“But—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “No, no protesting, or I’ll be tempted to put you over my knee. This is a gift. You can’t refuse it. You can…however, repay me in pictures. There is a twelve-megapixel camera on this model and it’s supposed to be excellent.” His lips quirked into a crooked grin.

Callie shivered inside. This man was so different from other men. He gave her expensive things, yet his idea of repayment was unexpected. And she didn’t let herself dwell on his other comment, the part about him putting her over his knee. He meant a spanking. The mere idea made her lower half throb with a sudden pulse of awareness. She’d never been spanked in her life, not by her father, or another man, in punishment. So why did Wes’s subtle, almost teasing threat stir her body to life? Surely she couldn’t be aroused by the idea of—

“What on earth are you thinking about?” Wes asked, still smiling.

“Huh?”

He leaned closer to her, slightly crowding against her side of the car. “Your face is an enchanting shade of pink. I’m dying to know what you’re thinking about,” he mused. “Was it something I said?” He drew the tip of one finger down the bridge of her nose, then over her lips, his gaze intense as he stared at her mouth.

“Was it…the part about putting you over my knee?”

A new rush of heat flooded her, no matter how hard she wanted not to react to him.

“Ahh, that was it.” The dark triumphant light in his eyes would have scared a rational woman. But, as Callie was discovering, she was not rational when it came to Wes.

“You like the idea?” he asked in a soft tone, too quiet for Michel to overhear. “I love a woman who likes a little spanking. Her bare bottom open for my touch, the light sting, the gentle stroke that follows. Oh, Callie darling.” His breath roughened slightly and his pupils dilated. He was on the edge of his control and they both knew it.

“Wes.” She uttered his name in a panicked warning.

She sensed an animal just beneath his skin, a primal creature ruled only by desire and it frightened her, not that she feared he would hurt her, but more that she would surrender to him and that darkness. The need to offer herself, like a sacrifice to a lusty god, was so strong that she feared her own control, or the loss of it. When he looked at her like that, eyes so heavy with sinful intent…a side of herself threatened to emerge, a side she never knew existed, probably shouldn’t exist. She wasn’t ready to be that woman.

His lashes lowered to half-mast and he remained close to her, their noses almost touching, letting the intimacy, the closeness of their bodies almost drug her with a need to be touched, held…and so much more. Then he shifted back to his side of the car.

“Michel, have you notified Françoise that my kitchen needs to be stocked? Callie and I have not had breakfast yet.”

“Oui, Monsieur Wes, it is full of food. She went to the market early this morning and is ready to prepare your meals.”

“Thank you,” Wes replied, his focus on the view outside his window, away from her.

The foot of space separating them seemed so wide, a gulf now, as though a galaxy could drift in the space between them. Worlds apart. And she didn’t like it.

I’m addicted to him. To his touch, his arms around me. How had that happened? She loved Fenn, but already the memories felt dusty, faded, and she knew they were beyond saving. Her heart could never resurrect that love. It had died the day before and all that was left behind were the slow healing wounds. What a strange thing to wake up one day and have become a completely different person.

Michel stopped the Porsche in front of a tall stately apartment building. It was a grand-looking street, too, with tall old trees and dozens of little colorful produce stands dotting the street’s landscape between the apartment buildings. There were quite a few little stores with awnings that had words like “Charcuterie” and “Patisserie” on them. From the contents of the windows it looked like Charcuteries sold meat products and Patisseries sold pastries.

“Welcome to the Rue Cler,” Michel announced as he got out and walked around to the trunk to fetch their bags. Callie opened her door, which faced the curb. Wes walked around and joined her, watching the pedestrians on the street.

“Rue Cler?” Callie asked.

“It’s a little neighborhood tucked between the government district and Les Invalides.”

Callie felt silly, but she had no clue what any of that meant. “What’s Les Invalides?” There was so much about this place she didn’t know. It made her feel very small and a little overwhelmed. Not like at home. She could navigate her way through mountains and forests and never feel lost. Here in this land of monuments and stately old buildings she was lost.

“Les Invalides is a set of buildings containing museums and monuments relating to the military history of France. I’ll point it out when we pass it. It has a gold dome at the top of one of the main buildings.” Wes took their bags from Michel and gestured for Callie to head into the apartment building.

“We’re staying here?” She tilted her head back and admired the stone building with its dark green roof.

“Yes. My apartment is on the top floor.”

She and Wes left Michel. The lobby was a beautiful old-world style blended with modern touches. Marble floors, rich carpets, but sleek leather furniture and crisp, bright light fixtures. A man sat at a welcome desk and waved to Wes.

“Welcome back, Monsieur Thorne.” The way he said Thorne left the “h” almost silent due to his heavy accent.

“Bonjour, Paul,” Wes greeted and then pointed out a set of silver elevators down a corridor. “We’ll go over there.” He nudged her in that direction.

Callie led the way, trying to stem the nervous flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She was really here. After a seven-hour flight from New York, she was in Paris.

The elevator doors opened and Wes hit the sixth-floor button. When the doors slid apart again they revealed a long hall and only three sets of doors. One on each side and one at the end of the hall.

“We’re at the end,” Wes said. Callie reached the door first and Wes pulled out a set of keys and let her unlock the door. When she pushed it open, she gaped.

There were no words for it. It was too beautiful. A warm walnut wood floor was a striking contrast against the entryway’s white-painted walls. There was a set of doors on the left that opened to a dining room and on the right were two rooms: a family room with a billiard table, couch, and huge TV, and a room next to it that had a fireplace and a cushy-looking loveseat ringed with two plush armchairs. A study with a large oak desk covered in folders, papers, and a laptop at the end of the hall was the last room before the space opened up to the library. Callie’s feet moved, guiding her through the endless wonder of surprises this apartment held. Off the library was a kitchen with a small nook. Granite countertops and sleek stainless-steel appliances were pricey and state of the art. At the back of the library there was a curved staircase, which hinted to more rooms upstairs.

“This way.” Wes headed for the stairs and Callie snagged her duffel bag off his shoulder so he wouldn’t have trouble in the small curved passage.

“There are two bedrooms, one for you and one for me. We’ll share the bathroom.” He led her through the first room, which had a large four-poster bed with a red coverlet. The room was masculine and yet…strangely inviting, like Wes’s embrace. Callie touched her face with the back of her hand, sensing the heat flare in her cheeks. She prayed he wouldn’t notice.

A large Jacuzzi-like tub sat in the middle of the bathroom, with a pair of French doors opening out onto a large balcony facing the Eiffel Tower. Callie doubted there was a better view of the tower in the world than this. No wonder Wes owned this apartment. If he wanted the best, he would have it. In so many ways he was predictable, except when it came to why he wanted her. She wasn’t the best and she wasn’t perfect. Perhaps that was her allure. She was a novelty he’d acquire and then grow tired of. It was a chilling thought.