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Last night had been... Last night had been sensational, yes. But it was an aberration. One of those things out of the box that you couldn’t quite explain but you knew you probably shouldn’t have done. Too much champagne, too much anxiety about being at the wedding, too much overpowering testosterone in the form of one blond, godlike male.
Jumping out of bed to distract herself, Ava winced as long-unused muscles registered all that godlike male possession. He was just so big. So strong. When he’d manacled her hands and held her prisoner... Ava shivered and rejected her body’s instant softening. But he’d just played with her and then he’d left. His actions spoke more loudly than his words ever could.
That old insecurity she’d thought long gone raised its knobbly head like a sleepy dragon and yawned. But she wouldn’t go there. She’d dealt with that childish feeling when she’d moved to Paris, and it was no longer relevant to who she was now.
Maybe this whole business—her father’s phone call combined with her emotional response to the wedding—had affected her more than she’d allowed herself to consider, made her act out of character.
Another one of Anne’s comments snuck into her consciousness. ‘Women drop like lemmings around him,’ she’d said at lunch. ‘But he lives a fast-paced life. According to Gilles, the man is never in the same city for longer than a few days at a time. It’s like he’s combing the globe for some holy grail.’
More like variety in his bed, Ava thought with a burst of asperity. And good luck to him. She hoped he enjoyed himself.
He did invite you to dinner, that devil’s voice reminded her.
Yes, out of some sort of guilt, she told herself. He’d sensed her uneasiness after the sex and had made the invitation on the spur of the moment. It had been a nice gesture but his voice had lacked conviction. And his actions this morning only backed that up.
No.
She wouldn’t be having dinner with Wolfe. He didn’t really want to take her out and it would only be prolonging the inevitable. Also, she could think of nothing worse than forcing someone to do something they didn’t want to do. That was her father’s modus operandi, not hers.
Okay.
Shower. Get dressed. Hire a car. Drive back to Paris. She had a meeting with a new artist she was sure was going to be a pain in the backside but who had the potential of van Gogh and she couldn’t be late.
She didn’t have time to dwell on a man who had taken as much pleasure as she had without any promises for the future.
When the right one came along she would know it, and until then—well, she was nearly thirty. She didn’t have time to waste time on casual encounters with ripped Australian security experts. And if fate was kinder than it had been yesterday she wouldn’t run into him this morning and would be spared the whole awkward morning-after thing.
Feeling more like her normal self after a shower, she smiled as she crossed the marble foyer and propped her small suitcase beside the front door. Bending down, she’d retrieved the thank-you note she’d written to Anne and Gilles, which she planned to leave with Gilles’s butler, when she heard a dark voice behind her.
‘Leaving so soon?’
Ava wheeled around, her hair flying over her shoulders in a slow arc. Wolfe stood in the arched doorway, ruggedly handsome in worn boots, black low-riding denims and a basic white T-shirt that drew her eye to every solid inch of him.
Placing her hand against her chest, Ava tried to smile into his hard face. ‘You scared me.’
He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Obviously.’
‘I...ah...’ God, she sounded like a silly debutante! And why did he look so angry all of a sudden? It wasn’t as if she had been the one to walk out on him before the birds had started chirping. ‘I have a busy day lined up.’
* * *
Wolfe could tell instantly that Ava had put last night behind her. It was in the regal tilt of her head, the squared shoulders and the way her gaze didn’t quite meet his. Not to mention the small, reserved smile she bestowed on him, as if all that had passed between them last night had been polite conversation instead of intimate body fluids. It was the same smile he’d seen her give plenty of other men the night before, and to say he felt infuriated by it would be a grand understatement.
He recalled the way she’d told him he could leave her room after sex. At the time he’d thought she had been politely trying to give him an out, but what if she’d been trying to get him out instead?
‘On a Sunday?’
