Crazy, he dismissed with a mental shake of his head. He possessed a logical, analytical mind. Yet he was frighteningly aware of the timing and how, had he not been at a friend's home attending a party, he might never have met her. Equally, the slender thread of chance that led her to be persuaded to tag along to something she freely admitted hadn't been her first choice of an evening's entertainment.
Of the many women he'd met socially and in the business arena, there had been none who'd come close to the magic that was Sandrine.
Beautiful, with a gently curving slenderness that made her frame perfect for displaying designer clothes on various European catwalks. Fine-boned facial features, lovely, wide-spaced dark brown eyes, a generous mouth.
Rather than her physical appearance, it had been the genuine warmth of her smile, the expressive eyes and her joie de vivre. The way her chin tilted when she laughed, the faint twist of her head as she tossed her hair back over her shoulders. The sound of her voice, its faint huskiness when she became emotionally aroused. And because he was a man, the feel of her body in his arms, her mouth beneath his. The scent and essence that made her unique.
Destined to be, he mused, like two halves of a whole that fitted perfectly together as one.
'Michel?'
He looked down at her and tried to control the slight tremor that threatened to destroy the slim hold on his libido. 'You get to talk after we make love,' he teased mercilessly, and felt his body go weak at the languorous humour evident in those beautiful dark eyes.
'You could make an exception.'
He trailed a finger down the slope of her nose. 'So what is it you want to say that can't wait, hmm?'
She reached up a hand and pressed a finger to his lips, stilling any words he might have added. 'I love you.' There was the prick of unshed tears, an ache deep inside her heart.
He kissed each of her fingers in turn, and she almost melted from the warmth evident in his gaze. 'Merci, chérie,' he said gently.
'I always have,' she assured him with such a depth of feeling two tears materialised, clung to her lashes, then spilled to run down her cheek in twin rivulets. 'I always will.'
His thumb stroked away the dampness. 'Are you done?'
She inclined her head and made an attempt to restore her composure. Her gaze speared his, and there was a depth apparent that made him catch his breath.
'I have something for you.' He reached out and slid open a drawer of the bedside pedestal, extracted something, then turned back to her and caught hold of her left hand.
It was an exquisite diamond-studded ring, a perfect complement to her existing rings.
'It's beautiful,' Sandrine breathed. 'Thank you.' A circle symbolising eternity. She wanted to cry. 'I have nothing for you.'
The passionate warmth evident in his gaze succeeded in melting her bones. 'You're wrong,' Michel said tenderly. 'You are my gift. Infinitely more precious than anything you could give me. Je t'aime, mon amour.' His voice was husky as he curved her close against him. 'Je t'adore.' His lips hovered fractionally above her own. 'You are my life, my love. Everything.'
Love was understanding, compassion and trust. And more, much more.
She linked her hands behind his head and pulled him down to her. 'Merci,' she teased, and heard his husky growl an instant before his mouth closed over hers.
After the loving, she lay spent, curled in against his side, one arm flung across his midriff, her cheek resting on his chest.
The sun had shifted lower in the sky, and soon dusk would fall. Shadows danced slowly across the pale wall, creating an indecipherable pattern.
At last everything had fallen into place, she decided dreamily. The film was finished, publicity completed. Tomorrow she would board a flight with Michel bound for New York. A week later they'd embark on a holiday in France.
Paris in winter, drizzle, grey skies. But nothing would dull the magic of love in a city made for lovers. It was the appropriate city in which to try to conceive a child.
'Are you awake?'
She felt him shift slightly towards her. 'Want me to order in something to eat?'
'How do you feel about children?'
'In general?'
She waited a few seconds. 'Ours.'
Now she had his attention. 'Are you trying to tell me something?'
'There's nothing to tell … yet.'
He propped up his head as he leant towards her. 'The thought of your being pregnant with my child overwhelms me.'
She wrinkled her nose at him. 'Too overwhelming?'
He kissed her with lingering thoroughness. 'I think we should work on it.'
'Now?'
'You object?'
She didn't answer. Instead, she showed him just how she intended to work on it.