Swept into the Rich Man's World(12)

She gave a groan. 'My first meeting was a disaster. It was with an  ex-client who grilled me on the stability of my business and how I was  going to deliver on projects now that I didn't have a team behind me.'

Her hand played with her glass and her chest rose heavily as she exhaled.

'To be honest, after that meeting I was ready to give up and head home.'  A smile formed on her mouth. 'But on the Métro I thought about what you  said to me this morning-to believe in myself.' She paused and ducked  her head for a moment. When she looked up, there was a blush on her  cheeks, but resolve fired in her eyes. 'I decided you were right. So I  dusted myself down and got on with the next meeting.'

This morning she had been visibly nervous about her meetings, but he had  deliberately not asked too many questions, nor overwhelmed her with his  ideas on how she should approach things. He knew he needed to give her  some space. Allow her to face this on her own.

Her comments about him being controlling had hit home and he was  consciously trying to curtail his perhaps, at times, overzealous  attempts to help her. He would help-but at the pace she needed. That  hadn't stopped him from thinking about her all day. Or from leaving his  meeting in the eighteenth arrondissement early to ensure he was there  when she left her last meeting.

'The rest of the day went much better, thankfully. At lunchtime I met up  with a designer friend, Nadine, who is over here from London on  business, too. She has just received a major order from a chain of  exclusive US boutiques-it will completely transform her business. And  she wants me involved, which is really exciting.'

She smiled with such enthusiasm he was sorely tempted to lean across and kiss those full, happy lips.

She scanned the room and gave a nod of approval. 'Great choice of bar, by the way.'

He had to lean towards her to be heard properly above the chatter and  music surrounding them. 'I used to live in St Germain before I moved to  the chateau.'

'You lived in St Germain! I've always dreamt of living in the centre of  Paris. Oh, you were so lucky. No offence-your chateau is lovely and  everything-but why did you move?'

He wasn't sure he liked the direction this conversation was going in, so  he gave a noncommittal answer. 'I like the space and peace of the  chateau.'

A shake of her head told him she wasn't going to let it go. 'But you  have that already, with Ashbrooke. Why would you want to live outside  Paris when you have this incredible city to explore?'

He took a sip of his martini. 'I was tired of city life. And, like at  Ashbrooke, I wanted peace and quietness in which to focus on my work.'

She shook her head in bewilderment before saying, 'Just for me, describe your apartment here.'

He was about to say no, but she looked at him so keenly, so hungry for  detail, that despite his better judgement he gave her a brief outline.  'It was a two-storey penthouse in a Haussmann building overlooking Île  de la Cité.'

'So you had views of Notre-Dame and Sainte-Chapelle? Remind me again why you gave that up.'

'For the peace of the countryside-for the space.'

'But why do you have all that space if you have no one to share it with?'

Taken aback by the bluntness of her question, and because it was too  close to the bone, he speared her with a look. 'You really don't hold  back, do you?'

Her head tilted for a moment and then she said in a more conciliatory  voice, 'Not really... But why do you live in such isolated spots? What's  the attraction?'

'I spent most of my twenties travelling the world to meet work demands.  In recent years I've wanted more stability, a less chaotic and frantic  pace. So I've opted to work out of Ashbrooke predominantly and travel  only when necessary. And, anyway, I like the countryside. Who wouldn't  want the ocean views that are at Ashbrooke?'

'I love the countryside, too... But you live behind tall walls, away  from the rest of the surrounding communities. Do you never feel alone?'                       
       
           



       

Lord, she was like a dog with a bone. With someone else he would have  cut them off a long time ago, but she asked these questions with such  genuine curiosity he found himself reluctantly answering them.

'I don't have time to even think of being alone, never mind feel it. Trust me-it's not an issue in my life.'

'What about friends and family? Do you see them often?'

Right-he'd had enough of this. Time to change the subject. 'I see them  occasionally.' He nodded at their now empty glasses and said, 'Would you  like to walk in the Jardin du Luxembourg before we head back home?'

She nodded enthusiastically, and as they walked out of the bar together  his attention was hijacked by the sensual sway of her hips in the high  heels. Bewildered, he shook his head, trying to figure out just what was  so hypnotic about her walk-and also how she'd managed to get him to  talk about personal issues he had never discussed with a single other  person before.

* * *

The martini and the relief of having survived the hurdle of visiting  clients for the first time had combined to make her a little  light-headed. So she had happily accepted his suggestion that they  stroll through the park.

The paths were busy with joggers and families. A few times she caught  Patrick smiling at the antics of careening toddlers and something pulled  tight in her chest.

Did he ever want a family of his own? The question was on the tip of her tongue a number of times but she didn't dare ask.

They passed by a bandstand, where a brass band played happy, toe-tapping tunes to a smiling and swaying audience.

'I spoke to William today. The renovations are going well. You'll be  glad to hear I will be out of your hair in less than a month after all.  It might be three weeks, tops.'

He glanced across at her and then away. 'That's good news.'

A dart of disappointment had her asking, 'That I'll be gone soon?'

He came to a stop and folded his arms. He looked down with good-humoured sternness. 'No. That the renovations are going well.'

Emotion swirled in her chest. She shuffled her feet on the gravel path  and she, too, crossed her arms. 'I'm really grateful for everything you  have done.'

He looked beyond her, towards a group of children sailing model wooden sailboats on a pond. 'It's not a big deal.'

Of course it was a big deal. But he clearly didn't want to make out that it was.

Evening stubble lined his jaw, adding a rugged masculinity to his  already breathtaking looks. How incredible it would be to feel free to  run a hand against that razor-sharp jawline and to look into the eyes of  this strong, honourable man. Her heart hammered at the thought that in  the future some other woman might get close enough to him, might feel  free to do exactly that. And he might welcome it.

She pushed away the jealousy that twisted in her stomach. Instead she  nodded towards the children he was looking at and said, 'My dad's hobby  is model boats. As a child I spent a lot of my Sundays standing in the  freezing cold in Herbert Park in Dublin, wishing his boat would sink so  that I could go home.'

He gave a bark of laughter and shook his head. 'You sound like you were a wicked child.'

'I used to get into a fair share of trouble, all right. I always blamed  my two older brothers, though! Did Orla do that with you?'

He gave a heavy sigh. 'Don't get me started. She used to insist on  coming everywhere with myself and my friends. Half the time she would  cause mischief-running through people's gardens as a shortcut, helping  herself to something from their fruit trees along the way. But when  neighbours rang to complain it was always me they mentioned, never Orla.  She was so small they couldn't see her.'

For the first time since they'd met he was speaking with genuine ease  and affection about someone close to him. He was so animated and relaxed  she longed for it to continue for a while.

'What was the village you grew up in like?'

'Everyone knew everyone. I went to the local school and spent my  weekends with my friends-either on the beach or playing at our local  Gaelic football club.'

Referring to the two traditional Gaelic sports played in most clubs, she asked, 'Hurling or football?'                       
       
           



       

'Both, of course.' For a while he paused, and then he said, 'I still  remember my first day going to the club. My mum took me down and I was  so excited to be wearing the club jersey. All the other boys on the  street wore it all the time.'

Her chest tightened. 'Do you remember a lot about your mum?'

His voice was sad when he said, 'Just snapshots like that.'

And then he began to walk away.

She had lost him. To that silence he often fell into. She wanted to bring him back.

She followed him and after a while said, 'So, do you get your good looks from her or your dad?'

That elicited a smile. 'So you think I'm good-looking?'

'You know you are. I bet you were the heart-throb in school.'