One Night With a Billionaire - By VickiLewis Thompson Page 0,19
from the best shops along the Champs-Élysées. “André!” She handed everything to the maid who’d opened the door and came toward him, arms outstretched. Grabbing his head, she kissed him on both cheeks.
Laughing, he returned the favor and breathed in her signature Chanel No. 5, something she’d probably also been wearing since she’d turned eighteen.
“I have so many beautiful things for your lady friend, André.” She beamed at him. “Is she from Dallas?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, but she’s not my—”
“How nice for you.” Josette’s brown eyes twinkled. “And you’re going to show her the city, yes?”
“I hope so.” He gestured toward the sitting room.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Josette walked briskly into the room and sat on one end of the sofa. “Too busy?” She glanced at the maid who’d come in with all the packages. “Merci, Isabella.” She patted the sofa. “Ici.”
“I can make the time,” Drew said. “But she feels uncomfortable accepting such extravagance.”
Josette’s eyebrows lifted. “C’est unique.”
“Yeah. And I like that she’s hesitant about spending my money. But it’s frustrating, too, because I want her to experience the best the city has to offer.”
“And Les Folies Bergère?”
“Yes! I hadn’t thought of that, but what a brilliant idea. She should see that, too.”
Raoul showed up with a tray and set it on the low table in front of the sofa. After pouring the wine, he left.
Josette smiled as she spread a piece of bread with the melted cheese. “André, you are turning into a Frenchman.”
“I need to search my family tree.” He picked up his wineglass. “I’ll bet there’s a French branch stuck on there somewhere.”
“Mais, bien sur.” Josette savored her bread and cheese and sipped her wine. Then she set down the glass and gazed at him. “This lady, she is special, non?”
Drew nodded. “She impresses me.”
“Then I hope she likes what I found for her.” Dusting off her hands, Josette reached for a long box and opened it. “Voilà!” She shook out a black and red silk dress that shimmered in the lamplight.
Drew swallowed. If the sleeveless confection looked sexy lying there against the sofa cushions, he could imagine the dynamite effect once Melanie put it on. “Nice.”
“And because the evenings are cool, I added this.” She plunged her hand into a glossy black shopping bag and came out with an elegant cape in black satin.
“How about shoes?”
“Certainement, mon ami.” She flipped open a shoe box to reveal black satin pumps.
Following that, Josette laid out her other purchases, but Drew couldn’t stop staring at the red and black dress. He was determined to see Melanie wearing it, along with the do-me shoes and the short black cape. Her reluctance was merely a challenge, and he thrived on overcoming obstacles.
“C’est bon?”
“Yes. Très bon. Thank you, Josette.”
She stood. “Treat this one well, chéri.”
“Excuse me?” Josette was always free with wardrobe advice, but she’d never said a word about his personal life.
“If she’s worried about spending your money, I like her already.”
“So do I.” He escorted Josette to the door and they exchanged good-bye kisses. After he closed the door, he stood there thinking about Melanie tucked into the Blue Room upstairs. “So do I,” he murmured.
Six
Melanie slept like a rock until three in the morning. Then she was awake. So very awake. And starving to death. Perhaps she shouldn’t have gone to bed without eating something besides the two pieces of cheese she’d nibbled at the sidewalk café.
This international travel was more complicated than she’d expected. On the plane over she’d been pestered with food every five minutes. Now that she was here, she hadn’t figured out when to eat.
She couldn’t blame it on being secluded in Drew’s townhouse. Even if she’d been staying in the hotel she’d chosen, she’d hesitate to venture out into a strange city at three in the morning in search of a meal. And that hotel certainly hadn’t been set up for room service.
The house was totally silent, unless she counted the growling of her stomach. Although that seemed loud to her, she doubted it would wake Drew or the servants. She sat up in bed and turned on a bedside lamp.
Her Paris travel books were stacked neatly on the delicate writing desk. She’d never had anyone unpack for her, and she’d had to rearrange things in the drawers a little. But the idea that someone had taken care of that menial chore was a heady one. She could get used to that.
She’d better not, though, because in four days she’d be on