“This is your room.” The expectant look on Wes’s face drew her attention to the new room as they entered.

The walls were a soft gold color and a king-size bed sat against one wall. The headboard had a tapestry on it of a rococo-dressed woman in a flowing blue gown, who sat swinging on a large garden swing. Her lover leaned against a marble column in the midst of the background foliage, watching the woman gaily swinging. Like a moment trapped in time, a world nearly forgotten, yet here it was, woven in threads. Callie’s gazed transfixed, aching to paint the piece. Her hands vibrated with energy, needing to expel the rush of creative juices suddenly flowing through her. Her father had often teased her and said she was possessed when she felt like that.

“Do you like it?” Wes’s smooth, seductive voice teased her left ear.

Smack! The duffel bag slipped from her fingers and hit the wood floor as she was jolted out of her artistic daze.

“It’s amazing,” she admitted, a little breathless. The bed’s coverlet was a rich blue, with gold embroidery of fleur-de-lis across it that glinted and sparkled in the morning sunlight that filled the room. A pair of French doors opened onto the balcony, giving her another view of the Eiffel Tower. But rather than look at the tower, she was looking at Wes. The faint streaks of gold amid the red of his hair were distracting. She hadn’t noticed the depth of colors there before, the subtle blend of many colors to make one. He ran a hand through it, slightly tousling it, and Callie’s insides quivered. She had the urge to touch his hair, to grasp its strands and feel them between her fingers. To touch him was to risk herself and she couldn’t do that. At least not yet.

He turned, a look of satisfaction or perhaps more relaxation on his face. He seemed to be a different man than the hard brooding soul she’d known from Long Island. There was a softness to his mouth, a warmth to his eyes as he gazed at her, as though Paris had lightened whatever burdens rested upon his shoulders.

“Are you happy to be here?” He moved slowly, cautiously toward her as though approaching a skittish colt. She didn’t move, didn’t want to move, if it meant he might caress her. For some reason, she needed human touch, knowing it would ease the homesickness she felt.

When he was standing right in front of her, he cupped her face, his large palms shockingly gentle on her skin.

“Happy?” she asked dreamily as his blue eyes, that arresting shade, seemed lit by an inner fire of desire that robbed her of rational thought.

“Yes,” he murmured, his head slowly lowering to hers. “I want to make you happy.” There was a faint note of pleading in his tone and then he was kissing her.

A melding of mouths, tender and exploring. Callie responded easily, naturally, learning how to move her lips with his. A dizzy sense of delight made her purr when he parted her lips with his tongue. The playful thrusting motion of his tongue stimulated a deeper need her body had now. Before she was aware of it, she was rocking against him, trying to rub herself along the lean lines of his body. Wes groaned against her mouth, his hands almost shaking as they kept her face framed, as though he was doing everything in his power to restrain himself.

Was she happy? The question seemed to float through her desire-fogged mind like a single feather caught upon the breeze. Here…in this moment, half a world away from the man who broke her heart, she felt something. If not happiness, then it was close to it. And she was with a man who seemed to want her. Her, not anyone else, as hard to believe as that was. The bet be damned, she wanted to enjoy Wes’s kiss.

When their lips parted, Wes’s heavy-lidded gaze sent shivers through her.

“Let me show you everything Paris can offer,” he said, with a little grin. “Starting with a Parisian breakfast.” His eyes twinkled as he stepped back. “Get settled in. I’m going down to one of the patisseries and will select something for us to eat.”

Callie nodded, shocked by the boylike look of excitement on his face. Who was this man? It certainly wasn’t the Wes Thorne with dark secrets and threats of seduction she’d grown used to over the last few months. He was someone else. She couldn’t seem to reconcile the two men and yet strangely she was drawn to both sides of him, like a moth to fire. She would fly closer and closer to the sputtering flame until her wings were lit with fire and she burned.

Chapter 5

Wes inhaled the Parisian air, loving the smells of the city as he stepped onto the Rue Cler. With all of the produce stands and patisseries as well as delis, the street itself seemed to have a taste. Sugar and butter coated the air, mixing with the subtle tang of meats. It made him feel alive to be here. After kissing Callie, his entire body was as active as a live wire. She would love it here. He’d prove to her this was a place she belonged, like he did. He wished he had an excuse to come to Paris more. With Callie, he might just have the chance.

Everything had to be perfect. Showing her Paris would create the romantic ambience that would woo Callie to his bed and inspire her to pursue her art. She should be a happy woman in his bed and giving her everything would be the best way to do it.

A small patisserie on the corner caught his eye. The window displayed a wide variety of sweet breakfast items bathed in the gold light of the shop. Wes strode inside and studied the numerous racks stocked with every sinful sugary delight. There were croissants filled with dark chocolate, and brioche bread baked with chocolate chips. The tortes were succulent fruit arranged symmetrically in tiny pie crusts that fit in the palm of his hand, covered in a honey glaze to make them shimmer. Wes’s mouth watered at the thought of kissing Callie after she’d tasted a torte, the way the sugar would mix with her own natural sweetness. He shifted uncomfortably as an instant erection stretched his trousers.

Damn.

He focused back on the crème-filled éclairs. He could only think of Callie, on her back, his head buried between her thighs, her crème on his tongue…

Fuck.

He would never look at éclairs the same way again.

“Bonjour, monsieur. Que voulez-vous commander?” the plump female baker asked. Her apron was splashed with chocolate stains and flour as though she’d just come from crafting an edible masterpiece.

“Bonjour, madame. Je voudrais deux éclairs, deux tartes aux fruits, et deux brioches au chocolat, s’il vous plait.”

“Oui, monsieur.” The woman collected the items and tucked them into a white box with care and Wes slid his credit card across the glass countertop.

He took the box and headed back to the apartment building. He knew Callie would be tired after the long flight. She had barely slept on the flight and had spent hours watching movies. He had hoped she would trust him enough to use his shoulder to rest on but she hadn’t. She’d seemed almost too quiet, whether from nerves or worries he didn’t know. It was a big step for her to leave her father and the ranch behind. It had driven home the fact that she really had seen nothing of the world and was so young and innocent.

As he reached his front door and unlocked it, he noticed the apartment was quiet. Wes set his keys down and headed for the kitchen. He set out the brioche and put the éclairs and tarts in the fridge. Françoise had fully stocked up on fruit, eggs, butter, meat, juice, and freshly ground coffee for his coffeemaker.

“Callie?” he called out. No answer.

Wes shrugged out of his coat and headed for the stairs. He passed through his room and the bathroom and then halted in the doorway to her room. Her bag was open and half of it was unpacked. Callie lay on the bed, her face pressed against a pillow, deep asleep. Wes’s heart gave an uneven thump in his chest. She looked so perfect, lying there in the bed he had chosen just for her. It was an antique frame that had once belonged to a French princess who had lived in the 1700s. He hadn’t missed the way her eyes had immediately focused on the tapestry of the headboard. A look of longing and hunger, not sensual but creative, took hold of her.