“Wes, dinner,” she reminded more sternly. That barely cut through the warm haze of desire cloaking him. Dimitri Razin wouldn’t want to be kept waiting.

He exhaled, a little irritated that he couldn’t keep kissing those delightful little spots on Callie’s skin that made her shiver.

“Very well. There’s just one thing missing before we go.” He curled his hand in her ponytail and tugged slightly, forcing her head back so he could plant a lingering last kiss on her lips. Could he last a few hours without tasting her?

“What?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the leather box Jim Taylor had given him. He held it out to her.

“Wes, I don’t want any more jewelry.”

He curled her hands around the box. “You’ll want this. Your father gave it to me to give to you before we left for Paris.”

She opened the box and stared at the little seashell bracelet and then unfolded the small note. When she raised her gaze, her eyes were glimmering with tears.

“He says it was my mother’s. She loved the sea, just like me.” She removed the bracelet and tucked the note back in the box. “Can you put it around my wrist?” she asked.

Tucking the box into his pocket, he then took the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist.

When he was done, she brushed a fingertip over the little shells. “I never had much of my mother’s things. She didn’t have jewelry, or any heirlooms. She and my father were both poor and they put everything they had into the ranch. I never knew my father had this.” She wiped away a stray tear. It destroyed Wes to see her cry.

“I think he was waiting for the right time to give you something this special.”

She leaned into him, kissing him once more, sweet and light, but no less potent than any kiss they’d shared in the past. His chest burned with an inner warmth at the light kiss.

“Thank you, Wes.”

He clasped her hand in his and they left the apartment. Michel was waiting to drive them to Fouquet’s. It was a fairly trendy restaurant in many aspects, but the food was excellent and the atmosphere was pleasant enough for a business meeting. Merry lights of the restaurant illuminated the red canopy roof that covered the outdoor seating areas as they arrived. Tourists already filled the outdoor tables, chatting and dining. Wes escorted Callie straight to the main doors on the corner of the building. When they walked inside, Callie’s eyes grew round and her lips parted in a little O. That didn’t help Wes. He’d just gotten control of his body again and she was making him hard thinking about her lips wrapped around his shaft.

“It’s so beautiful. I’ve never eaten at a fancy place like this before,” she admitted.

Wes studied the restaurant, trying to see what had impressed her. Rows of white cloth-covered tables were surrounded by armless tall red chairs studded with gold pins along their frames. Chandeliers with more than a dozen electric candles each filled the room with a soft, warm glow that reflected off the light walnut wood-paneled walls.

A secluded table in the back had a lone man drinking wine.

“Ahh, there’s Dimitri.” Wes guided Callie toward the man and the table in the back.

“Wes,” Dimitri said and chuckled as he stood and offered a hand in greeting. Wes shook it and nudged Callie forward. She’d been hanging behind, letting him shield her with his body. No doubt because Dimitri was intimidating. He was a tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed Russian, good-looking and far too confident when it came to women.

“Sorry, we’re late. Dimitri, I would like you to meet Callie Taylor. Callie, this is Dimitri Razin.”

Callie smiled and shook Dimitri’s hand but he pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles and she instinctively moved toward Wes. He was glad for two reasons. She was learning to trust him, and she preferred him to Dimitri. Wes was no fool. Dimitri was a natural womanizer. More than one beautiful lady in Paris hadn’t been able to choose between Wes and Dimitri and they had taken her to bed together. But Wes had no intention of ever sharing Callie.

“You did not mention this was to be a mixture of business and pleasure, Wes.” Dimitri winked rakishly at Callie.

Wes steered her to the nearest chair and helped her sit. Then he took the seat slightly closer to his friend.

“The pleasure is mine. Only mine.” He shot Dimitri a warning look and the Russian nodded faintly, indicating he understood.

“I’ve had the best wine in the house brought down. The waiter will return to see to our order.” He held out menus to Callie and Wes.

Callie thanked him and focused intently on her menu as though it contained the secrets of the universe. She was very shy, but he would make sure she wasn’t shy with him when they were alone.

“So what is this piece you’ve had sent to the Louvre?” Wes asked.

Dimitri had connections with the President-Director of the Louvre and often had pieces stored there when he needed them to be authenticated.

His friend passed Wes a glass of wine and one to Callie. “It’s a Sargent, one I’ve not seen on the market before. You know how much I like his work.” He turned to Callie. “Do you know Sargent?”

She nodded, eyes brightening with interest.

“Callie’s an artist,” Wes informed his friend, feeling proud of Callie and her talent. It was one thing to show off a painting, but another thing to show off an artist, one who was living and breathing right next to him, one he’d kissed, one who tasted like sunshine and encouraged dreams he’d thought long lost to him. He wanted to shout his excitement from the rooftops, and then he wanted to closet himself away with her, taking her to bed for days.

Dimitri’s gaze narrowed in sudden interest. “You are an artist? No wonder you have my friend so fascinated with you. Wes Thorne lives and breathes art.”

Wes sipped his wine and raised the glass in a silent toast to his friend. “As do you, Dimitri.”

“Not like you, my friend.” Dimitri turned back to Callie, smiling and brushing his dark hair out of his eyes, as he seemed to realize he’d caught Callie’s undivided attention. “Wes understands art, while the rest of us simply appreciate it. The patterns, the techniques, all the things that define that art, including an artist’s heart and soul, that is what he sees that the rest of us do not.”

Wes wanted to laugh, but deep down, he sensed Dimitri understood people the way he understood art.

“I can see what you mean,” Callie said, shooting Wes one of those equally intelligent and curious looks.

Dimitri laughed in delight. “You are a perceptive lady. All good artists must be.”

“The best artists see something for what it could be, not just what it is.” Callie reached for her glass of wine and took a taste. Her hazel-green eyes settled on him and what he saw there heated his blood. The dewy-eyed innocence wasn’t there, but an ancient knowing glint, as though there were things she saw and understood better than an average woman her age. It was a fleeting glimpse of the worldly artist she would someday become, the person he wanted her to be.

“I think, my friend”—Dimitri signaled their waiter with a little wave—“that you have found a most unique woman.”

My masterpiece. Mine. He nodded at Callie. Well played, darling.

The waiter arrived and they placed their orders. Dimitri seemed fascinated by Callie and before long Callie was chatting with an ease and friendliness he hadn’t seen before. Dimitri, ever a collector of human information, soon pried out such kernels of information like the fact that cobalt blue was her favorite color, the best night of her life was watching a meteor shower with her parents when she was four, just before her mother passed away. Wes’s stomach had clenched at the thought of her so young, only four, and that a fuzzy memory tinted with the warmth of her mother’s love had left such a lasting impression on her. He was glad she had that memory of her mother. Not all children were so lucky.