One Night With a Billionaire - By VickiLewis Thompson Page 0,8

surroundings. “Oh. Now I remember.” Her gaze softened. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I forgot where I was.”

“You fell asleep in the car, so I carried you up here.”

“You did?” Her cheeks turned pink. “That’s embarrassing.”

“You were exhausted.”

“Yeah. Guess so. Still. I feel bad for conking out on you. I must have been heavy.”

“No.”

“Did you climb the stairs?”

He smiled. “Elevator.”

“That’s good.”

Henri cleared his throat. “C’est tout?”

Drew glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, that’s all for now, Henri. Merci.”

Henri nodded and left.

“This is nice.” Melanie glanced around the room. “Very nice. Thank you.”

“There’s a bathroom through that door.” Drew gestured toward it. “I’ll leave you alone so you can get some rest.” He hesitated. “Or are you hungry? I could have some food sent up.”

“No, I’m not hungry. They fed us constantly on the plane.”

“Then all you really need is sleep.” He backed toward the door.

Her gaze found his, and she looked uncertain. “Where will you be?”

His heart squeezed. In her dazed condition, he’d become her lifeline, and she didn’t want him to leave. “Just downstairs. I have an office on the first floor. It’s not hard to find.”

“Okay.”

“If you need anything, come and find me.”

“I will.”

He forced himself to walk out of the room and close the door behind him. But he felt as if he should be in there, holding her while she fell asleep again. How crazy was that?

Three

After Drew left, Melanie eased off the bed and prowled around the room. What a room it was, too. She fingered the thick fabric draping the bed. Marie Antoinette would have been thrilled with something like this.

The floor was hardwood, and the blue-patterned carpets looked like vintage Aubusson. Once again, if she hadn’t known Astrid, such things would have been lost on her. She should take a picture of this room to show her friends.

Then she remembered. She couldn’t take a picture of anything because she didn’t have a phone. She also hadn’t called Astrid to get the lowdown on Drew. Besides that, she should notify someone back home that she was not at the hotel she’d booked. If she called Astrid, that would accomplish everything at once. Astrid could attest to Drew’s character and also spread the word that Melanie’s plans had changed.

Much as she longed to climb under the covers in that beautiful canopy bed, she couldn’t do it until she’d borrowed Drew’s phone and made that call. She smiled as she imagined Astrid’s reaction to the news that she was in a historic townhouse within walking distance of Notre Dame, and the house belonged to none other than Drew Eldridge, who’d rescued her from a runaway horse.

But no matter how lovely the accommodations were, Melanie didn’t intend to sponge off Drew for the next five days. Once she had a credit card, she’d move out of Drew’s townhouse and then treat him to a nice meal as a gesture of gratitude.

Then she remembered her clothing situation. Drew’s idea of a nice meal would undoubtedly involve dressing up, and she hadn’t planned for that. She’d expected to explore Paris on her own, and elegant restaurants hadn’t figured into her wardrobe choices.

Well, she’d figure out something else, then. But first she had to head back downstairs and borrow Drew’s phone. He’d gone to the trouble of taking off one of her shoes, but she put it back on again and retied the laces of the other one.

Before leaving, she used her bathroom, which sparkled with gold-plated faucets, an enormous tub, and a sleek shower with a spotless glass door. The white towels looked like pure luxury. The designer had made room for both a toilet and a bidet.

Melanie had never seen a bidet, but she’d read about them. She knew the word was pronounced buh-day, and just saying it made her feel European and sort of sexy. After all, a bidet was designed for a quick wash of one’s private parts, so it would come in very handy if one were having lots of sex. Not that she would be.

Nope. This girl had no use for a bidet. But she could sure use a shower. After she’d made her call she’d come back up here, take a hot shower, and crawl into that big canopy bed. All the guidebooks suggested staying up until nighttime to readjust your body clock, but she wasn’t doing that. She’d had a rough morning.

The hallway was empty and silent. Maybe later she’d inspect the paintings hanging on the walls, but she was on a