His eyebrows elevated a fraction at her pert challenge. His golden eyes looked deeply set into hollows darkened by a sleepless night. She was so startled by the thought that this powerful man might have lost sleep over her, she let it go as if it were hot.
The impression dissipated as he said with casual arrogance, “I pay the housekeeper to cook—or in this case deliver pastries.”
“Oh. I would have liked to walk to the patisserie.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his expression, followed by a purse of his mouth that made her bite her lip. He didn’t want to stroll hand in hand down the Champs-Elysées and she hadn’t meant to sound as if she was longing for romance either.
“I’ve never been to Paris. I’d like to visit a patisserie for fresh croissants at least once in my life,” she defended, embarrassment stinging her cheeks. “But that’s fine. I’ll be out in a moment.” She shifted her feet to the edge of the bed, signaling she needed privacy to rise and dress.
He didn’t move.
Because there were no secrets from him behind this sheet. Perhaps he had sent his housekeeper out and come to wake her for a different reason. Her heart tripped and her fragile poise slipped. She swallowed, mind casting with indecision. She knew she shouldn’t want to sleep with him again, but she did. Weak longing stole over her even as she searched his expression for his intention.
He gave nothing away as the silence grew loaded. Finally he entered the room, coming around the bed. She tensed, but he passed her by, stepping into the bathroom long enough to reach for something off the back of the door. When he returned, he draped a pewter-colored robe over the foot of the bed. “Take your time.”
He left and she let her breath out in a whoosh, staring at the closed door, wondering why she felt so forlorn. In the space of twenty-four hours the man had completely taken over her world, which was intolerable. She didn’t need to be completed. She was already whole. Aleksy might have tapped through her inner walls last night, but she had an infinite capacity for shoring herself up against the world. He’d simply caught her in a moment of weakness. Showered and dressed, she’d be completely unaffected.
She had to be.
* * *
Aleksy was not used to sexual denial. If he wanted a woman, he found one. When he had one, he had one. Waiting for Clair in the lounge, knowing she was running a soapy cloth over her nectarine-scented skin, was excruciating.
The proximity of her lissome body had burned in him all night as he paced the dark lounge. Taking her should have iced his vindictive cake, allowing him to discard her and move on, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how exquisite she’d been. He’d thought he only wanted to mark his victory over his enemy, but she wasn’t Van Eych’s. She belonged to him, only him.
It was one more twist that caught him unexpectedly. He’d planned to be in London indefinitely as he drew the noose ever tighter around Van Eych’s neck, putting him in a cell while stripping him of his stolen riches, but going to London had turned into nothing more than a formality because Victor had died. Aleksy’s appetite for steering the takeover was gone. He could leave it to his team and go back to Russia where his own interests had been neglected far too long.
Given Clair’s inexperience, he should sever their association. The deepest part of him knew that, but the rest of him rejected the idea. What would be the point in acting gallant now? Her virginity was gone. She’d given it up as a survival tactic in the face of losing her job and home. If she was going to sell herself, it might as well be to him.