Filed to story: Breathe Story (Sadie White & Jax Stone)
He grabbed my hand and started walking. “I have to get us around people. Now,” he said with a sense of urgency I completely understood.
Kane stood at the door of the Bentley I’d only seen Mrs. Stone use. He nodded. “Miss White, Mr. Stone,” he said with no emotion as we stepped inside. Jax put his arm behind my back.
“I have it on best authority you don’t like most seafood.”
I grinned and nodded, knowing the authority was Mr. Greg.
“So, I am limited to two choices. This area is for the tourist. The casual everyday tourist, but there are a few establishments harder to get into. Have you ever heard of ‘Le Cellier?'”
I hadn’t, of course. I shook my head.
“I’ve been there a few times. It’s good, but more importantly, it’s somewhere we can enjoy a meal out together and not deal with fans.”
I let out a happy sigh and leaned back against the seat and crossed my legs. Jax cleared his throat, and I looked up at him.
“Could you try to not flash me any leg while we’re alone. I’m having a hard time with it.” His smile was strained, and I bit back a smile.
“Sorry,” I said softly and tucked my crossed legs back toward the seat.
We pulled up to the establishment, and there were men waiting to open our door. Jax took my hand and walked us up to the hostess, who immediately noticed Jax.
“Mr. Stone, we have your table ready. Right this way.”
Jax was right. The other diners were not going to come ask for autographs, but they did notice him as we walked by. Several whispered, and their eyes followed him. We were seated at a table away from the main dining area, where there were no other people around us. Jax held my chair out for me, and I sat down, glad we weren’t going to be in the view of curious eyes.
Jax grinned. “Do you read French, or should I order for you?”
“The menu is in French?” I asked, surprised.
He nodded. “Yes, and I know to stay away from oysters and shrimp. Are you okay with veal or lobster?”
I wasn’t really sure what I was okay with. The nicest restaurant I’d ever been to had a menu in English and nothing cost more than fifteen dollars.
“Just order whatever you think I will like.”
He chuckled. “Okay.”
A server appeared, and Jax ordered in French, of course. I watched him, mesmerized by his voice and the way the foreign words flowed from his mouth with such ease.
He stopped. “What do you want to drink?”
I frowned and almost hated to ask. “Do they have Coke?”
He grinned and went back to speaking in French.
Once we were alone again, he leaned toward me and whispered, “I ordered you lobster because I know it is good here. It also tastes nothing like shrimp or oysters.”
Before I could reply, a Coke appeared in front of me, and in front of Jax.
He took a sip and reached out a hand toward me. I slipped my hand in his and sighed.