At The French Baron's Bidding. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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sighed and shook his head. ‘Sorry about that,’ he murmured. ‘I’m afraid Clothilde is rather theatrical.’
‘Who is she? Your girlfriend?’
‘Ex-girlfriend. If you can call her that. I dated her for a while and she thought it was more serious than it ever was. Why is it that women always fall into that trap?’ he enquired, brows knit. ‘I don’t understand why they can’t just accept the status quo and enjoy it. It always amazes me how they complicate life.’ He shook his head and let out a sigh.
‘Perhaps the women you run into have a deeper sense of commitment than you do,’ she replied, tongue in cheek, before taking a sip of chilled champagne.
‘Maybe. But no commitment ever existed in the first place. Not on my side anyway. I made that abundantly plain from the outset.’
‘But things can start out as casual in life and then become deeper as time goes on,’ Natasha argued.
He shrugged in what she considered to be a very French gesture. ‘I never make promises that I might break. And I never offered marriage or even an in-house living arrangement to Clothilde. I really don’t see why she’s so upset.’
‘Well, she seems to think she has a ton of reasons,’ Natasha remarked tartly.
‘You see?’ He turned and threw his hands up. ‘That is exactly what I mean. Women are all the same—always filling in the blanks with all sorts of reasons and justifications for getting their own way. I will never understand them.’
Natasha smothered a smile and decided there was little point in pursuing the subject. But Clothilde’s burst of anger had left her thinking. It was clear that Raoul was a seasoned playboy, used to getting his own way. Perhaps she should take the other woman’s warning seriously. After all, she knew nothing about him except that he was her neighbour in Normandy.
Later, as they drove back to the apartment through the quiet streets of the city, she determined to keep her distance from this man. She’d learned her lesson with Paul, hadn’t she? The minute you trusted you could also be betrayed. And, frankly, she had very few reasons to trust Raoul.
When they reached the imposing building he stopped the car and parked. ‘How about inviting me in for a nightcap?’ he said with a grin.
‘I don’t think so. I’m quite tired tonight. I have a long day tomorrow—meetings with my grandmother’s lawyers and so on.’
‘Ah, you’re meeting with Perret, I take it.’ He nodded. ‘He’s quite a good man on the whole, but I told Marie Louise she might want to consider a change of legal counsel.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Oh, I’ll tell you some other time, when you have more time on your hands,’ he answered affably.
Natasha could have kicked herself for falling into the trap.
‘Right—well, I’d better be going.’ She began opening the door, but he leaned quickly across her and held it closed.
‘Not so fast, ma belle,’ he murmured, his voice turning husky. ‘You can’t be in that much of a hurry.’
‘I—’ Natasha felt her body click into overdrive. What was it about this man that left her mesmerized, unable to react as she should? When his hand slipped behind her neck and he drew her close, his lips dropping a trail of deliciously feathery kisses on her cheek, down past her lips, her throat, then slipped to her breast, instead of repulsing him she let out a pent-up sigh of longing.
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