One Night On The Virgin's Terms - Melanie Milburne Page 0,43
love-making hundreds of times since coming home from work that evening. Her body was still humming and thrumming with the need he awakened.
Millie put down the pendant and met Ivy’s gaze. ‘But you don’t want it to end it, do you?’
Ivy sat on the bed with a sigh. ‘No. Not yet.’
Millie sat beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. ‘I won’t tell you I told you so.’
Ivy gave her the side-eye. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll save that phrase for my mother. Did I tell you she’s getting divorced again?’
‘Again? How many times is that? Three?’
Millie flicked her eyes upwards in a despairing manner. ‘Four. And each time she’s been royally screwed over.’ She bounced off the bed and turned to face Ivy, her expression determined. ‘I’m not going to watch her get done over again. I’m saving up to get the best lawyer for her I can.’
‘They don’t come cheap. What about asking the guy you went on that blind date with a couple of months ago... Hunter Addison? Isn’t he a celebrity divorce lawyer? I’ve heard he’s brilliant. He might do it pro bono for you. It can’t hurt to ask him.’
Millie’s cheeks went as pink as the silk shirt in Ivy’s weekend bag. ‘Erm...well... I kind of burned my boats with him.’
‘Oh, really? What happened that night? You’ve always been a little cagey about talking about it.’
Millie shrugged one shoulder in an off-hand manner. ‘Nothing happened other than we both decided our mutual friends got it wrong in thinking we might ever hit it off. We had nothing in common and spent the whole ghastly evening annoying each other.’
Ivy wondered if her friend had deliberately sabotaged the date out of her unwillingness to move on from the death of her fiancé. ‘Hmm, well, all I can say is, he might be the worst blind date but word has it he’s one of the best divorce lawyers in London. If you don’t get him for your mum, then her ex will get him and, believe you me, you don’t want the best in the business working for your enemy.’
Millie chewed at the corner of her mouth; her eyes were troubled. ‘Gosh, I hadn’t thought of it that way...’ She straightened her shoulders and painted a bright smile on her face that didn’t fool Ivy for a second. ‘I’d better let you finish packing. Enjoy Paris.’
‘I will.’
It didn’t matter where she went with Louis, it would be impossible not to enjoy herself. The only trouble was...what would she have after Paris?
Memories. That was all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY FLEW TO PARIS the following morning and a short time afterwards Louis took her to his apartment in the Sixteenth Arrondissement in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The historic architecture was stunning, and many of the beautiful old buildings had been turned into modern apartments—including Louis’.
Ivy stepped over the threshold and stood for a moment, struck speechless by the elegance and design. The crystal chandeliers overhead tinkled from the slight draught from the door opening and closing. The marble floor was covered in places with hand-woven silk rugs that were so soft to step on, she thought her ankles were going to be swallowed. The pieces of antique furniture were priceless and came from various periods—from as early as the Renaissance, through to Louis XIV, Louis XV, Regency, Art Deco and Art Nouveau to modern times.
‘Oh, my God.’ She stepped farther into the foyer, touching various pieces with worshipful fingers. ‘Your taste is amazing. And your budget. Some of these things must’ve cost a fortune.’
‘If I like something, I buy it. I don’t allow the expense to influence my decision.’
‘Lucky you.’ Ivy leaned down to look more closely at a Louis XV rosewood and gold-inlaid writing desk she was sure she had seen before at work. ‘Hey, I’m sure we had this piece in the show room last year. I seem to remember a French interior designer bought it with a whole shipment of other stuff.’ She straightened and looked at Louis. ‘Did she buy it on your behalf?’
His expression was indecipherable. ‘I told her to buy from your shop because I know you have good quality, genuine antiques.’
Ivy gave a rueful smile. ‘It’s not my shop, it’s Mr Thornley’s and I have a horrible feeling he’s going to sell it now that his wife’s health is going downhill.’
‘Would you like to own your own business rather than work for someone else?’
Ivy ran a lazy finger over the gold inlay on the writing desk. ‘I don’t know... I want to