The butler served me breakfast at the door like room service, entering with a rollaway cart that had a small vase of roses that looked like they’d just been cut from the garden. A drop of dew was even on one of the petals. When he removed the steel lids over the dishes, he revealed an elaborate meal of eggs smothered in Gruyère cheese tucked into a crepe along with a side of French toast and bacon and a bowl of strawberries and blueberries so pristine they looked as if they had been hand-painted byMichelangelo. There was a pot of coffee and a side of cream as well.
I’d been shot at last night, and now I felt like I was on vacation. “May I speak with Luca, please?” I didn’t have his number, and while his bedroom was down the hall from mine, I wouldn’t dare rekindle his anger.
The butler stared at me like he didn’t understand what I said.
“He just expected not to see or talk to me at all?”
He returned the lids to the plates on the cart then left my bedroom without entertaining either of my questions.
“Well, that was rude.” But no amount of coldness could chase away my appetite at the sight of this feast. It was the prettiest meal I’d ever set eyes on—even more beautiful than Christmas dinner.
I ate alone, savoring the gourmet food prepared by a chef and forgetting my troubles for a while. I’d have to abandon my apartment and all my belongings because it was unsafe to return there, and now I’d have to start my life over again. New name, new paperwork, new job…everything.
Leaving Paris would be the smart move, but I loved this city too damn much to flee it. I was too stubborn to abandon my first love, the only city in the world that actually loved me back. The worst things had happened here…but the best things had happened too.
The door opened without a knock, and Luca appeared in nothing but black shorts and running shoes. Completely shirtless and bare-chested with a sheen of sweat across his beautiful skin, he looked at me with that same piercing stare.
I stilled at the sight of him and forgot how to speak again.
He stared at me as if he’d asked me a question, and the longer I didn’t answer him, the more irritated he became.
“I—I wasn’t expecting you to just walk in here.”
“In my own house? You called for me.”
I tried not to snap back because beggars couldn’t be choosers, but snapping back was pretty much my entire personality. “I meant right this second. Jesus, you help me but then jump down my throat.”
His eyes remained vicious. “You have my attention, and you’re wasting it.”
“Can we talk?”
“What the fuck are we doing?” he snapped.
“I mean like civilized people. Stop yelling at me.”
Oddly enough, his anger dimmed slightly.
“You can take a shower first.” I tried not to stare at anything but his eyes. Tried not to inspect the hardness I’d noticed when he was clothed. He was covered in sweat like he’d just run for five miles, but I suspected he’d been lifting in a private gym. Bars and dumbbells…and probably some cars.
To my surprise, he entered and dropped down into the seat across from me. He had wireless headphones in his ears, but he took them out and tucked them into his pocket. He crossed his thick arms over his chest and stared.
It took all my strength to look at only his eyes.
Not the popping veins in his arms. The biceps that rivaled the size of my head. The shoulders that were large like mountains. The hard pecs that looked like slabs of concrete that held up the bridges over the Seine.
He stared, eyes bright with both intelligence and annoyance.
My god, this man was beautiful. But fuck, he was ornery like a stallion that refused to wear a saddle.
I was used to receiving attention and looks from men when I was out and about. At restaurants and bars. When I was at work. If I wanted to get laid, it wasn’t a struggle to find someone to share a passionate night with. But Luca stared at me like he wasn’t the least bit impressed. Like I was one of many. A name not worth remembering. Like the women he bedded were far superior to anything I had to offer.
I was definitely attracted to him, but he clearly wasn’t attracted to me.
It stung…a little.
His impatience shattered the silence. “What do you want from me, Eleanor?”
“Aliénor. It’s pronounced with an a?—”
