silence greeted her declaration. Apparently, Nala had taken her snarky advice and fallen back asleep. Annoyed, Nichelle stared up at the ceiling of the verandah, the hammock swaying with her weight, her mind drifting. To Wolfe.
Paris was beautiful, just like Alice had said. The taxi from the airport dropped them off on a breezy and warm day bright with midsummer sunshine and the smell of baking bread from a nearby boulangerie. On the steps of the hotel, Nichelle drew in a deep lungful of scented air and basked in the skin-prickling heat of the sun. Wolfe had to nudge her up the marble steps and through the gold-trimmed doors, where the doorman watched her with an indulgent smile.
“This is nice,” she said.
He laughed. “Yes, it is.”
Despite her unexpected infatuation with the city, she was more than ready when it came time to unpack and meet Wolfe in his adjoining room for a prewar conference. His narrow windows opened out on to a busy street and a view of the Eiffel Tower. Sunlight poured in like a dream.
Still wearing her travel clothes, she sat across from Wolfe in one of a delicate-looking pair of chairs near the coffee table. Nearly every piece of furniture in the room was lined with gold and perched on spindly legs better suited to effete royalty than a pair of robust Americans. But Wolfe took everything in stride, making himself comfortable in the slight burgundy-and-gold chair that only emphasized his powerful masculinity.
“Let’s go over this thing one more time,” he said.
She wordlessly handed him the tablet with her proposal and the slight changes she’d made during the taxi ride from the airport. As they talked, Nichelle’s gaze slid to the open window. Although she wouldn’t admit it just yet, she’d love to go and play outside. Alice’s glowing talk about the magic of Paris had affected her more than she realized. Even the sound of traffic flowing in through the fifth-story window, a soothing mix of cars, bicycle bells and voices speaking softly in French, was its own seduction.
She and Wolfe weren’t slated to be in Paris long, and the client they were chasing was just as likely to tell them no as he was to say yes. And it was really just peanuts compared to the Quraishi account, the one she’d given Wolfe the proposal for in Miami.
Jamal al Din Quraishi was the Moroccan head of a multibillion-dollar research and development company that also dabbled in oil. Having him as a client would be a real coup. Nichelle had it from her sources that she wasn’t the only one angling for his business. The competition would be high, and gunning for the Quraishi account was going to be a challenge. Luckily, she loved a challenge.
Nichelle stopped in midsentence when she heard her phone chiming from the other room. “One sec.”
In her room, she grabbed her cell and frowned at what she read on the screen. “Favreau doesn’t want to talk business until after three this afternoon,” she said when she got back to his room. She paused to look at the clock. “Four hours from now.”
Wolfe tossed his cell on the replica Louis XVI settee across from him with an impatient scowl. “But he did invite us to come to his restaurant for drinks and enjoy his hospitality.” Apparently, he’d just gotten the same message.
“I’m not here to socialize with people I’d normally avoid at home.” The bright sunlight teased Nichelle through the window, something beautiful and tempting she couldn’t have just yet. “I came to close a deal.”
Wolfe shrugged. “Well he’s happily stringing us along. At this point I’m not even sure if he has any intentions of doing business with us.”
“That little weasel better sit down and listen to reason. I am not in the mood.” She threw another longing glance toward the open window with its gleam of sunlight.
Wolfe caught her eye and smiled. “You keep looking out that window like you have someplace to be. You want to test out the city of romance theory for yourself?”
Nichelle looked away, not able to hide her smile. It was sometimes disconcerting how transparent she was to him. “Not quite. But if Favreau is going to jerk us around for four hours, we might as well go do something interesting that involves sunshine.”
The last time she had been in Paris was for a long trip in college. She and three friends had only stayed in the city for four days before hopping on a train to Naples. The entire four days had been wet and cool, even though it was summer, the clouds and rain retreating for only a few hours at a time before enveloping the city once more in gloom. She’d been over Paris before they even left. But now, with the sunlight creating its particular enchantment, she could see glimmers of what everyone else talked about when they chattered on about Paris and its ambiance.
“Screw it,” Nichelle muttered. “Let’s just go out. Okay?”
Wolfe chuckled. “Okay. Just give me about fifteen minutes to change and make a quick phone call.”
“Good.” She headed to her room.
Like their offices, her hotel room was just like his. No surprises, although it seemed that she was already going to be spending more time in his room than in hers. They tended to take turns monopolizing one of the other’s spaces. His room actually had the better view.
Nichelle exchanged her tights and loose blouse for jeans and a thin cotton blouse with a string tied at the throat. She tucked a few things into a small purse and was ready to leave the room within ten minutes when the open laptop caught her eye, a new message on her email screen. Then her cell phone chirped with a message. It was from Favreau.
My apologies. I have meetings for the rest of the afternoon but have the next two hours free. Are you ready to impress me? My offices in 30 minutes.
Damn. Nichelle’s fingers tightened around the phone. But she took a breath. She knew the proposal for Favreau backward and forward but dammit, she had been excited about taking advantage of the Parisian sunshine. Phone in hand, she slipped through the door between her room and Wolfe’s.
“Favreau just sent an em—” She almost swallowed her tongue.
Wolfe was naked. He stood in the middle of the room covered in nothing but the light pouring through the windows. A pair of briefs dangled from his hand, as if he was giving some thought to pulling them on, but he didn’t move a muscle when she walked into the room. If anything, he stood even straighter to give her more to look at.
Oh my God... Nichelle’s mouth went dry, and her eyes widened.
His body was angled slightly away from her, a hip and shoulder in her direction, intriguing shadows swimming over his skin. And he was breathtaking. Literally, she could not catch her breath, staring at what she’d never seen before. A man who was beautiful to look at, true. But, having him tucked firmly in the realm of family, she’d never have thought to wonder at what lay beneath his designer suits and expensive jeans. But now she knew.
After the first hot and consuming glance, she dropped her eyes.
His feet were big. The bones strong but delicate-looking at the same time. Narrow ankles, muscled calves. But instead of keeping her eyes low like she should have, she looked up.
Wolfe had solid knees with scars on them from his childhood spent climbing, and
