A Gentleman’s Offer (9 page)

Y
vette had been to Paris once before to visit a great aunt but she’d never seen Paris in a luxury car driving along
La plus belle avenue du monde,
otherwise known as the Champs Élysées, and she hadn’t stayed in a private apartment in an exclusive hotel with a view of the Eiffel Tower. King, Queen and James had been left in a very posh pet hotel back in the States, but naturally it didn’t compare to her hotel. Prior to their business arrangement, Nate had already booked a brief visit to Paris.

The hotel guest suites consisted of two luxurious private chambers, furnished with a collection of eclectic furniture that provided elegance and functional diversity. In Yvette’s room was an elegant canopy bed with silk bedding and curtains, polished stone nightstand tops and twenty-four-carat gold-leaf lamps and an enormous private bath and sauna. Nate’s room was just as extravagant with mostly white furniture, but it was the art collection throughout the suite that made her breathless. Original paintings, on loan to the hotel, consisted of pieces by Louise Mailou Jones and Matisse. The main living area had two settees crafted in France with an Indian motif and fitted with cushions covered in silk. The two marble tables, with ebony stone carved lamps featured semiprecious-stone-inlaid tops, and led out to a private terrace.

She turned to Nate, who had just closed the door behind the porter. “How did you manage all this?”

“That is not the question you’re supposed to ask me.”

“What am I supposed to ask you?”

“What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t think I can eat.”

Someone knocked on the door. “You will,” Nate said, then opened the door to a chef and his crew.

Yvette did eat that evening. Very well. They were served a five-course meal consisting of braised lamb, steamed lobster and vegetables, a collection of just-baked French bread and a full tray of French pastries. Nate refused to eat with her because that wasn’t part of his job so she sat at the table alone while he sat on the couch.

“I can see why people travel to Paris for their honeymoons,” she said.

“Or affairs.”

“Yes, that, too.” She stared at him. “How many have you had?”

“Of what?”

“Affairs.”

“In Paris?”

“Have there been many?”

He began to smile.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

“It’s best that I don’t.”

“That many? I’m not surprised. Is that why we’re here? So you can resume your affair with someone?”

He sent her a devious look. “Perhaps I plan to start one.”

She felt her skin grow warm. “What’s stopping you?”

He stood and walked over to the table. “My conscience.”

“What’s it telling you?” Yvette challenged.

Nate held up an apple from the fruit bowl and studied it as Adam would have the forbidden fruit. “To stay away.” He gave her a knowing look.

“Do you think you can?” she asked, boldly walking into dangerous territory. She saw a glimpse of his smoldering eyes determined to explore its depths.

He set the apple down. “I’ve resisted temptation before.”

She held his gaze and came from around the table, closing the barrier between them. “Why resist?”

He didn’t move away, but didn’t move closer. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“What about what
feels
right?” She sat on the table and crossed her legs, letting her skirt inch up her thigh.

His gaze fell to her legs and a sly grin curved his mouth. “You don’t know me very well, Yvette.”

“In case you haven’t noticed I’m trying to change that.” She slowly lifted the skirt higher and could feel the tension in him grow. The heat of his gaze nearly scorched her.

His hand came down over hers in a swift motion. His large palm pressed against her hand and thigh. She licked her lips, determined not to tremble from his touch. His eyes captured hers. “I’m not part of the package,” he said in a quiet tone.

Yvette snapped back as though he’d struck her and yanked her hand free. “What?”

He softly swore then sighed with regret. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She jumped off the table. “Then why did you say it?”

He lifted her back on it. “Because I don’t want to mess this up. This is too important to me. You’re too important to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If I were to sleep with you there would be no turning back. Do you think I could be an impartial valet? I would want to break the fingers of any man who touched you, gouge out the eyes of any man who gazed at you for too long. I’m a possessive man, Yvette, and when I claim a woman she’s mine.”

“Fine.” She jumped down again.

Nate gripped her waist and he set her back on the table. “Listen to me. I need distance. I need this space. So much of my life has been people wanting more and more of me and…if the circumstances had been different we wouldn’t be talking right now.” He grabbed her shoulders. “It’s better for both of us to keep this as business-like as we can. If you must think of me, think of me as the wind that caresses your cheek.” His thumb gently touched the side of her face. Her heart quickened. “The breeze that lingers on your lips and brushes your skin but cannot hold you.” She could feel his breath on her face and longed for their lips to meet. “You can think of all these things, but you cannot think of me.” He turned away.

“Even if my heart breaks?” she said in French.

He spun around confused. “What?”

She didn’t care if he didn’t understand her. That made her feel more daring. She leaped from the table and gathered the front of his shirt in her fist and pulled him toward her. “You arrogant buffoon. How can you compare yourself to things I cannot hold when you are standing here solid and real?” She rested a hand on his chest, wishing she could melt the fabric of his shirt away. “I want you in my arms and I want you in my bed.”

Nate shook his head, frustrated. “Yvette, I don’t—”

“I don’t care if you don’t understand me. This is the only language you need to understand.” She kissed his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin, which felt warm beneath her lips. She touched it with the tip of her tongue, wishing she could devour him. “I know you want me,” she whispered, arching her hips against the evidence of his passion. “Why make both of us suffer?” She wrapped one arm around his neck. “You can touch me if you want,” she said, but when he didn’t move she realized she’d said the words in French and repeated them in English. He still didn’t move, but his dark eyes challenged her to continue.

She took up the challenge. She spoke in French again and lifted his hands. “You might need instructions. Your hands are large and probably clumsy so let me help you.” She tugged on her shirt.
“Chemisier.”
She unbuttoned it and showed her bra.
“Brassière.”
She unlatched her bra.
“Sein.”
She rested his hand on her chest and began to smile, wondering if he would snatch his hand away. But to her surprise he didn’t. Instead he pushed her bra aside and cupped her breast then tapped his mouth with his other hand, an indication that he wanted to know the word for it.

“La bouche,”
she choked, no longer feeling in control as she had been.

A devilish look entered his eyes then he lowered his mouth and covered her nipple. She gasped but before she could recover, his mouth moved to her other breast and then her mouth.

“Let me torment you a little,” he said in a low growl against her lips.

He could torment her all night. She wrapped her arms around him. His hands slid down the back of her skirt and cupped her bottom, pressing her closer to him.

She sank her hand into his pocket and moved toward the bulge in his pants. “Careful, Yvette.”

But Yvette didn’t hear him as her fingers touched small round objects filling his pocket. She pulled one out, curious. “What’s this?”

He swore and took it from her, his tone brusque, his mood changing just as abruptly. “It’s nothing.”

She stared at him concerned. “Is it to help you with your insomnia?”

“Yes,” he grumbled, stuffing his shirt back in his trousers. He glanced at her then latched her bra and buttoned her blouse proving his hands weren’t clumsy at all. Unfortunately for Yvette they were engaged in the wrong activity. Nate stepped away from her. “What I said about us stands. It’s a bad idea.” He pressed a finger to her lips, his intense gaze holding hers. “You’ll have to trust me.”

Yvette nodded then sadly watched him go to his room.

No matter what he said she couldn’t stop thinking about him. No matter how he tried to keep his distance he was more visible to her than he was before. When he helped her with her coat and his fingers lightly brushed her neck, the area felt warm for hours. She noticed his hands, his legs, his mouth and wanted them to be somewhere near her. Everything about him proved to be fascinating. She knew his footsteps, the cadence of his voice and no other sound pleased her more. But Nate tried his best to keep her occupied no doubt for her sake and for his.

He planned her schedule and made sure it was full. She had a front-row seat at David Anton’s couture fashion show, which was a grand performance where the clothing received the applause. He had also arranged for her to go Elle Elements, a highly admired local boutique.

Selections at Elle Elements consisted of unique and one-of-a-kind clothing. From her years of studying high fashion Yvette knew that the right clothing attracts and reflects glamour, money and beauty. She was shrewd with her money, but did splurge on several pieces. Nate went shopping with her but never gave his opinion although his was the only one she wanted to hear. After shopping, Nate whisked Yvette off to parties, dinner at some of Paris’s best restaurants and live shows. She enjoyed every moment and four days flew by like a dream.

As she sat alone in the hotel restaurant she wished that a photographer was there to take her picture so she could capture the moment. She looked stunning and knew it. She loved her off-the-shoulder, white couture pantsuit with sequined floral embroidery around the neck, and offset by a pair of gold rhinestone-studded center-strap shoes with clear acrylic heels. She wore her hair pulled back and twisted into a roll, with two large mother-of-pearl hairpins. Delicately fashioned twenty-four-carat gold earrings finished the look.

The restaurant was as elaborately furnished as their suite and provided tables with drapes for privacy if requested by a guest. At last
she
was one of those women in the magazines, but those women were rarely pictured eating alone: they had someone with them and she only wanted one man to be by her side.

Her dissatisfaction made her feel guilty. Nate had proven to be an expert valet. All her needs were tended to. Although, there were times he looked tired from his sleepless nights. On one occasion when he’d cut himself in the kitchen. He told her he was clumsy with knives after she’d asked him about the spots of blood on the napkins in the wastebasket. He probably hadn’t been paying attention due to lack of sleep. Yet he never complained. She could do anything. Attend any event, go to any shop, but more times than not she found herself wanting to be somewhere with him.

Yvette wished she could be with the man she had talked to on the phone about dating disasters, or the man she’d read poetry to. But after their first night in Paris Nate was all business, and yet how he treated others surprised her. Like the time when she saw him give up his seat to an older gentleman, and when he gave money for flowers and told the patron to give them to the next lady who entered the store. And there was the time he flirted with a baker whose day had started off badly due to a city-wide power outage. If only he would pay that kind of attention to her. How she craved that special look again just once and to be in his arms and to have his mouth cover hers…

“You’re not by yourself I hope,” a male voice said above her. “Such beauty cannot be so carelessly neglected. It’s like the perfect grape being left to wither on the vine.”

She glanced up and saw a large gentleman, just as attractive as his voice, and though his words were saccharine, his gaze was bittersweet as if he were trying to be happy in a world that had already disappointed him. She gestured to one of the empty chairs.

Although he spoke to her in English she replied in French. “Poet or painter?”

He sat, pleased, and spoke in French, as well. “Both. How did you guess?”

She pointed to a small blue paint stain marring the smooth brown surface of his hand.

He removed his hands from the table. “I apologize. I was in a rush this morning.”

“I’m Yvette Coulier.”

“I’m Bernard Leroy.”

“Really?”

His brows shot up. “You’ve heard of me?”

She shook her head in regret. “No, but maybe I will one day.”

“Perhaps.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

He tapped the side of his head. “The gray hair reminds me of the years passing.”

“You’re not that old. About forty-five?”

His eyes twinkled. “I’m thirty-five.”

She tried not to show too much surprise. “Oh.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I do,” she said quickly, embarrassed that her guess was off by ten years.

“Years of indulgence. But I’m not here to tell you my life story. I want to ask you a favor.”

Yvette leaned forward, intrigued. “What?”

“I want to paint you.”

“Really?”

“You doubt my sincerity?”

“No,” Yvette said, afraid she might have insulted him. “I’ve just never been asked.”

“Well, now you have. I’m asking. May I paint you?”

A voice, clearly not Yvette’s, responded to his request with a quick, firm “No.”

They both glanced up and saw Nate. Yvette smiled; Bernard froze. Nate pulled out a chair, sat and rested his arms on the table. He looked at Yvette. “Is that clear?”

Her smile grew.

He frowned, then looked at Bernard who seemed to have recovered from his shock. “She’s not doing nudity.”