One Week With The French Tycoon. Christy McKellen
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to them, it didn’t necessarily mean they didn’t want to talk to you. They were probably just distracted by something they’d been thinking about, or they were hungry, or concerned about the tightness of their trousers or something. Not that it appeared as though any of his clothes weren’t fitting him perfectly. In fact, he looked as if he’d just stepped off a page in one of the hiking gear magazines she’d pored over whilst preparing for the holiday, before realising she could afford exactly none of the items in it.
‘Did you like Ravello? All those steps up to it nearly killed me!’ she joked, cringing inside at the hint of desperation in her voice.
He didn’t even break a smile. ‘Yes, it was an interesting place.’ His brow creased into a frown. ‘They told me at the reception desk you’d checked out. I didn’t expect to see you on this circuit today.’
She stiffened, wondering why on earth he seemed so irritated about her walking the same route as him.
‘I have another hotel in town booked for tonight. A better organised one, I hope,’ she said, shrugging off her discomfort and forcing a smile on to her face.
‘Okay. Bon.’ He took a deliberate step backwards, then froze as her words seemed to sink in. ‘Do you mean you’re staying in Amalfi again tonight?’
Another wave of warmth began to creep up her neck. ‘Yup.’
His brow crinkled in confusion. ‘Then why are you moving hotels after only one night?’
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I like to change things up. It keeps me on my toes.’
And I can’t afford to stay in that hotel again, not that I’m admitting that to you, Monsieur Moneybags.
He nodded slowly, his gaze searching hers as if he was trying to rootle out a lie.
She just raised both eyebrows at him, determined not to give in and blurt out the truth, trying to ignore the way her pulse had sped up.
Letting out a sharp huff of a laugh, Julien broke eye contact and glanced behind him as if looking for an excuse to leave. Not that she could blame him; the conversation wasn’t exactly flowing well and she was tempted to slink away herself. But she wasn’t going to; she was going to see this through to the bitter end, as a matter of personal fulfilment.
‘So, are you going to try one of those trattorias for your lunch?’ she pressed, nodding in the direction he’d been heading.
He closed his eyes for a second and pulled in a sharp breath, then smiled politely. ‘Oui. I didn’t have the forethought to bring any food with me.’ He gestured towards the remains of her sandwich, which was still clutched in her hand. ‘Where did you get your lunch today?’ The dry irony in his tone suggested there was more to his question than a simple polite query.
He must have seen her take the food from the buffet. The realisation sent a prickle up her spine. Normally she would never have done such a thing, hating the idea of stealing anything from anyone, but with the limited funds she had available until her bag turned up, it was necessary to bend her rules a little.
‘I purloined it from the breakfast buffet,’ she admitted, forcing herself to keep her chin up and her gaze locked with his. ‘I thought the least the hotel could do was gift me a lunch after their mess-up with the room last night. Anyway, a place like that always puts out more than is consumed. I was helping with their wastage problem,’ she finished, aware that her tone was edged with defensiveness.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as his wry smile deepened. ‘Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me,’ he murmured, leaning closer and enveloping her in his delicious scent.
It was all she could do not to take a great gulping breath of it through her nose. What was it that made his smell so enticing to her? Was this what people called the pheromone effect? She’d never experienced it before.
‘Thanks,’ she deadpanned.
He gave her a curt nod. ‘Well, I’m going to go and eat.’
‘Okay, enjoy,’ she said, disappointed that he was leaving now. Despite his standoffishness, she’d enjoyed chatting with him after spending her morning alone. All the other English-speaking walkers she’d encountered on the route seemed to be part of a group, which she hadn’t had the courage to try and break into yet.
She watched him stride away, trying not to stare at the way he moved his large, fit body with such powerful grace.
Judging by his troubled mood, she guessed he must be struggling with some serious emotional turmoil, which she knew from personal experience could make for a pretty lonely existence. She hated to see people in pain, especially if she thought she could do something to help.
Well, she’d just have to keep an eye out for him, just in case he fancied some no-strings company later.
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