The pools of golden light created shadows upon shadows over his dark form, so she nearly missed the spark that flickered to life in his eyes, before he reached out and took her hand in his.

Once again, a zap of electricity shot from his hand through hers like a delicious little shock.

“Armand Debussey,” he drawled. “Enchanté.”

She offered a most professional nod, then quickly pulled her hand away. “So, what now?”

Armand glanced at her a beat longer before his dark gaze swept past her and he motioned with a tilt of his chin. “Now we get to work.”

She moved to follow the direction of his gaze, but at the last moment saw him surreptitiously rub his thumb into the palm, as if trying to rid himself of pins and needles.

Had he felt it, too? The zap? No. Surely not. It was probably just nerves.

A small voice in the back of her head said, Work, monkey business, a million miles apart. Her train crush could not matter from this moment on. They were colleagues, nothing more.

She’d find a way to work with him without swooning, or snapping, or she’d die trying.