She opened the door warily and peered out. The hallway was empty. Scurrying down to her room, she dashed inside and closed the door. Safe.
Too bad she wasn’t sophisticated enough to sashay out of Drew’s bedroom without worrying about being seen. But she was a simple country girl who wasn’t used to having sex with a man she’d known for less than twenty-four hours. The concept still boggled her mind, but the reality had been wonderful. She wasn’t the least bit sorry, but she’d still rather not have the servants know.
Walking over to the tasseled cord she’d missed seeing earlier, she gave it a pull. Now that was decadence. She wondered what sort of breakfast they’d bring her, but in her current state, she didn’t care. She headed for the shower.
She’d wrapped a towel around her wet hair and was drying off with a second one from the heated rack when she heard footsteps and smelled coffee. Hallelujah, her food had arrived! Wrapping herself in the white towel, she walked out of the bathroom and came face-to-face with Drew. “Oh! I didn’t expect you to deliver it!”
“Hope you don’t mind.” He wore an open-necked dress shirt and jeans, the same yummy combination he’d had on the day before, complemented by the sexy aroma of his cologne.
“Of course not.” Just like that, food lost its number one ranking. Melanie looked into his blue eyes and basked in the warmth of his smile. She couldn’t help smiling back. He had that kind of effect on her. “Thank you.”
“Actually, I came up to thank you . . . for last night.”
Her heart pounded faster. “The feeling’s mutual.”
“No regrets?”
“None.”
He let out a breath. “Good. I was afraid . . . well, never mind.” His glance swept over her. “I’m gettin’ out of here before I forget myself.” His Texas drawl was more pronounced. “You look way too good to me, darlin’.”
“I could say the same.” She trembled as she imagined herself pressed against his lean body.
He groaned and backed toward the door. “I mean it. I’m gone. Eat some breakfast and get dressed. I have something downstairs in the sitting room that I want to show you.” He went out the door and closed it.
As she listened to his footsteps retreating down the hall, she battled the urge to call him back. Her body throbbed in anticipation of something that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. She wished he’d kissed her, at the very least. But that would have been a mistake if he hadn’t wanted to start something, considering that she was one dropped towel away from being conveniently naked.
She reminded herself that the servants were up and about. In that charged moment when he’d stood close enough to touch, she’d forgotten anyone else was in the house, or in the world, for that matter. Whenever she looked into his eyes, her surroundings disappeared. He was one potent dude.
With an effort, she pushed away all thoughts of getting hot and sweaty with Drew Eldridge. She dressed quickly in a clean T-shirt and jeans, finger-combed her damp hair, and sat at the desk to eat. The meal was incredible—a gourmet version of eggs Benedict, a bowl of sliced fruit, warm croissants with butter and jam, and the best coffee she’d ever been privileged to drink.
She forced herself to slow down and savor it, even though she was extremely hungry and also curious about what Drew wanted to show her downstairs. Then she remembered that he’d asked for her clothing sizes while they’d ridden home in the car yesterday. Maybe the outfits had arrived.
Damned if she didn’t feel like Cinderella. Her life on the ranch didn’t require fancy clothes. She’d kept a couple of dresses she’d worn to parties in college, but now they just gathered dust in her closet.
But Prince Charming had asked her to the ball, or the equivalent of that. And she would be transformed, just like Cinderella, so she could attend in style. This fairy tale didn’t feel wrong or bad, but it did seem weird. She couldn’t equate anything that had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours with previous experience. Even the sex had been more dazzling than any she’d known.
Before the amazing sex, she’d planned to suggest a compromise that involved accepting some of Drew’s plan without abandoning herself to the entire program. But as it always did, sex had changed everything. She didn’t want to trundle off by herself and waste hours standing in line at the Eiffel Tower. She wanted to spend every available minute of her visit with Drew, either by his side as they enjoyed Paris or in his bed as they enjoyed each other.
She’d never in a million years expect this interlude to transfer to their lives in Dallas, but he was offering her paradise for the rest of her stay in Paris. Only a fool would say no to that. She wasn’t worried anymore that he’d spoil her for normal life, either. She was living a dream, and when she flew home, she’d wake up.
After eating every last morsel on her tray, she found a blow-dryer in the bathroom and styled her hair. She suspected that the clothes she was about to try on would require more than a casual ponytail. She was both curious and eager to see what a Paris shopping guru had picked out for her.
Finally, she put on her running shoes, because she had nothing else. Then she made her bed, replaced her towels on the rack, and picked up the breakfast tray. Servants were probably supposed to do all that, but she hadn’t been raised to leave chaos in her wake.
A middle-aged woman dressed in black slacks and a white blouse was polishing the banister on the second floor. She spoke only French, but she made it clear that she would take the tray from mademoiselle or know the reason why. Melanie relinquished the tray and followed the woman down the stairs.
The double doors to the formal parlor stood open, and sure enough, the elegant furniture was draped with a rainbow of colorful garments. Drew paced the room, his phone to his ear, but he turned when she came in and quickly ended the call.
His eyes were lit with excitement. “So? What do you think?”
She gazed at the beautiful clothes in colors she loved—red, purple, turquoise, and jade—outfits that would have been right at home in a Neiman Marcus trunk show. “It’s overwhelming, Drew. I couldn’t even wear all of these in the days I have left.”
“I know.” He didn’t sound worried about it. “Just pick what you want for now. You can take the rest ho–”
“No.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, no, thank you, I won’t be taking anything home with me. I don’t mean to sound ungracious, but I can’t accept clothes I won’t be wearing here. That’s . . .” She hesitated, not sure what she wanted to say.
“Opportunistic?”
She pointed a finger at him. “Exactly! I get that you want to show me the city your way. I understand you’ll have fun in the process and that I’ll need the right outfits. But scooping up this entire wardrobe and making off with it feels like I just won the jackpot in some televised game show. ‘Melanie Shaw! Come on down!’ I can’t do it.”
He studied her, a smile tugging at the corners of his sculpted mouth. “Does that mean you’re ready to go along with my plan?”
“Yes.” She wondered if he’d offered her the extra clothes on purpose, so that she’d reject that idea but accept the initial concept.
“Excellent.” His expression was triumphant. “Take whatever you want, but I do hope you’ll choose the red and black dress and the cape that goes with it.”
She’d been drawn to it from the moment she’d walked into the room. The abstract swirls of red against the black made her think of passion, and passion made her think of Drew. “Where would I wear it?”
“At Les Folies Bergère,” he said. “I have tickets for tonight.”
Her gaze met his. She was intensely curious about the show, but she’d crossed it off her list once her friends had canceled. Going alone hadn’t sounded like much fun. Seeing it with Drew, however, would be a total turn-on. “I’d love that,” she said. “And I’ll wear the dress.”
***
They
spent most of the afternoon at the Musée d’Orsay, because Melanie wanted a destination that allowed them to walk along the Seine both there and back. Once again, she was transfixed by the artwork, and she admitted that she’d done a little painting herself in college. Drew wasn’t surprised to hear it. Her enthusiasm for her surroundings told him she had the soul of an artist.
While they toured the museum, he’d deliberately put a leash on his libido. Other than an occasional brush of hands or touch on the shoulder, he hadn’t made physical contact with Melanie all afternoon. He ached to do that, but he wanted to give her space to appreciate the experience.
Still, memories of making love to her taunted him constantly. When she paused before a Renoir nude, he had to look away. Otherwise he might have given in to the urge to drag her somewhere private and kiss her until they were both senseless with lust.
The worst part was that he thought she’d be okay with the idea of him doing that. More than once he’d caught her looking at him with a sexy gleam in those big gray eyes of hers. But then the moment would pass, and her face would light up at the sight of painting by Monet or Van Gogh.
That’s why they were here, so she could see those works, and he was determined she would get the most out of the visit. Her enthusiasm fueled his, and he found himself looking at the paintings more intently. Consequently he saw things that he’d missed before.
After they left the museum, they strolled past the colorful shops and cafés of the Left Bank. Drew offered his sunglasses to Melanie, and, typical for her, she refused them. He’d tried to buy her a pair earlier, but she’d insisted she could do without them for a few days.
A cloud drifted over the sun and Drew tucked his glasses inside his jacket. He couldn’t help taking her arm as they crossed the street and headed toward Notre Dame. That kind of thing was bred into him. But he released her once they were safely across.
“And this is where we first met.” She paused in front of the cathedral.
“Yes, ma’am. I hope the spot didn’t get ruined for you because of what happened to you here.”
She gazed up at him. “Meeting you more than made up for it, so no, nothing’s ruined.”
“Good.” He was also glad she wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, because then he would have missed that soft glow in her eyes.
“By the way, why haven’t you held my hand at all this afternoon?”
His breath caught. “What?”
“I’ve been sending out signals, and you seem to be picking them up, but you still haven’t touched me. I understand that you don’t want to be affectionate in front of your household help. I don’t want that, either, but we’re among strangers now.”
“Melanie, I—”
“If you don’t like PDA under any circumstances, I’m cool with that. I just need to know for future reference, so I don’t accidentally embarrass you.”
He was stunned. “I didn’t want to interfere.”
“Interfere?” She looked puzzled.
“With all of this.” He gestured toward the cathedral, the river, and the vivid bustle that was Paris. “You’ve never experienced it, and I didn’t want to distract you from—”
“Oh.” She smiled and her gaze grew even warmer. “That’s incredibly sweet.” She held out her hand. “Could we hold hands the rest of the way back, though?”
“We sure as hell can.” He laced his fingers through hers and tugged her closer. “And while we’re on the subject, how do you feel about kissing in public?”
“We’re in Paris. I thought it was expected.”
“So it is.” Drawing her into his arms with a sigh of relief, he leaned down and finally, finally did what he’d longed to do for hours. Ah. Her mouth was as lush as he remembered, and he groaned when she opened to him.
So generous. So giving. Blood pumped through his veins and settled in a predictable spot. He didn’t want to stop kissing her. He liked it too much. But that was the problem—he liked it way too much.
When he realized that he’d cupped her bottom, he forced himself to end the kiss and back away, but he held on to her hand. “Sorry.” He gulped in air. “I got carried away.”
“Don’t apologize.” She was breathing fast, too. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since this morning.”
“And God knows I’ve wanted to, but you see what happens.”
Her gaze lowered to the crotch of his jeans, and her smile was filled with feminine satisfaction. “It’s nice to be wanted.”
“Darlin’, you have no idea how wanted you are.”
She looked into his eyes. “Likewise.”
His cock strained at the denim of his jeans, and he wondered how he would ever make it through an evening at Les Folies Bergère with this woman. They might have to leave at intermission.
Eight
Melanie had never felt more desirable than she did while sitting at a cozy table drinking champagne with Drew at the famed Les Folies Bergère. The look in his eyes when she’d come downstairs in the red and black dress would stroke her ego for months. She’d carried the cape specifically so that he could help her with it.
Having him settle that silken cape around her shoulders had been like foreplay. And now, as they watched the nearly nude dancers onstage, he held her hand and stroked his thumb over her palm so erotically that she wondered if she could climax simply from that single caress.
The show itself was a sensual delight that celebrated the elegance of the human body. Costumes were often scanty but vibrantly colored. Les Folies Bergère was historic and spoke of the Paris that had captured Melanie’s imagination long ago—an exuberant blend of art and sexuality.
She loved the show, but it wasn’t the only reason she was getting more turned on by the second. She thought maybe Drew had planned it that way. If so, she was ready to fall in with that plan.
Leaning toward him, she put her mouth close to his ear and breathed in his signature fragrance. “I want you,” she murmured.
“Same here,” he whispered back. “It’s almost intermission.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but she was more than willing to find out when the show took a break and everyone rose from their seats.. As they joined the rest of the audience in the extravagantly decorated lobby, Drew put his arm around her and leaned down. “We can stay or leave. Up to you.”
She glanced into blue eyes hot with desire. “You’ll call Henri?”
“No. I told him we’d catch a taxi.”
She felt a sense of freedom at hearing that. “Let’s go.” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Drew propelled her through the crowd and out the door.
On the sidewalk, he whistled for a cab. She climbed in and a thrill shot through her. No Henri to chaperone. She wondered if Drew had set that up on purpose, too.
He slid onto the seat beside her and gave the driver the name of a hotel.
“We’re not going to your place?”
“No.” He pulled her into his arms. “I can’t wait that long.” Then he kissed her with such urgency that he left no doubt that he was on fire for her.
The cab ride was short, but he made good use of it. His kiss was thorough as he used his tongue to suggest what he had in mind for the minute they were alone. Meanwhile he fondled every bit of her he could reach. He cupped her breast through the silken material of the dress and slid his other hand under her skirt.
She hadn’t ridden in many cabs in her life, and she’d certainly never made out in one, but the anonymity of it excited her. She stroked the fly of his slacks where the material strained over his erection. He groaned against her mouth.
Lights flashed past as the cab driver veered left and right, and the wild motion added to the feeling of reckless abandon. The sound of traffic outside disguised the soft whimpers of desire that escaped from her lips as Drew breached the barrier of her panties and caressed he
r with deliberate intent.
By the time they left the cab, she was as desperate for him as he was for her. Her wet panties bore testament to that. But she straightened her clothes and did her best to look cool and collected.
The lobby was small yet tasteful. The desk clerk seemed to be expecting them, which told Melanie that Drew had arranged this part in advance. That was a thrilling thought.
He gave his name and was issued a key without any questions about luggage. Taking Melanie’s hand, he led her up one flight of stairs, opened a polished wooden door, and pulled her inside a softly lit bedroom.
They’d barely closed the door before they were on each other, tugging at clothes and moaning in frustration. Fumbling with the zipper at the back of her dress, Drew walked her toward the bed and tumbled her backward. He’d made no progress on her zipper.
Abandoning that project, he stood, chest heaving, and unzipped his slacks. Without taking them off, he freed his rigid penis. She lay there, gasping for breath, as he fished a condom from his pocket and put it on. All the while he kept his gaze on her.
She was equally entranced with her view. Last night had been much darker and more mysterious. He was an awesome specimen and he seemed ready to take some decisive action with that top-of-the-line bad boy.
But she was still wearing the expensive dress he’d bought. She sat up and reached behind her back to work on the zipper.
His reply was hoarse with desperation. “Never mind that.” Cupping the back of her head, he covered her mouth with his and guided her down to the mattress while shoving her skirt to her waist.
Her pulse rate skyrocketed. She was being taken, and she loved it. When he encountered the barrier of her drenched panties, he ripped the delicate lace in two. All her life she’d dreamed of a man wanting her so much that he’d tear the clothes from her body. Drew was that man.
One Night With a Billionaire (Novella): The Perfect Man Page 7