Page 45 of Falling for Raine

Graham grunted in agreement. “Do you have a proper suit?”

“You saw my suit.” I pointed at a meat lover’s selection. “How about that one?”

“You’ll need aproperone.”

“I am definitely a proper meat lover,” I joked, waggling my brows lasciviously.

He smacked my ass playfully. “A proper suit, you cheeky arse.”

I chuckled. “My suit is fine. Concentrate on pizza toppings. Do you like onions?”

“Yes, but not on pizza.”

Okay, that was new info. “How about anchovies?”

“Absolutely not.”

I snorted. “I sense strong feelings about tiny, salty fish. What did anchovies ever do to you?”

“They’re”—Graham wrinkled his nose—“mingy.”

“Mingy? What does that mean?”

“Mank.”

“Mank?” I hooted. “I’m going to guess that’s nasty.”

“Aye, disgusting. Put ’em on yer pizza, no my-n.” He pointed at the meat lovers and gave a thumbs-up, continuing in his usual refined manner, “That’ll do. Do you want a salad too?”

I stared at him slack-jawed. “Your accent—what just happened there? It’s like you’re from London but not really.”

“Hmph.I’m not from London at all. I’ll take that as a yes to the salads,” Graham replied in his usual aristocratic tone, clicking a few keys and pushing the iPad away. “Twenty minutes. Would you care for wine or a lager?”

“Uh…wine, please.”

I watched him pull a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the wine refrigerator, his muscles bunching and flexing as he uncorked it. He slid a glass toward me, flashing a lopsided grin that made me think he could read my mind. I perched on a stool and tried to remember his bio, but came up blank.

I’d had so many balls in the air when I first made this move that I’d only given it a passing glance. If I’d done my homework, I would have recognized Graham in Las Vegas, and there was no way I’d be here right now. That was a sobering thought.

He poured himself a glass and clinked it against mine, his eyes twinkling with humor. “Why are you looking at me like I’ve grown a second head?”

“I’m not, I just—where are you from?”

“A very small village in the north, outside of Sunderland.”

“The accent is a little thicker there, eh?”

He snickered. “You might say that.”

“Interesting. Can you give me an example?”

“Example? O-key. What ye uptee the neet?”

“Neet is night?” I guessed.

“Aye. What are you doing tonight?” he translated.

“Ha, that’s cool. Gimme more.” I wiggled my fingers meaningfully and sipped my Pinot.