He had her dead to rights on that one. She didn’t care what he saw. “Are you sure you weren’t drunk last night? The Mr. Darcy I know would never do such a thing as to show up at someone’s hotel room in ... theconditionyou were in.”
Bending, he spoke into her ear, voice deep and seductive. “I assure you, I was not drunk on alcohol. I want to remember with vivid clarity every moment I spend with you in Paris,especiallyyour sexy nightie.” He was back to inappropriate again.
Taking the seat across from her, he sipped his coffee, then said, “You know, perhaps, you’re not as outraged as you profess. Maybe you wore said sexy nightie because you secretly wished I’d show up on your doorstep so you could test the waters of my desire and your feigned restraint.”
“For the sake of your upcoming wedding, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear such nonsense.” Of course, he was—maybe just a little—correct in his hypothesis. “What are you reading?” she changed the topic, tearing off a piece of the flaky bun.
“French for Dummies.”
“Interesting. And what have you learned apart from the masterful pronunciation of my favorite brioche?”
“That I would rather do other things with my tongue than practice mouth position.”
Mouth full, she said, “I know for a fact that you are quite articulate in the placement of the tip of your tongue,” then saucily grinned at his humored expression. Oh, how she missed this banter with him.
Resting his chin on his index and middle finger, he silently drank her in before stating. “God, I forgot how intoxicating you are in the morning.”
“That could be construed as another sexist violation of our client-broker relationship, Mr. Darcy.”
“Well,Miss Bennet, how is voicing—I assume—fondmemories of our foreplaynota violation?”
“If memory serves, yes,veryfond, but I was referring to your ability to adeptly attack a melting gelato.” She smirked then sipped her espresso.
Sighing defeat, he said, “Since you are so determined to keep this conversation on the business side of our ever-evolving relationship ...” He opened the book resting beside him, withdrew an oversized business check, then slid it across the table. “I wired the money to your account, but I thought you might like the check to frame or something.”
Her chin dropped.
“Once I resigned to the fact that you were remaining our broker, my pleasure over Caroline’s shrewd commission negotiation weakened. A measly two percent commission for a twenty-million-dollar painting reeked of vengeance, not astute deal-making. I’m sorry for that because it was at my drunken prompting at the wedding that she proceeded with a relationship with La Tempera.”
“But I’m okay with two percent.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Five percent is customary, and you should, at the very minimum, be paid that for a fifty-five-million-dollar acquisition. Hell, I still owe you for saving me from that eco clothing disaster.”
“William ... this is for two and three-quarters million dollars.”
“I thought I was Mr. Darcy.”
“Fine. Mr. Darcy, you’re paying me too much for services rendered.”
“You earned that and more. You’re a very wealthy woman now, and by my calculations, completely out of debt.”
Shocked, she asked. “Would you do this for anyone else?”
“Nope.”
“Then why do it?”
“Could we please stop this game and admit what we both feel for the other? I promised you once—years ago—that I would always have your back, whether you asked for it or not. I may have failed you then, but I won’t ever again.”
Shaking her head, she looked down at the check lying on the table. “Why?”
William came to her, kneeling beside her chair. “Because I love you. Lizzy, I would give you the world if you asked.”
“How could you possibly still love me after what I did to you?”
Taking her hand in his, he searched her eyes. “The past doesn’t matter. I can’t deny my heart any longer. I have fallen in love with you all over again.”
“Just because we are in Paris doesn’t mean we should fall in love.”
