“I think me and you are going to get on.”
We both turned as Quasimodo strolled into the kitchen. “I fed him, by the way,” Cormac offered. “It was the only way I could stop him from meowing at me.”
I nodded. “That explains why he wasn’t all over me as soon as I walked in.”
Cormac took another drink from his coffee, mine still hot enough that I hadn’t taken so much as a sip. He pointed back toward the living room. “What’s with the bag?”
“I was going to stay here tonight.” I waved a hand to where Quasimodo balanced precariously to wash his hard to get at bits. His lack of self-consciousness reminded me of Cormac in the shower. “But I guess you’ve got that in hand.”
Cormac regarded me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Are you going to tell my brother I’m here?”
I should. Or at the very least, I should let Finn know so he could decide whether to tell Cillian. Not telling them risked kicking an anthill. But I’d never exactly been shy of courting controversy, so what the hell. “As far as I’m concerned, no one’s here.”
Cormac’s smile this time was a slow one. “Then stay.”
I frowned. “What?”
He scratched at his chest. His still bare chest. His nicely-toned still bare chest that made keeping my eyes on his face difficult. Cormac shrugged. “You’ve already got your stuff here. I don’t know anyone else in Paris, so I’d be glad of the company. Wecan…” His face lit up as inspiration struck. “I’ll get some booze in. We can have a few drinks and set the world to rights. You can tell me what my brother has done to upset you apart from breathing, and I can teach you to swear like a true Irishman.”
“Why would I ever need to swear like an Irishman?”
“You might visit Ireland one day.”
“And that’s a prerequisite, is it?”
“Definitely.” He polished off his coffee before I’d even started mine. “Can you cook?”
“To a degree.”
“Great! I can’t. I don’t have the patience. Too much measuring and waiting and timing things.” Yeah, I could see that. Even sat, Cormac was never truly still, talking with his hands, or shuffling around on the chair in a way that said maintaining a set position took concentration. “You cook something. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. I’ll take not charred or not raw as an improvement on anything I’d create. And I’ll provide the drinks. And a film,” he added as something of an afterthought. “What are you into? Action? Mystery? Horror? Film noir? I’ll watch anything except a rom-com.”
“Not into romance?”
He pulled a face that said it all without words. “What do you say?”
I knew what I should say. I should tell him I’d leave him to it, that I wasn’t his personal chef, and that I had better things to do with my time. It was one thing to plead ignorance to Cormac’s presence after one brief encounter, and another to do it after hanging out with the man and getting to know him. And I shouldn’t even want to spend the evening with him.
To my surprise, I did. There was something intriguing about him. Something that made me want to find out what had triggered the need to hide away in his brother’s flat, and whatmade him tick. I wouldn’t be admitting that, though. “Will this film, food, and alcohol night involve you getting dressed?”
Cormac’s gaze dropped to his chest, and he seemed genuinely surprised to discover that clothes hadn’t materialized on his person while he’d been in the kitchen. I was already getting the impression that he was someone who lived in the now, a character trait that, for a man like Cillian who lived his life by tight schedules, would drive him up the wall. “That depends. How do people in Paris take someone turning up to buy something in just a towel?”
“Not well.”
He grinned. “Then, yeah, I guess there’ll be clothes. I should save getting arrested until at least the third night of being here.”
“At least,” I echoed.
He tipped his head to one side. “So what do you say…? Going to keep me company,Laurent?”
His use of my name came with what I assumed was supposed to be a French accent. It was so heavily butchered that I couldn’t tell for sure. “What was that?”
“Laurent?” Slightly better, but not by much. “I’ll keep practising.”
“Please don’t. You said you didn’t want to be arrested. We have strict laws here about crimes against the French language, and you’re already contravening them.”
“Say you’ll keep me company and I’ll stop.”
“That’s blackmail.”
