Swept into the Rich Man's World(23)

When he had whispered 'I like you' in the Whispering Room, he had looked  at her with such intense integrity and honour it had been like a bomb  detonating in her brain. And just like that she'd realised she was in  love with this kind, generous, strong man. And, God help her, she knew  she would happily take a few days in his arms over the alternative:  never knowing what it would be like to be held by him.

Right now, to have loved and lost was definitely better than never to  have loved at all. She didn't want to think about the future. Living in  the present was all that mattered.

She scrunched her eyes shut for a moment, and when she opened them again she said, with a huge smile, 'Okay.'

It was as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had  never felt so exhilarated in her entire life. To feel this good it must  mean it was the right decision. Mustn't it?

* * *

All the way back to Paris she regaled him with stories of her encounters  with fashion designers. He held her hand throughout, his thumb  caressing the soft smoothness of her palm, and every now and again she  would stutter and lose her train of thought as his fingers lightly  traced along her inner arm.                       
       
           



       

Each time she shivered and her eyes grew heavy he wondered if her entire  body was that sensitive. And his pulse moved up another notch.

When the helicopter landed Bernard was waiting to take them to his private club, close to the Eiffel Tower.

She gasped beside him when the maître d' of the club's restaurant  directed them to their table in the rooftop terrace restaurant. And he  totally understood why. Because, no matter how many times he came here  himself, the sheer size and beauty of the Eiffel Tower this close up was  truly impressive.

Their table, as he'd requested, was beside the low-level redbrick wall  of the terrace, with her chair facing out towards the tower, he sitting  to her side.

Once the maître d' had gone she stared at him, her huge chocolate eyes  dancing in merriment, and then she put a hand over her mouth in  disbelief. 'Oh, my God, I can't believe this place. It's incredible.'

'The club is one of the closest buildings to the tower.'

Their waiter arrived with the champagne he had pre-ordered and opened  the bottle with a satisfying pop. He filled the flute glasses that  already sat on the white-linen-topped table and retreated once he had  placed the bottle in an ice bucket to the side.

She took a sip of champagne. And then another. 'Wow! That's the nicest  champagne I have ever tasted. It's sharp, but with a gorgeous biscuit  undertone.' She turned again to the tower and reached her hand out  towards it. 'I feel like I can almost touch it.'

Then, as she looked around the rest of the terrace, he saw her expression grow even more radiant.

'This club is so impressive-' She stopped and blushed, and dropped her  chin on to her cupped hand. 'Oh, dear. I must sound like the most  uncultured date you've ever had.'

'You make a refreshing change from some of the jaded dates I've had in the past.'

She gave him a suspicious look. 'That's good... I think.'

If only she knew how many times in the past he had been left speechless  by the cynicism and sense of entitlement of some of his previous  conquests. 'That's very good.'

As they both leant forward to place their glasses on the table their  arms touched and a silent energy bound them together. He moved closer  and her lips parted ever so slightly. Hunger powered through him. He  inhaled her scent. The scent that now lingered in the air of the chateau  and one he looked forward to inhaling each day when he returned from  his meetings.

Slowly their heads moved towards one another. Her head tilted to the  side and passion flared in her eyes. Inch by inch they drew closer, and  he had to stifle a groan when his lips met the soft fullness of hers.

When he pulled away he was amused by how dazed she looked, and said, 'You're the best date I've ever had.'

She blushed furiously and waved away his words, but her wide smile told of her delight.

A group of waiters arrived with the food he had also pre-ordered,  earlier in the day. The surprise and glee with which she eyed the food  had him smiling to himself in pleasure.

Once the waiters had departed she looked mischievously from the tiers of  mouth-watering cakes to him. 'It's a bit late in the evening for  afternoon tea, I would have thought.'

'You said you loved millefeuille.'

Shaking her head, she bent to inspect the three-tier stand. 'All the  cakes I used to dream of when I was a student: opera cake, éclairs,  macarons...even miniature tarte Tatin.' She looked at him, her throat  working. 'Thank you.' She stopped as tears filled her eyes. 'This is so  considerate of you...' And then she laughed. 'I'm actually lost for  words.'

He gave her a smile. 'Then don't speak. Just eat.'

He poured her some tea while she selected a millefeuille. He chose a  raspberry macaron, filled with fresh raspberries and raspberry cream.

She closed her eyes as she ate the first forkful of millefeuille. And he  almost choked on his macaron. She looked incredibly sensual, with her  head tilted back, pleasure written all over her face. He glared at a man  sitting at a nearby table who was also captivated by her, a powerful  surge of possessiveness taking him by surprise.                       
       
           



       

Her happiness was increasingly becoming everything to him. It was as  though he was plugged into her emotions and felt them as keenly as she  did. When she was happy he was elated. When she was sad or upset his  heart plummeted. He had never before felt so attuned to another person.

It was both incredible and awful at the same time. Incredible that he  could be so close to another person that he felt her emotions. Awful  because it would make saying goodbye all the more difficult.

As they ate they spoke about their past experiences in Paris, with the  tower lighting up before them as the sun set. They both looked towards  its graceful night-time beauty, but he quickly looked back at her.

Her eyes shone with happiness. She was curled into her seat so that her  body was directed towards him, even though her gaze was still on the  tower. Her lipstick had faded from brilliant red to a faint blush.

Unable to stop himself, he leant towards her and said her name gently.  She turned to face him fully with a smile and his hand reached forward  to brush a flake of pastry from her lips. At least that was what he  intended to do. He removed the pastry, all right, but his finger  lingered on her lips, desire coiling in his stomach.

At first she stared at him in surprise, but then her gaze darkened. He  lowered his finger but moved forward in his chair, wanting to be closer  to her...

* * *

Awareness of his masculinity, of his raw power, flooded Aideen's body  and her head began to swim at the heat and scent of his skin.

'I want you.'

It was the barest of whispers and she drew back a little, needing to  search his eyes, to see if she had heard right. The hooded intensity  there told her she had heard correctly.

Her throat was too dry to speak so she mouthed the words me, too.

His eyes darkened even more as they traced the movement of her lips.

Immediately he stood and held out his hand to her. Her insides had gone  all funny and she worried that her legs wouldn't carry her.

Just as they were about to leave, the tower started its hourly light  show, and as she stood watching the twinkling lights, enraptured, he  held her from behind, his hands encircling her waist, his thumbs drawing  lazy sensual patterns up and over her ribs.

In the back of the car she tried not to tremble as he held her hand. Silent, powerful restraint pulsated from his rigid body.

Once home, he threw open the front door and pulled her into the darkness, backed her against the wall.

He stood so close the heat from his body curled around her, and she  gasped when his fingers moved to undo the top buttons of her blouse.  Once open, he pulled it down to expose both shoulders. Slowly he left a  trail of soft, knee-weakening kisses along her collarbone and the  sensitive ridge of her neck, his fingers dragging down the  apricot-coloured lace straps of her bra, leaving a burning trail of heat  on her skin.

A deep moan of pleasure ricocheted from deep inside her. Her fingers  scratched against the cool wall at her back, desperate to cling to  anything.

'I want to make love to you.'

For the longest while she fought to answer him, her mind distracted as he continued to caress her earlobe, her neck.

The absolute gorgeousness of inhaling him... The bone-melting thrill of  his large, muscular body being so close... The desperate need to touch  every inch of him... To have his body crushed against hers. To have him  make love to her.

Her hands clasped his face and drew him up to face her. Her breath hitched as his burning gaze met hers.