One Night On The Virgin's Terms - Melanie Milburne Page 0,46

up the true confessions party, but I have to see a man about a house.’

Ivy pulled her hand away from his and looked at the time on her phone. ‘Goodness, is that the time? I’ve got to dash too.’

Louis rose from the table to help her with her chair, resisting the almost uncontrollable urge to turn her in his arms and kiss her. He breathed in the fragrance of her perfume instead. But then she turned around, stepped up on tiptoe and brushed his lips with hers in a soft kiss that sent a shudder of longing through him.

‘Thanks for lunch. And thanks for telling me about your childhood. I know it was hard for you to do so.’

She knew way too much but, strangely, it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. A weight had come off him in revealing his childhood drama. A weight he hadn’t even been conscious of carrying. He brushed a wayward strand of hair away from her face, his chest feeling as soft and mushy as the creamy Camembert on the table.

‘De rien. You’re welcome. I’ll book somewhere nice for dinner.’ He leaned down and kissed her on both cheeks, and then on the plump cushion of her mouth. ‘Au revoir, ma chèrie.’

She clutched at her chest in a pretend swoon. ‘If you’re going to speak French to me the whole time we’re here, I’ll melt into a puddle at your feet.’

Louis smiled and playfully touched her cheek with his finger. ‘I hope your meeting goes well.’ He reached into his trouser pocket and handed her the spare key to his apartment. There was another first for him—he had never given anyone a key to his apartment before. He was crossing a line he had never crossed before, but he reassured himself it was only for five days. ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be, so just make your way home and I’ll meet you there.’

‘Okay.’ She took the key and popped it in her bag, snapping it shut with a resounding click. Her eyes were clear and bright as she met his gaze. ‘Louis?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you for asking me to come with you to Paris. I was kind of dreading coming on my own.’

He leaned down and pressed another kiss to her lips. ‘I was too.’

On her way home from her appointment Ivy was still ruminating over Louis’ revelation about his mother’s breakdown. It explained so much about his guardedness with relationships. The fear he must have felt over seeing his mother in such a state, not to mention the suicide attempt itself. It was a lot to handle for a child of ten, especially a deeply sensitive and intuitive one like Louis.

Until recently, Ivy hadn’t realised how truly sensitive he was, but as she had come to know him better she could see how it had played an important and significant role in helping her brother Ronan finally gain the courage to come out as gay. Louis had been the steady, stable friend who had never once wavered in his support.

And he had sent her a gorgeous bouquet of flowers after her elderly dog Fergus had died, understanding how devastated she was at losing her beloved pet.

He had been sensitive to her mother’s financial issues, taking it upon himself to give her a loan that Ivy knew for a fact he wouldn’t want to be repaid.

How could she stop her admiration for him turning into something bigger, broader, more consuming than a simple friendship? It had happened almost without her realising it.

Louis wasn’t incapable of love. She could sense the deep care and concern he had for his parents even though it was tempered by his frustration with them. He resisted long-term love out of fear, just as she had resisted dating and becoming intimate with someone in case they hurt her, like her mother had been hurt. Like she had been hurt when her father had claimed to love her and yet abandoned her because of her loyalty to Ronan.

Of course there was a risk she would get hurt by Louis. But didn’t all relationships carry some element of risk? Even Millie and Zoey let her down occasionally, as she did them. It was part of the deal with caring about people—investing in their lives, sharing the highs and lows and everything in between.

But Louis was only offering her five days in Paris. He wasn’t offering forever. He wasn’t offering her the fairy tale she longed for.

Five days.

How could