Mr. Imperfect - By Savannah Wilde Page 0,82

Count Leseuer at a recent perfume launch. The guy looked like a total tool with his greasy hair. What was it with European men and hair product?

One thing was certain, the man made a habit of surrounding himself with younger women. He clearly liked them young and slim, like Rori. The guy was practically the age of Mike’s dad and he was looking to marry a woman young enough to be his daughter. How was that not totally gross? Because he had money? Because he was a count? And even more important, how could Rori prefer some old dude to someone her own age? What was going on in her head?

Just when Mike was about to give up on waiting up for a call, his phone lit up with Rori’s name.

“Calm,” he coached himself. “Casual. Distracted would be better. Try to think of the Pledge of Allegiance in Morse Code.” Okay, that was a dumb idea, but it was in the right spirit.

“Well, someone’s up late,” he teased, picking up.

“I don’t know. This is a pretty normal for me these days,” she said back, her voice sounding a little odd.

Instinct had Mike on full alert, but again, he kept his voice calm. “How was the date?”

“It’s actually still going, but I thought it proper to stick to our bargain and let you know that I made it home safe and sound. I should go, though.”

Mike couldn’t see straight. He couldn’t think. It was 1:30 and she was back at her place with a French millionaire she was considering marrying. And while Mike wasn’t nearly so worldly wise as Rori, he was pretty sure what that meant.

“Rori,” he whispered before he could stop himself. But once he’d said her name, he didn’t know what else to say. For several moments she didn’t speak either.

“I really need to go, Mike. But sleep tight, okay?”

Sleep tight? Sleep tight? As if he’d ever sleep again with the image of Rori and a greasy French bastard tumbling into the sheets.

“Don’t sleep with him, Rori,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth. “A man who truly wants you will hold out for you. Make him suffer a bit.”

She chuckled. Not the reaction Mike was looking for.

“You are cute, Mike.” Neither was that. “We’ll speak again soon. For now, goodnight.”

She hung up. Rori actually hung up before he could say goodbye, leaving him holding his phone helplessly.

Chapter 41

Why had she called Mike? It had been stupid. Counterproductive. And yet, when Anton had brought up marriage, Rori’s heart had hammered, her palms had grown damp, and she’d been overcome with the need to hear Mike’s voice. His casual, unmanicured, sincere voice.

Begging her not to sleep with Anton.

The way her heart had hammered when he told her that a man who truly wanted her would hold out for her? From anyone else she would have called it romantic nonsense, but she knew Mike. For him those words were God’s truth. And the heat those words built in her chest left an ache in its wake. Setting her phone down, Rori pressed a palm to her chest and gave herself a second.

“Finished?” Anton asked from her doorway, speaking his native French. She responded in kind.

“Yes. Just a quick call to let my mother know I survived another day without being mugged.”

Anton laughed, and Rori watched him as he crossed the room to her. He was tall, lanky, and handsome in an Adrien Brody kind of way. On a less refined man, Anton’s looks might be considered unattractive, but Anton was a man with too much self respect to be perceived as anything less than desirable.

“I do understand fretting mothers,” he said, the words dripping off his lips like silk. French wasn’t always a beautiful language, Rori knew. Depending on the age and the province of the speaker, it could actually be quite guttural. But when people described it at the language of love, it was because they had heard people like Anton speak. His voice was the embodiment of seduction.

As far as men went, Anton had a lot going for him. And he wanted to get married.

“Did you speak to her of my proposal?” he asked, reaching for her hand. Rori freely offered it.

“No. I thought it too soon. And frankly, you surprised me.”

“It was a bit premature of me, I know,” he apologized. “But emergency business calls me home on the next flight and I thought it best to float the idea before I left. We are

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