"After we have breakfast I'll take you straight to the W Hotel."
His gaze held her in its powerful grip, reduced her to a quivering mess in a Christian Dior pantsuit. And when Rafael leaned in, laying a slow, lingering kiss on her lips, Paris knew she didn't have a chance in hell of resisting him.
Chapter 12
"Are you ready for dessert?"
Paris put her fork down on her plate, sank back into the padded chair and wiped her mouth with her napkin. Rafael had made all her favorites-chocolate croissants, strawberry-stuffed French toast, ham and cheese frittatas-and because of his persuasive charms she'd had second helpings and one Irish coffee too many. She was enjoying his company, the old-school songs playing in the background and all the scrumptious food, but she couldn't eat another bite. "No, thanks. Nothing for me."
Rafael cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"There must be something I can do to change your mind...."
Crossing her legs, she played with her scarf. Her heart beat with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Her throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. They'd been laughing and flirting since they sat down to eat and Paris was having a great time. Rafael made her feel like the only woman in the world, and every time he flashed his pearly whites at her she felt light-headed and giddy.
"You love dessert," he teased. "Don't try to deny it. I've seen you in action."
"Guilty as charged. I'm a chocolate addict and proud of it!" she said with a laugh. "I overindulged in Venice, and if I want to fit into the gorgeous Christian Dior suit I bought for the Women's Business Expo, I have to quit pigging out."
"A few sweets won't hurt. You have a gorgeous body, and that will never change."
"What's on the menu?" Paris asked, wetting her lips with her tongue.
"You'll just have to wait and see."
She pursed her lips and faked a scowl. "You are such a tease."
"Close your eyes."
"Why? What do you have up your sleeve now?"
Rafael broke into a slow, sexy grin. "There's only one way to find out...."
Curious, she did as she was told. Paris didn't hear Rafael walk around the dining room table, but she sensed him beside her and knew he was just inches away from her face. Her pulse rate shot up. Rafael's hands explored her flesh, moved slowly down her neck, over her shoulders and along her arms. His touch made her wet, filled her with longing and desire. Her heart clapped like thunder, and the sound of her fast, heavy breathing drowned out the soulful, sensuous music playing on the stereo.
Paris felt something brush against her collarbone and opened her eyes. "My necklace!" she shrieked, clutching the heart-shaped pendant to her chest. "I thought I'd lost it forever. Where did you find it?"
"Under the bed in your hotel suite."
A sigh of relief fell from her lips as she admired her necklace. "Oh, thank God. I've been beating myself up all week for losing it."
"I'm surprised you still wear it." Rafael leaned against the table. "I figured you tossed it in the trash after we broke up."
"No, never, it's a gorgeous piece of jewelry and one of my most cherished possessions."
He looked pleased, and when he asked about his "finder's fee," Paris cracked up. "Don't worry," she said, standing up. "I have it right here."
"Now, that's what I'm talking about!"
Paris cupped his face in her hands and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Thanks for returning my necklace, Rafael. You're a lifesaver."
"And you're beautiful."
The predatory gleam in his eyes made her mouth dry and her sex tingle, but Paris knew better than to act on her desires. What happened in Venice was a onetime thing, something on the spur of the moment after too many glasses of champagne. Today she was sober, completely in control and determined to keep her wits about her. "I'll help you clear the table before I go," she said, stacking the utensils on the empty plates. "It's almost three o'clock, and I have a million things to do before this evening."
"You're not going anywhere."
The twinkle in his eyes and the grin on his lips belied his curt tone.
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it is."
Paris hid a smile. His voice was firm, as if the matter was nonnegotiable, and his posture was one of confidence and self-assurance. She had to admit, his take-charge demeanor was damn sexy. It made her hot, way down below, and his fiery gaze was a turn-on.
"You belong to me for the rest of the weekend."
"That's not going to go over well with my dad," she said with a laugh. "We're meeting at Bourbon Steak for dinner, and if I'm a no-show there'll be hell to pay."
"Do you always do everything your father says?"
"I like to keep the peace."
"Is that why you're going to the World of Concrete convention next month?"
Smirking, Paris swiped a napkin off the table and chucked it at him. "You were supposed to be driving, mister, not eavesdropping on my conversation."
"You don't need anyone to run your life, Paris. You're smart enough to make your own decisions. Always have been."
Deep in thought, she fiddled with her bracelet, running her fingers slowly over each delicate pearl. "After my mother died, I was lost and inconsolable, and if not for my father I would have gone down the wrong path like my brother and sister. He made a lot of sacrifices for me, and I feel like I owe all my success to him."
"I understand that. My parents worked hard to provide a good life for me and my brothers after we immigrated to the U.S. But although I love them dearly, I won't let them run my life." He added, with a wry smile, "And believe me they've tried, especially my mother!"
Paris gave serious thought to what he'd said. She was tired of her dad yelling at her and ordering her around, but she didn't have it in her to stand up to him. She desired her father's approval more than anything, often felt incomplete without it. And as Paris cleaned the dining room she realized that would probably never change.
"Oh, no, you don't." Rafael gripped her shoulders and steered her out of the room. "Go into the living room and relax."
"Are you sure? I don't mind helping."
"I'm positive," he said with a fervent nod of his head. "After I clean the kitchen, I'll prepare dessert then feed the dogs. It won't take long, I promise."
"I feel terrible that you put them outside. My allergies aren't that bad."
"Don't be. You're much better company, and you smell nicer, too."
Tickled pink, Paris concealed the girlish smile threatening to explode onto her face.
"Mi casa es su casa." Rafael lowered his head and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Make yourself at home. I won't be long."
He picked up the stack of dirty dishes and set off for the kitchen.
I swear his lips are going to be the death of me! Paris left the dining room feeling jovial. The paintings along the cream-colored walls depicted rolling hills, clear blue skies and the pictures of Rafael and his beloved dogs made her heart soften like a marshmallow. Thinking about her charming host and all the laughs they'd shared that afternoon brought a smile to her face. No one had ever made her a home-cooked meal or gone to such extraordinary lengths to impress her. Paris was deeply touched by his thoughtfulness.
In the living room, wall lamps emitted a soft glow, potted candles perfumed the air with a lavender fragrance and arched picture windows offered breathtaking views of the city. Outside, the breeze whistled through the trees, and thick white snowflakes fell from the sky.
Paris put her cell phone on the table, sat down on the leather couch and tucked her feet underneath her. She loved the swank decor in Rafael's bachelor pad and admired the eye-catching sculptures and vibrant artwork. The black-and-white color scheme, vaulted ceilings and plush, chocolate-brown furniture made the two-story house cozy and inviting. And as Paris grooved to the D'Angelo song playing on the stereo, she felt relaxed and at ease.
Suddenly the scent of cinnamon filled the air. Hearing footsteps behind her, Paris glanced over her shoulder. Her pulse galloped like a Thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby. Rafael stalked into the living room wearing his signature dreamy smile, and her heart overflowed with gratitude. He knew how to treat a woman right, and for as long as Paris lived she'd never forget how special he'd made her feel every time they were together.