Swept into the Rich Man's World(20)

Across from him, Aideen sighed. 'Patrick, I really think you need to cut  yourself some slack. You were only in your early twenties. You were  running several rapidly expanding multimillion-pound businesses and  trying to parent a teenage girl. You did your best. Sure, you made  mistakes. Haven't we all? But, as you've said to me, that's in the past.  Focus on the future now. You have to think about the next generation in  your family. Your nephew or niece will need you. Orla's baby deserves  to have you in its life.'

His gut tightened. She was right. But what if he caused Orla more upset?  What if they had yet another bitter argument? He would never forgive  himself if something happened to her or the baby because of him.

He picked up the chest, the material smooth against his skin. 'I would  like to keep this, if that's okay with you. Hopefully some day I'll get  the chance to give it to Orla and her baby. It's beautifully made.'

He genuinely looked as though he loved the chest, and Aideen prayed that  a time would come when he could give it to Orla. She could see how much  the rift was hurting him.

'Were the arguments with Orla one of the reasons why you moved to Ashbrooke?'

'Partially... And in truth they prompted my move here to the chateau, as  well. I love both houses, and I'm proud of the restoration I've carried  out at Ashbrooke. It would have been terrible to see it fall into  further decay when it's of such historic importance. At the same time, I  did need to retreat and focus on my businesses. They were growing at a  rate even I hadn't anticipated. But I also needed some head space after  years of arguing with Orla. My apartments both in Dublin and in Paris  held too many memories. Orla moved to Paris and lived in my apartment  when she was expelled from school. It was pretty tense, to say the  least-especially when I arrived to find she had moved two friends in  with her.'

'You didn't tell me that she was expelled.'

'Amongst other things. She came to Paris to attend a language school,  but she dropped out of there, too. She said she'd learn French faster  working in a bar.'

She didn't understand why he sounded so exasperated. 'But that was  good-she was taking on responsibility for herself and learning to be  independent.'

'You didn't see the bar she was working in.'

'Am I right in guessing you didn't allow her to keep working there?'

'Too right. She was on the first plane back to Ireland.'

'How old was she?'

'Eighteen.'

She inhaled a deep breath. 'Were there any other options other than sending her home? She was an adult, after all.'

'She certainly wasn't acting like an adult.'

'Did sending her back to Ireland work? Did it help your relationship?'                       
       
           



       

He glanced at her briefly and then looked away. 'No.'

'Would you do anything differently if you had that time again?'

He looked thrown by her question. For a good few minutes they sat in silence, his gaze trained on a spot in the far distance.

'I would do a lot of things differently.'

His thumb travelled again over the silk of the chest, and when he looked  up she realised the pale blue of the material was a close match to the  colour of his eyes.

He held her gaze and said, 'You're the first person I've ever told any of this to.'

'What do you mean?'

'Exactly that. I never told anyone about the problems we were having.'

'Not the school or your friends?'

'No.'

'You mean you carried all of this on your own?'

'Orla and I only had one another. It didn't seem right to tell anyone  else what was happening. It was private-between the two of us. Family  problems should stay within the walls of a home.'

'But not something as big as this, Patrick. Not when you're on your own,  with no one to ask for advice or just talk it through with. It must  have been so tough for you.'

Bittersweet sadness caught in her chest. She was honoured and moved that  he had told her. But she also felt a heavy sadness that he had been  burdened with this for so long.

'You shouldn't have carried it on your own.'

A solemn, serious gaze met hers. 'I could level the same accusation at you.'

Emotion took a firm grip of her throat. 'You're right... It's hard to  speak when you're hurting, when you're embarrassed and loaded down with  guilt.'

'I'm glad I did tell you.' A smile played at the corner of his mouth and  he added, 'I never thought I would say this, but it's actually a relief  to talk about it.'

It felt so good to see him smile. 'I'm glad, too.'

He considered her for a while, and her cheeks began to flame at the way  his eyes darkened. An emotional connection pinged between them and her  heart slowed to a solid throb.

In a low voice he said, 'I've been thinking over what you said about  having more fun, and I've lined up a surprise for you tomorrow.'

Her heart began to race again, and to cover the wide smile of excitement  that threatened to break on her mouth at any second she eyed him  suspiciously. 'I hope it's not a triathlon, or something crazy like  that.'

He shook his head with amusement, 'No, but I reckon you'd be pretty  lethal in a triathlon-if the competitive way you play tennis is anything  to go by.'

'You might be right, but I'm not the best of swimmers.'

'Really? You can't live by the sea and not be able to swim! When we get  back to Ashbrooke I'll give you some lessons in the lough.'

Was he serious? He seemed to be. Mixed emotions assailed her at once,  and a crazy excitement to know that he would want to do something like  that. That there might be some type of future for them beyond Paris.

But what if she was wrong? Was she reading way too much into this? Was  she crazy to believe and trust in a man enough to even contemplate the  possibility of some type of future with him?

Her doubts and fears won out and she dismissed his suggestion with a  laugh, praying it would mask the embarrassing frozen expression of hope  on her face. 'Only if I can wear a wetsuit. The water is pretty cold in  the lough.'

'Wimp!'

'I am not. Anyway, I have meetings tomorrow until four. Can the surprise wait until then?'

'Perfect. I'll collect you.'

She stood up and said happily, 'It's a date. Now I'm going to bed.'

Only as she went to walk away did she realise what she had said.

'Not that it's really a date or anything like that... You know what I mean.'

He, too, stood, and looked at her fondly, laughter in his eyes. 'Aideen...relax. And I would like it to be a date.'

'Would you?'

He pinned her with his gaze. 'Yes.'

His answer was such a low, sexy drawl that goosebumps popped up on her  skin. She gave him a skittish grin and before she embarrassed herself  any further decided to make a hasty retreat. But not before she threw  him another goofy smile.                       
       
           



       

As she walked out of the room she heard him say in the same sexy tone, 'Goodnight, Aideen. Sleep well.'

A delicious, deep shiver of anticipation ran the length of her body.





CHAPTER NINE

THE FOLLOWING EVENING at Issy-les-Moulineaux heliport, close to the Eiffel Tower, a helicopter stood awaiting their arrival.

As Bernard brought the car to a halt beside the impressive machine excitement bubbled in Aideen's veins. 'Where are we going?'

Patrick considered her mischievously as he contemplated her question.  'Now, if I told you that it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it?'

'The helicopter is enough of a surprise for me... Oh, please tell me! I hate being kept in suspense.'

'No can do, I'm afraid. The good things in life come to those who wait.'

Bernard was waiting patiently at the door for her to exit, so she  stepped out of the car. When Patrick joined her and they walked towards  the helicopter she asked playfully, 'So is that your philosophy on  life?'

He brought them both to a stop and stepped closer. He leant down. His  breath was warm against her ear when he spoke and her heart did a triple  flip.

'Sometimes the anticipation and the wait can be thrilling, don't you agree?'

Heat erupted in her body and she drew back to meet his eyes, which  blistered into hers. When she finally managed to speak it was in an  embarrassingly squeaky voice. 'I guess...'

His gaze changed to a look of amusement and, taking her hand in his, he  led her to the helicopter, where the pilot was waiting for them with the  rear door open.

As the pilot made the final checks for take-off her mind raced. Was he  confirming what she suspected...that he would like more with her? She  had read signals so wrongly in the past. Was she getting this wrong,  too? But the way he looked at her said she wasn't getting anything  wrong. He looked at her as though he would like to bed her then and  there.

For the entire forty-five-minute journey they played a game of 'yes and  no' in which she tried to guess their destination. She was wrong on  every count, and was rapidly running out of names. It was a good job she  had listened in her geography lessons in school.

But when a baroque castle appeared in the distance, with its raked roof  and tall chimney stacks, she whispered, 'Oh, my...it's Château de  Chalant.'