grin.
“Guess it’s no secret she’s proud of you,” Bailey admitted. “And that she’d like a great-grandchild or two.”
Be that as it may, he wouldn’t be tying any matrimonial knots in the foreseeable future. He’d brought enough children into the world. His profession—and France—were enough for him.
She moved to join him. Her smile sunny enough to melt an iceberg, her eyes incredibly blue, Bailey and Mateo descended a half dozen marble steps and entered the main reception room. Standing among the French chateau classic decor, pausing before the twenty-foot-high Jacobean fireplace, his guest looked sorely out of place. But, he had to admit, not in a bad way. She radiated fresh—even as she suppressed a traveler’s weary yawn.
Was there reason to doubt her character? Had she fleeced his grandmother or was he being overly suspicious? Mama could be “very generous” in other ways, after all.
“So, what’s first on the itinerary?” She asked, lowering into a settee.
“West coast of Canada.” Mateo took the single saloon seat. “A group of friends who’ve been skiing at the same resort for years put on an annual reunion.” The numbers had slowly dwindled, however. Most of the guys were married now. Some divorced. The gathering didn’t have the same feel as the old days, sadly. This year he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Then on to New York to catch up with some professional acquaintances,” he went on. “Next it’s France.”
“You have friends in Paris? My parents honeymooned there. It’s supposed to be a gorgeous city.”
“I sponsor a charitable institution in the north.”
Her eyebrows lifted as she sat back. “What kind of charity?”
“Children without homes. Without parents.” To lead into what he really wanted to know—to see if she’d rise to any bait—he added, “I like to give where I can.” When she bowed her head to hide a smile, a ball of unease coiled low in his stomach. With some difficulty, he kept his manner merely interested. “Have I said something funny?”
“Just that Mama always said you were a good man.” Those glittering blue eyes lifted and met his again. “Not that I doubted her.”
Mateo’s chest tightened and he fought the urge to tug an ear or clear his throat. This woman was either a master of flattery or as nice as Mama obviously believed her to be. So which was it? Cute or on the take?
“Mama is my biggest fan as I am hers,” he said easily. “Seems she’s always doing someone a good turn. Helping out where she can.”
“She also plays a mean game of Briscola.”
He blinked. Cards? “Did you play for money?” He manufactured a chuckle. “She probably let you win.”
A line pinched between Bailey Ross’s brows. “We played because she enjoyed it.”
She’d threaded her fingers around the worn denim knees of her jeans. Her bracelet was expensive, however—yellow-gold and heavy with charms. Had Mama’s money helped purchase that piece duty free? If he asked Bailey straight out, what reply would she give?
As if she’d read his mind and wasn’t comfortable, his guest eased to her feet. “I’ve held you up long enough. You don’t want to miss your flight.”
He stood too. She was right. She wasn’t going to admit to anything and his cab would be here any minute. Seemed his curiosity with regard to Miss Ross’s true nature would go unsatisfied.
“Do you have family in Sydney?” He asked as they crossed the parquet floor together and she covered another yawn.
“I was raised here.”
“You’ll be catching up with your parents then.”
“My mother died a few years back.”
“My condolences.” He’d never known his mother but the man he’d come to know as Father had passed away recently. “I’m sure your father’s missed you.”
But she only looked away.
Walking alongside, Mateo rolled back his shoulders. No mother. Estranged from her father. Few possessions. Hell, now he wanted to write her a check.
He changed the subject. “So, what are your broader plans, Miss Ross? Do you have a job here in town to return to?”
“I don’t have any real concrete plans just yet.”
“Perhaps more travel then?”
“There’s more I’d like to see, but for now, I’m hanging around.”
They stopped at the entrance. He fanned open the door, searched her flawless face and smiled. “Well, good luck.”
“Same to you. Say hello to Paris for me.”
As she turned to walk away, hitching that ratty knapsack higher on one slim shoulder, something thrust beneath Mateo’s ribs and he took a halting step toward her. Of course, he should let it alone—should let her be on her way—but a stubborn niggling kept at him and he simply had to ask.
“Miss Ross,” he called out. Looking surprised, she rotated back. He cut the distance separating them and, having danced around the question long enough, asked outright. “Did my grandmother give you money?”
Her slim nostrils flared and her eyebrows drew in. “She didn’t give me money.”
Relief fell through him in a warm welcomed rush. As she’d grown older, Mama had admitted many times that she wasn’t overly wealthy by design; she had little use for money and therefore liked to help others where she could. There was nothing he could do to stop Mama’s generosity—or gullibility as the case more often than not proved to be. But at least he could leave for his vacation knowing this particular young woman hadn’t left his grandmother’s house stuffing bills in her pocket.
But Bailey wasn’t finished.
“Mama loaned me money.”
As the stone swelled in his chest, Mateo could only stare. He’d been right about her from the start? She’d taken advantage of Mama like those before her. He took in her innocent looks and cringed. He wished he’d never asked.
“A … loan,” he said, unconcerned that his tone was graveled. Mocking.
Her cheeks pinked up. “Don’t say it like that.”
“You say it’s a loan,” he shrugged, “it’s a loan.”
“I intend to pay back every cent.”
“Really?” Intrigued, he crossed his arms. “And how do you intend to do that with no job, no plans?” From her reaction to his question about her father, there wouldn’t be help coming from that source, either.
Her eyes hardened. “We can’t all have charmed lives, Doctor.”
“Don’t presume to know anything about me,” he said, his
