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And in Paris. Just past the leafy green trees and stately cream-colored buildings with pale blue shutters, she could see the grandeur of the Arc de Triomphe at the end of the avenue turning pink as the sun was starting to set to the west. As they climbed into the back of the waiting Bentley, the chauffeur closing the door behind them, the leather felt smooth and sensual beneath the bare hollows of her knees.
“Where are we going?” she asked her husband.
“Dinner first.” Theo kissed the back of her hand, his lips like fire. His dark eyes burned through her. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” she whispered.
“Good.” His expression as he looked down at her made her throat tight.
Did she see more than desire in his dark eyes? More than approval for her secretarial skills?
Was it possible that Theo actually—
“He’ll never love you. You know that, don’t you?”
Celine’s spiteful words echoed in her mind, and her brief hope faded.
Emmie had never had reason to be jealous of the Frenchwoman. She knew that now. Theo’s interest in Celine was the same that he had in Pierre Harcourt. To him, they were nothing but indecisive property owners who needed to be convinced to choose Katrakis Enterprises as their real-estate developer.
But that wasn’t enough. Celine wasn’t the problem.
It was those words. Because Emmie feared—no, she knew—that they were true.
For the last month, Emmie had tried to distract herself from that fact. She’d worked past the point of exhaustion until the pregnancy hormones that amplified her emotions became flattened out and sleepy. She’d allowed herself no time to think, no time to feel.
But now, as their driver took them through Paris, she had no numbers to crunch or images to collate. As her husband held her hand, pointing out the sparkle of the Eiffel Tower at sunset and the silhouette of Notre Dame’s famous gargoyles, black against the red twilight, Emmie suddenly felt everything. Including the reason she’d worked so long and hard the last month in Paris to be the perfect wife and secretary. Why she was so desperately trying to win his approval and esteem.
She was in love with him.
In spite of all her efforts, in spite of knowing Theo for the selfish, arrogant cad he could be, Emmie had foolishly given her heart to the complicated man who was her husband.
A man who desired her, and who appreciated her secretarial skills, but had no capacity for love. As he’d told her from the start. She suddenly blinked back tears. Was there any hope?
Following their chauffeured visits to the most unabashedly touristy attractions of the city, Theo surprised her with dinner for two on a private cruise down the Seine.
“I set this up myself.” Theo gave a proud smile. He never arranged logistical details himself. When she didn’t respond, his smile faded. “But if you don’t like it, I could get us a late-night reservation at le Café de la Paix—”
“A dinner cruise, I love it,” she forced herself to say.
And she did try to enjoy it. But as they sat on the deck and enjoyed a private dinner for two by candlelight, floating down the Seine as they watched the dreamy lights of Paris go by in the darkness, for some reason she felt like crying.
Theo’s handsome face was bewildered as he looked down at her barely touched plate. “Is something wrong with the food?”
“No, it’s delicious,” she said and choked down several bites of rich chateaubriand in truffle sauce, the buttery cheeses, the flaky orange blossom tart, washing it down with sparkling, rose-infused water.
At midnight, their chauffeur drove them back to the eighteenth-centuryhôtel particulieron the Île Saint-Louis overlooking the Seine, which Theo had rented from a penurious aristocrat at exorbitant cost. He punched in the ten-digit security code at the tall iron gate, drawing her into the small dark garden as the gate closed behind them with a clang.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” Theo said huskily. His dark eyes moved over her in the white silk blouse and camel skirt. “I’ve wanted to do this all night—”
He lowered his mouth to hers beneath the streetlights dappled through the trees. Pressing her against the wrought iron fence, he kissed her hungrily. As his tongue swept hers, electrifying her senses, she clung to him with equal need.
Drawing her to the imposing front door, he punched in another security code, then led her inside the grand home.
Yanking off his suit jacket, he dropped it to the checkered marble floor and led her up the wide, sweeping staircase with its decorative iron curlicues, in a palace built for noblemen long ago for a life long since vanished.
Leading her to the master bedroom, Theo looked at her in the semidarkness, illuminated only by faint moonlight and the passing river traffic below. He pulled off her silk blouse, revealing full breasts overflowing the white lacy bra. Falling to his knees with an intake of breath, he slowly unzipped the back of her cashmere skirt, and that, too, dropped to the priceless Turkish rug. He looked up, past her white lace panties and the swell of her pregnant belly, past her full breasts. His dark eyes locked with hers.
She shivered, looking down at him. Shadows played against his high cheekbones, crooked aquiline nose and dark scruff of his jawline. His ruthlessly handsome face was stark with need.
