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“Was there one in particular that meant more than the others?”
There had been one, but how obsessive would he sound revealing this to her? How pathetic would it sound to say that he still dreamed about a redheaded woman with brown eyes? A woman he’d met at a masked ball and had known for only a few hours. Falling back on what was easiest, he said, “Even if I had been sober at the time, it’s been so long that I can’t remember their names. They all start to blur together into colors: blonde, redhead, brunette, light skin, dark skin.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to snatch them back and bury them in a remote location that was thousands of miles away from Zoe’s ears.
“You need to leave.”
He sat up when she did, trying to catch her eye. “I sounded like a wanker just then, trying to make you jealous.” Oh that made it all better. Bloody idiot.
“Don’t worry. I’m not jealous of any woman that’s been with you. I wish them all the best: past, present, and future.” She rose from the bed, then turned to face him. “This isn’t going to work.”
The hell it wasn’t. He pushed off of the bed and walked to her, catching her chin before she turned away. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I was just talking. Letting you get to know the real me.”
“Don’t do me any favors. You know the way out.” She practically ran to the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind her.
He knocked on the door. “Come out, Zoe. Don’t end our tenth date like this.”
“It’s not a date and you can’t count.”
“Baby, we’ve spent almost twenty hours together in the past two days. Let’s just say that a regular date is about two hours—”
“You must do a lot of speed screwing if you have dinner first, and don’t call me baby. I’m happy hiding in corners and away from men like you.”
Christian wanted to punch the wall in frustration, but kept his cool. “Anyway, by my calculations that makes ten dates or over two months. It’s well known that in the third month of courtship—”Had he seriously just used the word courtship in a sentence?“—a couple should take a trip to Paris for dinner at an outdoor cafe that does not serve coffee. Then a walk along the Champs Elysees and a kiss on the observation deck of the Eiffel Tower at midnight. Unless you choose to stab me again. Or throw me over the edge. Allow me to wear a bungee cord around my ankle, and I’ll willingly offer myself as sacrifice.”
He heard a loud sniff.
“Stop trying to make me laugh.”
“I’m not leaving until you come out here and kiss me good night.”
“You’ll be waiting a long time then.”
“No problem for me. I’ve got a king sized bed to keep me warm and comfy.”
The door cracked open. She stuck her head out, her face splotchy from tears. “You win.”
The sight tugged at his heart. He pulled her to him, careful to do so by her elbows. Which, by some miracle, hadn’t been burned. “It’s not a contest.” He briefly closed his eyes as her full br**sts pressed against him, only her loose shirt separating them. “But if it were, you would win. Hands down.”
“I don’t know what to think or do about you,” she said.
“Kiss me good night. That doesn’t require much thinking on your part.”
Their lips met, in the briefest, yet sweetest kiss of his life.
She blinked up at him, black lashes wet and spiky. “I think I want to see you again.”
Chapter Ten
Zoe stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep past eight a.m. despite the late night she’d had with Christian.
She had been surprised to find that she really enjoyed being with him. He teased her, talked to her and didn’t mind her klutziness. She had come so close to telling him the truth, especially after their conversation about the lies made up about him and his co-star.
But in the end she’d chickened out and had become so furious that he couldn’t remember something so simple as a woman’s name.
Then came his apology, his kiss. Her poor heart and traitorous body had all kinds of trouble connecting the dots to fully understand what had lay before her: heartless playboy or misunderstood man. She really wanted him to be misunderstood, or to have at least grown up from the last time she’d met him.
There was a knock on her hotel room door.
Rising from the bed, she grabbed her robe, tightened the sash and opened the door. Nothing prepared her for what lay on the other side. Vases of sunflowers loaded on carts came pouring into her room. Soon the blossoms overfilled her room.
At the end of the flower parade came the best surprise of all, Christian wearing low slung jeans, a graphic tee and holding an enormous box of dark chocolate truffles. He smiled at her. His eyes looked tired, but in no way detracted from his sheer sexiness. In fact it only served to enhance it.
Zoe did a little jumpy clap and then sat down on the one spot of the bed that wasn’t covered in flowers. “This is the best surprise ever,” she said, blushing at her idiotic move. “How did you know sunflowers were my favorite?”
“Read an interview you did.” Christian’s finger tapped his freshly shaven cheek. “Kiss me right here.” She happily obliged him. “Go get dressed, sweetheart.”
“But it’s so early.” She stood up, then stretched. Her back was only a little sore this morning.
“You can sleep on the way.” He lightly tapped her on her bottom.
She shot him a dirty look. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“That’s what you think,” he said, his easy charm making her eyes roll.
***
“Where are you taking me?” Zoe asked as the private jet took off.
Out of habit, she gripped the arms of supple leather chair, then relaxed as the jet righted itself. The interior was everything she’d imagined one to be: Wainscoting and cream walls, groups of chairs placed around tables large enough to eat and play games. A large corner sofa done in a pale green looked wide enough for two people to sleep on. To her right a widescreen television displayed two soccer teams playing.
Maybe Christian wouldn’t mind if she took some pictures with her phone, for research purposes. This kind of jet was exactly like the one Dimitri would fly on. Guilt pricked at her. There was no way she’d ask him, nor would she take any pictures.
“I thought you liked surprises,” Christian said as he texted. “Why don’t you try to beat my score at ‘Angry Birds’ while I take care of some things?”
