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"It's a beautiful room," she said. She wanted to hear his voice again.
"Yes," he replied, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "Not as beautiful as you though."
She laughed. She felt strangely buoyant, as if the water still lifted and held her body.
"I always stay here when I'm in Paris. There's a good seafood restaurant nearby. I'm going to take you there tonight but I'll get them to send up some wine to have now, if you like?"
She nodded, watching as he moved to the phone.
He spoke in French. She didn't know he could speak French. Her heart yearned for that knowledge, for the full measure of him and the sense of completeness she instinctively knew it would bring her. She wanted to know everything about Zachary Bordino.
* * * *
Zac collected the matching robes that hung in the bathroom and, when the wine was delivered he carried it to the bedside, where they curled into a yin and yang on the bed, happily watching each other.
He teased his fingers inside the edge of her robe, brushing the skin on her thigh with the lightest breath of a touch. Her body responded, writhing with pleasure. He loved that.
"Oh I meant to ask, did you get the club?"
"Yes, mercifully the paperwork was all done before you arrived."
"Will you take me to see it?"
He looked at her, unable to hide the pleasure that her request had brought. "Of course, if you'd like to we can go there later this evening."
"Is it far?"
He began to laugh.
"What?" She tugged at the belt of his robe.
"Too far." He was still smiling. He was thinking of his rush to get to her.
She looked at him with mock innocence. "Oh?"
"I made the mistake of telling the taxi driver to put his foot down. They're all crazy drivers in Paris anyway. I didn't know what I was in for."
She kissed him, hiding her amusement against his mouth. "Well, we'll get the Metro. As long as we're together we can take things a bit slower." Her
eyes reflected her amusement. She sighed. "I thought I'd never get through yesterday without you," she whispered, eyeing his body where it was exposed at the neck of his robe.
"I felt the same." He watched her with a half smile, waiting to see what she did next.
"While I remember, there's something I need to tell you," she said.
"Yes?"
"I'm not really a receptionist."
Why did he feel so strange, hearing her say those words aloud? They seemed to fly out of nowhere. He felt almost bereft. He stared at her, waiting for some big confession—guilt maybe—but he saw only honesty and a hint of embarrassment.
"Why did you lie?" he managed to ask, trying to keep his voice level.
"Because most men do a runner when they find out what I do for a living." Her eyes flashed, pure seduction reeling him in. "And I didn't want to scare you off."
Seriously? That simple, huh? He could kick himself. But why did he feel such a sense of loss? Because you haven't got an excuse to mistrust her anymore, you jackass. Yes, he had been using it as a crutch. And now it was gone he had to stagger forward into the relationship without support. If this all fell apart, he wouldn't have his sense of mistrust to wallow in, just loss. Only loss. He didn't want to feel that, but it was edging up his back like fear.
"I'm an investment manager." She paused, waiting for his reaction. "So if you ever need any advice on what to do with your cash..." She reached over and stroked his chest. "I'm your girl."
