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Where am I going?
It’s a surprise.
I don’t like surprises.
Humour me.
She stared at the screen for a long moment, her tummy taut with indecision. When the phone pinged again, she jumped.
Please.
She hesitated, but her resistance was already melting, her desire to see him too powerful, too overwhelming. Releasing a pent-up breath, she fired back an ‘OK’.
Outside the office, Marsha rose from her desk, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, holding out Emily’s passport. ‘He said I wasn’t to warn you.’
A flicker of excitement and hope skimmed through Emily’s stomach before she quickly dampened the hazardous feelings. She had no idea what he’d say to her when she saw him. She’d be a fool to allow hope to soar only then to find her heart painfully crushed.
Still, the fluttering in her stomach grew more intense during the ride to the airport. Not even the short, sharp jab of disappointment she felt when she boarded Ramon’s plane and saw he wasn’t there could diminish the jittery feeling of anticipation for very long.
The male flight attendant brought her an orange juice. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Ms Royce.’
She managed a smile. ‘And you. Umm... Could you tell me where we’re going, please?’
His polite expression didn’t alter. ‘Paris,’ he said. ‘We should be there in fifty-five minutes.’
* * *
By the time Emily climbed out of the back of a shiny limo in front of Saphir, her mouth was bone-dry and her palms so damp she had to repeatedly wipe them down the front of her simple black dress. A smiling concierge greeted her, escorted her inside and led her to the same lift she’d ridden with Ramon three months earlier.
She stepped in and gripped the handrail.
Only three months?
It felt like a lifetime ago.
The lift bore her swiftly upwards and when she stepped out into the penthouse, feeling breathless and a little lightheaded, he was there.
Her feet stumbled to a stop.
Clean-shaven and wearing dark trousers and a pale blue open-necked shirt, he looked as vital and bone-meltingly beautiful as he had on that fateful late summer night when he’d brought her here.
Their gazes locked and she began to tremble, desire and nervous excitement pin-wheeling through her in a potent, knee-weakening mix.
Then, abruptly, he pulled his hands from his pockets and strode towards her, his steps long and purposeful. He halted in front of her and cradled her face in his hands, and just that simple touch catapulted her senses into overdrive.
‘Did you miss me, Emily?’
Oh, so much. She feigned a shrug of indifference. ‘Not really.’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Not at all?’
‘Maybe a little bit,’ she whispered.
They both faintly smiled. It was the same exchange they’d had in her kitchen more than three weeks ago when he’d returned from Paris—moments before they’d had scorching hot sex in her room.
‘I missed you.’ He drew his thumbs across her cheeks, lowered his forehead to hers.
Emily felt her insides melting. Felt little tendrils of hope weaving around her heart. She dropped her bag, lifted her hands and curled them over his strong, masculine wrists. ‘Where have you been?’
