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was dead determined otherwise. At the end of a week, Alyssa swore she’d own him, body, heart, and soul.
    In separate cars, they drove the few blocks to her new endeavor. She refused to look at the fact that he’d declined to ride with her as a setback.
    Once they arrived, Alyssa took the keys from her purse and unlocked the door. Just inside, she walked around the corner and flipped on the lowlights overhead. There was a brighter set . . . but why kill the mood?
    Alyssa looked out over her creation. Simple elegance. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Dark wood accented by walls of taupe and earthy gold, splashed with accents of burgundy and chocolate. The open space held an expectant air, as if waiting for guests. Chairs and crisply draped tables abounded, a few outfitted with china, linen napkins, and crystal so she could see the effect. The understated lettering on the foyer wall read BONHEUR, and the sight filled her with anxious pride every time she came here.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she cast a glance Luc’s way. Arms crossed over his chest, he scanned the restaurant, his gaze assessing. Her heart beat faster as she waited for his response. It made no sense, wanting his approval so badly . . . but that didn’t stop her anxiety.
    “Well?” she breathed.
    “Bonheur,” he murmured. “That’s French for ‘happiness.’ ”
    “I thought it was fitting. Patrons should be happy here.” And I pray owning makes me happy, too .
    “I like it. Fine dining for large parties? Couples?”
    “Either. Both.”
    He glanced out across the tables again. “If you’re hoping to be a hot spot for romantic dining, you have too many tables for parties of four to eight, particularly in your cozy corners. The partition between the bar and the dining room . . .” He pointed halfway across the room to the half wall that separated the eating patrons from the merely drinking ones. “It’s too short and too close to the bar. It will be hard to get any ambiance if people laughing, smoking, and drinking a lot are visible from the dining room. Raise that to the ceiling. Do you have vents to push the smoke back to the bar?”
    She’d debated that, hating to close off the room. But he was right. “There’s no smoking at all.”
    He hesitated. “Even in the bar? That will cost you money.”
    “It’s worth it. I want to make my money from the bar because people are ordering drinks with their food or while waiting for their table, not because they’re skipping dinner and loitering over a scotch, hoping to find a date for the night. I’ve got one bar; I don’t need another.”
    Luc nodded, but didn’t react otherwise. She made a mental note to drag more of the smaller tables out of storage and call her contractor to fix the wall in the morning.
    “Where’s the kitchen?” he asked.
    Biting her lip, she led the way around a corner, flipping on more lights. Teasing and seduction, she understood. The restaurant business . . . That was his area of expertise, and now he was all button-down assurance. Alyssa was grateful for it. She’d tried hard to make Bonheur’s kitchen optimal, a place a chef of Luc’s caliber would be proud to cook in.
    Winding down the hall, she was conscious of Luc’s eyes on her. His gaze brushed her shoulders, hugged the curve of her waist, lingered on her ass. She could feel the burn.
    “The kitchen isn’t visible from the dining room. Good layout.”
    When they reached the large, mostly stainless steel room, she flipped on the lights. “I’ve heard people don’t like seeing the kitchen when they eat.”
    Again, Luc crossed his arms over his chest, looking from one end of the room to the other, nodding slowly. “Very nice. Butcher-block prep area is well placed and large. Twelve-burner stove. Gas?”
    “Of course.”
    His approval showed on his face, warming her. “A fair number of industrial ovens. Four sinks. Good placement of utensils along the walls. Warmers?”
    Alyssa pointed to