sent an urgent signal to his groin.
Cradling her soft body with one arm under her shoulders and the other behind her knees, he started up the walkway. She sighed and snuggled closer. Dear God, he was getting an erection. Not cool. Fortunately her cute little fanny covered his crotch, but that was part of the problem. Every step caused more friction between her bottom and his cock.
Henri had beaten him to the door with the suitcase. He opened it and stood back so Drew could turn sideways and ease through the doorway without bumping either Melanie’s head or her feet. Once inside, he glanced at the staircase. Not happening. Not three flights.
Smiling, Henri walked over to the elevator and pushed the button. Drew stepped inside and vowed he wouldn’t make fun of the contraption ever again. Initially he’d scoffed at the idea of an elevator for a three-story building, but then he’d never imagined hauling a sleeping woman up those stairs, either.
Moving with the silent grace of a cat burglar, Henri entered the elevator behind him and brought the suitcase along, too. Drew decided that Henri needed a raise. The driver had the rare quality of anticipating correctly what his employer needed.
The gilded elevator was beautiful but slow. Considering the circumstances, Drew appreciated the easy ascent. Now that they’d made it this far, he’d like to deposit Melanie on a bed without waking her. She’d probably be embarrassed as hell to find herself in his arms. Besides that, if she insisted on getting down, his arousal wouldn’t be a secret anymore.
When they left the elevator, Henri turned to Drew. “Bleu?” he said softly.
“Oui.” Drew had decided on the way up to put Melanie in the Blue Room. Other than his own bedroom, he liked the Blue Room the best. The other two on this floor were nice—one in shades of gold and the other decorated in green—but the blue was prettier.
In the five years he’d owned this place, he’d mostly entertained business associates here. Whenever he’d given them a choice, they’d picked the Blue Room. He’d brought one girlfriend here, thinking she’d enjoy Paris. He’d been wrong and she’d been miserable.
He couldn’t understand why anybody wouldn’t love this ancient city, with its centuries-old buildings and the Seine winding past all that historic architecture. Sure, the native language wasn’t English, but he liked the sound of French in his ears. Of course, it helped that he’d learned to speak it so easily at school. Maybe he’d been Parisian in another life.
Henri opened the door to the Blue Room and stepped back.
Drew glanced down to check whether Melanie was still asleep. Yep, out like a light. He edged through the doorway with the same care he’d used getting into the house and the elevator. Bonking her head at this stage would be criminal.
The Blue Room was at the front of the house with a view to the street, whereas his was at the back with a view of a small formal garden and courtyard below. That put Melanie all the way down the hall from him. The bulge in his jeans told him that was a very good idea.
The canopy bed held center stage and was draped with blue brocade trimmed with gold fringe and tassels. Matching curtains hung at the window. The antique furniture—an armoire, a writing desk, and an upholstered chair—could have come straight from Versailles. It hadn’t, but it had been purchased from an estate nearby.
Drew leaned over and laid Melanie on the brocade bedspread. Her eyelids didn’t even flicker. She was down for the count.
He stayed by her bedside, his back to Henri, and willed his erection to subside. He didn’t dare look at her lush mouth or he’d be tempted to kiss her, like some prince in a fairy tale. Except the kiss he had in mind didn’t belong in a kid’s storybook.
When he imagined kissing Melanie, it wasn’t some chaste brush of lips. Tongues would be involved, and heavy breathing, and unfastening of clothing, and . . . this wasn’t helping his condition at all. Taking a deep breath, he glanced across the room at a painting of fruit and flowers.
Technically, a still life created by some artist he couldn’t remember should calm him. Instead he pictured Melanie opening her petals to him, and himself as the banana in the fruit bowl.
Behind him, Henri unzipped Melanie’s suitcase and began quietly putting her clothes in the armoire. The slide of drawers was the loudest sound in the