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“What? Everyone’s hoping to see you there.”
She winced. “I need an early night.”
“Come for one drink,” Elvira persisted, but Max shook her head.
“Another time. You’ve done a great job.”
“Thanks, babe. I’m so glad you could take part. I’ll email you about Fashion week, yeah?”
Max lifted one shoulder noncommittally. Charity events were fine, but fashion week was where she drew a line. “We’ll see.” She kissed Elvira’s cheeks, then turned back to Noah. Speculation glinted in his eyes.
“Two minutes.”
He handed over her necklace and her heart skipped a beat.
When she emerged from the change room she was back
in her own clothes, a pair of leather pants and a silk blouse over a black lace bra, and she had to give Noah points for willpower when his eyes didn’t drop – even for a second – to trace the outline of her breasts. Had she worn the provocative outfit deliberately to stir a reaction? Absolutely. Was she disappointed that it had been an abject failure? More than she cared to admit.
“Your car’s out back,” Noah said, putting a hand just above the curve of her bottom, guiding her back to a side entrance of the tent.
“Not out front?”
His eyes probed hers. “No. Unless you want more photos?”
She shook her head. “It’s just how this normally works.”
“These aren’t normal times.”
Would they ever be again?
She didn’t ask the question; she wouldn’t give in to fear.
He opened the door for her, but instead of moving to the front passenger seat, he opened the driver door, spoke some words in French – he spoke the language? – then took the seat behind the wheel.
“What are you doing?” She leaned forward in the car.
“Driving. Buckle up.”
She frowned. “But why?”
His eyes met hers in the rearvision mirror. “Control.”
Goosebumps lifted all over her skin. It was the single word that most completely encompassed how she felt when she was with Noah. He was in control at all times.
She did as he said, relaxing back into the seat and doing up her belt as a click sounded to show that he’d locked the doors.
“My apartment is just off of the rue de –,”
“I know where it is.”
“Of course you do.” She wished she were sitting in the front seat, beside him, closer, more able to speak like equals rather than a strange employer/employee dynamic. But that’s what they were, she reminded herself quickly, even if he wasn’t technically being paid.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
His eyes flicked to hers in the rearvision mirror, despite the fact he was navigating the busy intersection of the Place de Varsovie, with traffic streaming from all sides.
“Fashion shows aren’t really my scene.”
