Amanda's Guide to Love (22 page)

“What are you doing?”

He held the book up. “Drinking from
this fountain of wisdom.”

“Didn’t you pay attention to the
title?” she asked, annoyed. “It’s a
woman’s
guide.”

“As a fan of psychology, I’m
interested in learning more about the aspirations and concerns of the fairer
sex.” He poked the book. “This is a gold mine.”

She attempted a dismissive shrug.
“It’s just a collection of tips.”

“It explains so much about you.”

She strode over to him and yanked
the book from his hands. “You should’ve asked before picking it up.”

“It’s a book that you left in full
view on your night table—not a secret diary.” He looked up at her. “Are the
notes in the margins yours?”

“No,” she lied. “I bought it
secondhand.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, the bathroom is free now.”

He stood up. “If you
brew some strong coffee while I’m showering, I’ll cook the best fried eggs
you’ve ever had.”

He sauntered into the kitchen
twenty minutes later, barefoot and bare-chested. Amanda gasped. The man possessed
too much beauty and grace for a human being. Good thing he had his jeans on.
They suggested he was a mere mortal and not a demigod descended from wherever
demigods lived to smite her for some minor misdemeanor. Or to mate with her—repeatedly—starting
right now on the kitchen table.

Get a grip.

She swallowed and turned away.

He went over to the fridge and took
out the egg carton and butter.

She gave him a skillet. “If your
fried eggs are half as good as my coffee, I won’t call you a big mouth.”

He placed the skillet on the stove
and added a generous blob of butter.

She hovered behind his back,
watching.

Suddenly, he spun around, lifted
her in his arms, and set her down on the worktop next to the stove.

She laughed in surprise.

“Don’t move,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because like this, you’re out of
my way while I cook but still within reach when I want to kiss you.”

“You call frying eggs cooking?”

“What else should I call it?”

She racked her brain, but no
alternative came to mind.

The butter began to sizzle, and Kes
cracked the first egg into the skillet. Three more eggs followed before he
washed his hands and planted a hearty kiss on Amanda’s lips.

In the middle of which, a woman
cleared her throat.

Oh no.

Amanda drew away and slid down to
her feet, bracing herself for what was to come.

“Hello, Amanda.”

“Hello, Maman. I wasn’t expecting
you today.”

Vivienne said nothing. She wasn’t
even looking at Amanda. She was staring at Kes’s bare chest, her expression
mildly shocked.

He opened his mouth to say
something, but the skillet made an angry spitting sound, and he turned around
to take care of the eggs.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Amanda
said and darted to the bedroom to fetch his T-shirt.

As she scurried back a few seconds
later, she saw Vivienne addressing Kes. “Do. You. Speak. French?”

“A little.” His lips quirked. “I
apologize for not introducing myself properly. My name is Kes Moreno.”

Surprise flickered in Vivienne’s
eyes. “You’re French. I was convinced you were foreign.” She shrugged. “I am
Madame Roussel, Amanda’s mother.”

“Very pleased to meet you.” Kes
gave her a bright smile.

“The pleasure is mine,” Vivienne
said with a smile so cold it could solve the world’s global warming problems.

“What do you do for a living, Kes?”
Vivienne spat out his name as if it were an obscenity. “You look young enough
to be a student.”

“I’m twenty-six,” Kes said. “And I
haven’t been to college.”

Vivienne gave him the once-over.
“You must be one of the servers at that café, then.”

Kes shook his head. “Wrong again.
I’m a professional gambler.”

Vivienne’s jaw dropped.

Merde. Merde. Merde.

Why hadn’t he used the stockbroker
cover he’d wielded with so much ease at Jeanne’s wedding?

Amanda handed Kes his shirt and
turned to her mother. “I’d forgotten you had keys to my apartment. What brings
you here at this early hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Vivienne
glanced at Kes and back at Amanda. “I’m worried about you.”

“Will you join us for breakfast?”
Kes peeked at Vivienne over his shoulder. “After that I’ll leave you two to
talk.”

“I can’t stay long.” Vivienne
pursed her lips. “Amanda, can we go somewhere private?”

Amanda shrugged. “Unless you’re
going to tell me something you haven’t already, there isn’t any point, really.”

The words came out meaner than
she’d intended them, but Amanda had to drive home that she didn’t need yet
another lecture on the dangers of lingering in an inappropriate job. Albeit
today’s lecture would have a variation to include the dangers of lingering with
an inappropriate man.

Not that Amanda disagreed with her
mother or was unaware of said dangers. But she didn’t need to be reminded of
them quite so often.

Definitely not this morning.

“All right, I’ll leave,” Vivienne
said, lifting her chin. “But we will talk soon. I’m your mother. I can’t just
stand by and watch my only child throw her life out the window.”

She stomped out without saying
good-bye to Kes.

And just like that, Amanda’s
morning—in fact, her whole day—was ruined. She poured two mugs of coffee, placed
them on the kitchen table, and sank onto one of her replica Eames DSW chairs.

Damn it, Vivienne had a formidable
sense of timing. And a knack for dampening Amanda’s good spirits. No matter
what the context was, Vivienne would always find a way to suck the joy out of
her daughter’s best moments.

Kes handed Amanda a plate with two
happy-looking fried eggs.

She gave him a lopsided smile.
“Sorry about my mother’s intrusion. She wasn’t on her friendliest behavior . . .
to put it mildly.”

He placed his own plate on the
table and sat down. “No problem. She clearly didn’t like me, but she does seem
to care about you.”

“I guess—in an infuriating,
tough-love sort of way.” Amanda put a yellow-and-white morsel into her mouth
and chewed. “Five on a scale of ten.”

“Ouch. I was hoping for a nine or
an eight, at least.”

She pointed to the mug. “What about
my coffee?”

“It’s good. But not as good as what
you make at work.”

“I don’t have the same equipment
here.” Amanda took a hopeful sip from her own mug, but it didn’t miraculously
lift her spirits.

“I need to drop by my apartment,”
Kes said, “but I’m free in the afternoon if you want to go swimming.”

“I’m not sure. I’ll call you, OK?”
She began to clear the table. “How’s the gambling, by the way? Will you be
leaving Paris a winner or a loser?”

“Please—you’re insulting me.” He
stood, too.

“A winner, then. Congratulations.”

He turned the faucet on and started
to wash the skillet. “Thank you.”

“If I remember correctly, you’ll be
gone in ten days or so, right?”

He placed the skillet onto the dish
rack, picked up the brush to wash the plates, and ignored her question.

Maybe he didn’t hear
it because of the running water, or maybe he didn’t feel like discussing the
impending end of their affair. And that was fine by her. She didn’t feel like
discussing it, either.

* * *

Kes stared at the web page he had
pulled up on his laptop. An all-inclusive offer stared back at him. He could
hear its silent command.
Push that button. Take me.
You know I’m the
best.
It no doubt was. The package included a round-trip to Las Vegas and
two months of casino hotels with the option of extending his stay on the same
terms without losing his return ticket.

It was good for twenty-four hours.
He’d better book it now.

And forfeit the chance to spend
more time with Amanda. He stood up and began to pace the room. With every step
he took, the answer to his dilemma became more and more obvious.

When he told her he was leaving
town in four weeks, his deadline had been completely arbitrary. Vegas had
waited two years for his second visit—it could wait a few more months. He had
acted on a hunch, following a sixth sense that told him she’d needed a time
limit to accept the “benefits.” Her yes had hinged on the knowledge that
whatever she was getting into would end soon and there would be no unpleasant
complications.

To be honest, he had needed a
deadline, too, albeit for a different reason.

When the day of his departure
approached, he wanted her to ask him to stay.

He
needed
her to ask him to
stay.

And so he’d done what he did
best—he had gambled. He bet on his ability to get her hooked. It was a risky
bet. From what he knew of her, she might want him—crave him even—and still walk
away.

She’d done it once before. She
could surely do it again.

Kes stopped in the middle of the
room and raked his hands through his hair. Was he fighting a losing battle?

Maybe. Or maybe not. Because his
real gamble—his endgame—went beyond taming Amanda. He was plotting to get her
to fall for him. He was staking his heart that he could make her cast aside her
prejudice and admit that she cared for him as much as he cared for her. He was
going all in that she could look beyond his origins and occupation. That she
would grow accustomed enough to his differences to see through them.

To see him.

And to choose to be with him.

His phone rang. “Hey, pral.” Marco
sounded as upbeat as ever. “I’m downstairs. You haven’t forgotten I was coming
over for a few days, have you?”

Kes had no recollection of such an
arrangement, but then again, he hadn’t been completely with it of late. “I’ll
buzz you up.”

A few seconds later, Kes shut his
laptop and let his cousin in.

“So, when should I organize your
going-away-to-America party?” Marco asked, sprawling on the sofa. “I imagine
you’ve booked your flight and hotels by now.”

Kes shook his head. “I haven’t
found a good package.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, a juicy discount like
the one we had last time.”

Marco narrowed his eyes for a
second and then smiled brightly. “Cheer up, brother—I got your back.”

Kes gave him a quizzical look.

“What are cousins for, after all?
Even if I can’t go with you this time, I want you to have the best value for your
money. I’ve found exactly what you’re looking for.”

“You have?”

In lieu of an answer, Marco whipped
out his smartphone and opened a page. The very same Kes had been staring at
half an hour ago.

“I saw this last night,” Marco said
matter-of-factly. “You must’ve been looking in all the wrong places.”

Kes swallowed. “That’s . . .
great.”

“It expires in twenty-four hours. I
think you should book it pronto.”

“I can’t.” Kes pulled a chair over
and sat down across from Marco. “I need to finish some business here first.”

“But you told me you’d been banned
from the casino.”

“It’s a different kind of business.
It’s—”

“Amanda.”

Kes smiled in acquiescence.

“I knew it. She’s holding you
back.” Marco nodded sympathetically. “Women.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“No? Really?” Marco smirked.
“Because it usually is. Listen, pral, there’s no need to make a fuss. If you’re
too squeamish to dump her cold turkey, just tell her the truth—that you’re
finished here, that your next stop is Vegas, and that you’ll see her when
you’ll see her. It’ll be easier than you think.”

You have no idea.

“What?” Marco shrugged. “You’re a
Gypsy, and she knows it. We never stay in the same place too long.”

“No, we don’t,” Kes agreed.

“Besides, she’s a smart girl. I’m
sure she knows it can’t be serious between you two.”

“Why do you say that?” Kes stared
at his cousin, perplexed. “Why would she
know
it can’t be serious?”

“Because you belong in different worlds,
that’s why.” Marco knit his eyebrows and stared back at Kes. “Please don’t tell
me you actually
want
it to be serious.”

“Why not?”

“
Jesus Christ.
” Marco
clasped his hands over his head. “You aren’t just screwing her—you’re actually
into her. I should’ve realized it earlier.”