get a reasonable rate, which would make it impossible for her to see the sights she’d come to Paris to enjoy. If she insisted on moving into a hotel, he’d want to check it out and see if it was decent. She might not let him. He was used to being in the power position, and with her he wasn’t.
But his lack of control over her living quarters wasn’t the only thing that had him pacing the floor of his office. As he’d told her, he admired her gumption. And that admiration was firing up his already hot physical reaction to her.
But he didn’t know what to do about that, either. God knows he didn’t want her to think that because he’d offered her a place to stay he expected sex in return. Some men in his position might work that angle and feel justified in doing it, but he recoiled at the idea.
So what was he supposed to do about his attraction to her? Any move on his part might be misinterpreted. He didn’t think she’d humor him out of gratitude, but the possibility was there and it made him wince.
This was why his friends had always told him to stick with women who had money, either because they’d made it or inherited it. That would even the playing field, they’d said. But he’d reached a financial pinnacle that few women had gained, and many of those who had were old enough to be his mother or his grandmother.
And frankly, the women he’d dated who were “acceptable” lacked the very quality he cherished in Melanie—a sense of wonder. When you had the resources to see and do whatever you wanted, keeping that sense of awe was a challenge many people failed to meet. Personally, he worked at it, which was one of the reasons he’d bought a place in Paris.
The city had a host of awe-inspiring aspects, beginning with Notre Dame. The Louvre gave him regular doses of awe. A sculpture by Michelangelo could do it in a few seconds. Then there was the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, and a lazy boat ride down the Seine at night. The wonders of this city didn’t work for everyone, but they worked for him.
In Melanie he saw a woman who might understand his yearning to be awed, someone who wouldn’t think his love of Paris was corny or clichéd. But he didn’t know how to get close to her without scaring her away. For the first time in a long while, he feared that he might be rejected.
So he did the caretaking things that wouldn’t be suspect. First he contacted the museum. Although he already had a ticket, no more were left for that day, but a sizable pledge from him produced one for Melanie.
Next he ordered some sandwiches to take with them, because whether she’d admit it or not, she had to be hungry. His cook tucked a couple of bottles of Perrier in the wicker hamper. Drew had considered wine and decided against it. Wine might put her to sleep, and she planned to stay awake until bedtime.
The wicker basket was delivered to his office, and when Melanie came downstairs wearing a fresh pair of jeans, a yellow T-shirt, and a navy hoodie, he stared at her as if she’d arrived in satin and pearls. He took off his glasses, which he only used for reading, so he could get a better look.
She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail and put on makeup, but her freckles still showed. He was used to porcelain-skinned women, and he was entranced by those freckles. He wanted to count them and then kiss each one.
God, she was so refreshingly real. He could look at her for hours. But if he didn’t come up with something to say pretty soon, she’d conclude he was dim-witted. “I called ahead to the museum and reserved a ticket for you. Didn’t want to take a chance they’d be out when we got there.”
“Thanks. Good thinking. Would you mind if we stopped by Western Union first?”
“We can do that.” He understood her preoccupation with getting cash. In her shoes, he would have felt the same way.
“No rush, though. Keep working if you need to. I can wait.”
“No need. I’m done.” He used the chore of shutting down his computer to get his bearings. More than anything he desperately wanted to kiss her, and he had no idea how she’d react to that. Before