sheer, insubstantial fabric of her dress’s sleeve.

“I had to order all the specialties since you were being such a spoilsport and ordered a salad.”

“I like to eat light for lunch. You’ll regret not doing the same when you’re served Elise’s food tonight at Frais and don’t have room for it. Your sister-in-law is a fabulous chef.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I just had one of her breakfasts this morning.” He took a swallow of ice water. “And she’s cooked for us at Aurore Manor when she and Lucien were visiting. I won’t regret a damn thing about ordering this food, though. And don’t think I’m sharing any of my ribs and pizza.”

“Fine with me,” she said with determined unconcern. He rolled his eyes.

“All right,” he said with an air of being strong-armed, his gaze dipping to her mouth. “I’ll share.”

She smiled. Why did she always feel that shift in her lower belly and sex when his stare sunk to her mouth like that? It was like he could stroke the very deepest pit of her being with his eyes. The lighting in the bar probably didn’t change much from day to night given the three solitary windows all the way at the front. In the dimness, Kam strongly resembled Ian. Was that the real reason for that delicious sensation? Somehow, she didn’t think so.

A question wormed its way into her entrancement.

“Do you?” she asked quietly. His brows quirked slightly in puzzlement, so she clarified. “Have a woman back in France, I mean? Someone special?”

“I wouldn’t have had sex with you last Monday night if there was someone special.”

“That’s good to know,” she said, her gaze dropping at the mention of them having sex. It sounded illicit and exciting murmured in Kam’s rough, accented voice. Not to mention how him speaking the words caused graphic snippets of erotic memories to flash across her brain.