Propositioned Into A Foreign Affair / Seduced Into A Paper Marriage. Maureen Child
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looking for forever. In fact, he was going to have to work his ass off to wrangle a few weeks with her. She was as committed to her career as he was. That boded well for them.
Although her scowling silence wasn’t exactly promising.
Sam looped the gold scarf around Bella’s neck playfully. “Come on.” He tugged lightly, drawing her deeper into her suite. “Smile.”
“Like hell.” She whipped the scarf out of his hand and off her neck. “I’m mad at you.”
The best defense was a good offense. “If anyone has cause to be angry, it’s me. You ran out without saying goodbye. If I’d done that to you, I would be scum. Why is it any different when you skulk off?”
She pitched the wadded scarf at his chest. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What?” He snagged the whispery fabric before it slid to the floor. “Only women get to be indignant over someone running out after sex?”
She opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her brow furrowed with confusion. Ah, he had her off-balance. Good. Let her wonder if maybe he wanted some postcoital cuddling.
Bella shoved her tangled hair back from her face. “I’m sorry for not saying goodbye.” Her frown shifted into a scowl. “Now you can apologize to me.”
“For what?”
She crossed her arms over her luscious chest. “You know what you did.”
“I saved you from the press yesterday. Damn, I’m a real bastard.”
She jabbed him in the chest with one finger. “You called Charlotte.”
“Says who?” he hedged.
“Are you denying it?”
Apparently she knew already, so he confessed, “I’m not denying anything.”
He walked past her, deeper into her room, making it tougher for her to usher him out. He ran a cool hotelier’s eye over the polished sheen of the antiques, the designs unapologetically European. There might be a forty-six-inch flat screen with surround sound at any given U.S. Garrison Grande, but the curtains here were raw silk and the floors polished bamboo.
Here, he’d cultivated a rich, old-world feel all the way down to the paneled murals on the walls. “I called Alec this morning. I was worried about you.”
Her plump lips went tight. “You have to realize from what I told you that my cousin is really my half sister.” She dropped into a tapestry wingback chair. “I’ll deal with that when I’m good and ready.”
He looked around but saw no sign of the padded pink dog crate. “Where’s Muffin?”
“One of your helpful staff is walking her.”
“Good.” He nodded.
“Maybe you can go find her for me,” she said, her hint to leave none too subtle.
“About Charlotte…I thought you might need someone to talk to.” He plucked a couple of grapes from the breakfast tray and popped them into his mouth.
“That’s my decision to make.”
“Hey—” he thumped his chest “—I’m trying to be nice here.”
“No hidden agendas?”
“Who me?” He pinched up another purple grape.
“Said the spider to the fly.”
“Forgive me?” He brought the plump fruit to her mouth, caressing it along her lips, reminiscent of how they’d fed each other strawberries and champagne.
She bit the grape, nipping his fingers none too gently in the process. “Not yet.”
Yet? That meant he had a chance to get in her good graces again, a prospect that became all the more important as even her playful bite sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin.
Bella swallowed the grape, her tongue flicking over her lips.
“What did you mean about kidnapping me?” she asked, her voice throaty and confidential.
Victory shot a second jolt through him almost as strong as desire. “I thought you might like to spend time in France somewhere other than cooped up in a hotel.”
Her nose scrunched. “And run through the gauntlet of reporters? I don’t think so.”
He looped the scarf over her head and dropped the sunglasses in her lap. “Put those acting skills of yours to work and change up your walk a bit, take on an accent. Leave the rest to me. I’m willing to bet you could plow through your entire Christmas shopping list before a single photo is snapped…unless you would rather go home.”
She winced.
Good. Score one for his master plan.
“Come on, Bella. I have Christmas shopping of my own to take care of and I could really use your help in choosing something for my mother. So?” he pressed. “Are you in?”
“Well, I haven’t had time to shop for gifts.” Finally, her face cleared and she sighed. “All right. Find my dog and you can take me shopping.”
He held back his smile of victory.
“I need to shower first.”
His body stirred at even the thought of her naked under the spray of water. Too bad he couldn’t convince her to skip shopping altogether and spend the day in bed together.
She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You are not invited to join me.”
“Muffin and I will be waiting.”
Five
If only every day could end with coffee and a handsome man, the Eiffel Tower silhouetted in the distance.
Bella tightened the gold scarf draped over her head, but she’d ditched the large sunglasses since the sun was setting. Besides, they were indoors, tucked away in a corner of a small Parisian café. The scent of espresso wound through the restaurant, the soft chatter of native speakers soothed her with its melodious cadences.
So far Sam had done a brilliant job at evading the press, arranging a limo and extra security at one side entrance while spiriting her away to a private car out another. The plan had gone off without a hitch, but then he was full of surprises today.
Sam had told her he intended to take her shopping. He hadn’t mentioned they would be flying to Paris in his personal jet.
They’d left her dog at the hotel. Sam had reassured her that his assistant—Parrington—would take care of Muffin’s walks, food and water. Muffin would be happier playing, after all, rather than being carted around in her carrier all day.
He was right. Besides, juggling the little crate and her packages could be tough. She’d bought so much, they’d already left a load in their chauffeured car. She hadn’t had time to do any Christmas shopping with the hectic prerelease publicity schedule for Honor. She’d certainly fixed that problem now.
Somewhere around the fourth store, her anger at Sam for interfering had diminished to mere irritation. She didn’t totally trust him. After all, what man actually wanted to go shopping? Yet he hadn’t made even one move on her since they’d left the hotel. She would simply keep a wary eye on him.
A guitarist in the corner crooned “The First Noel” in French while Bella sipped her black coffee contentedly, eyeing the rest of her dessert and wondering if she dared pack on more calories. The answer? Definitely. The poire au chocolat—a Bosc pear, cooked in wine, dipped in chocolate, served with whipped cream—was irresistible.
She speared another bite, as the couple at the next table left, speaking in French at the speed of light. “I’m never going to fit into my dress for the movie premiere if I let you keep feeding me like this.”
He