wasn’t what Eloise had expected, and she spluttered, ‘I am not, you egotistical baboon!’
After a second’s pause Marcus threw his dark head back and laughed out loud. ‘Well, I suppose a baboon is a step up from a snake. But you are jealous?’ His amusement lingered in the narrowed eyes that studied her face. He brushed back a stray tendril of red hair curving her cheekbone. ‘Why not admit the truth, Eloise?’ he demanded huskily. ‘It’s the same for me.’
Marcus knew as soon as he said it, he had made a mistake. The man he had been five years ago when they first met, and he had thought her innocent, might have admitted to jealousy. But not the man he was today, with the evidence of her perfidiousness always at the back of his mind. He prided himself on being a sophisticated lover who delighted in women, and always brought them pleasure, but never, ever lost control or revealed his own emotions. Somehow Eloise had the damnable ability to make him forget what she really was, and he didn’t like it.
What the hell? he told himself. For one day he was going to forget everything and just enjoy…
Eloise’s heart skipped a beat. Marcus, jealous? The notion was balm to her battered pride and she was wretchedly aware of how much she wanted to believe him.
His dark head bent and he kissed her briefly on her lips. His arm dropped from her shoulders and he waved his hand in an expansive arc.
‘Look around you, Eloise. The sun is shining, we are in Paris, a city designed for lovers and, whatever else is between us, we are lovers. Indulge me and let me show you around.’
She looked at him. The dark vitality of his masculinity was a potent temptation to any woman, and she was no exception. Why he wanted her didn’t seem that important all of a sudden. The sun gilded his black hair in golden highlights. Eloise’s admiring emerald eyes clashed with smouldering black, and his starkly handsome features darkened, a slow sensual smile curving his beautiful mouth. Her heart missed a beat and resumed at a faster pace.
He extended an elegant tanned hand towards her. ‘Go with the flow, Eloise. Isn’t that your English expression?’ His accent thickened in his husky-voiced question and she allowed him to tuck her slender hand in his.
‘Yes.’ His glittering gaze mesmerised her. ‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed, and felt the flow of electricity from his touch through every nerve in her body.
‘I thought the Eiffel Tower first. You agree.’
‘Do I have a choice?’ she prompted with a wry smile, seeing the determination in his expression. He really did mean to do the whole tourist bit, and somehow she found it rather endearing.
‘For a beautiful lady, you ask far too many questions,’ Marcus remarked and tugged her along the pavement.
They rode the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Eloise took one look at the panoramic view, and immediately her legs shook and her head spun. She saw Marcus gesture to something in the distance and vaguely heard his voice extolling the virtues of some building, but she felt dizzy. Reaching out, she gripped his arm, and clung. Heights were not her thing.
‘Eloise.’ His narrowed gaze swept her pale features, instantly recognising the problem, and pulled her into his arms. ‘You should have told me you were afraid of heights. We’re going back down.’ And he held her firmly in his protective embrace, only releasing her as they stepped back onto firm ground.
Eloise glanced back up at the towering iron structure, and still felt slightly dizzy. She leant against one of the mighty iron supports for a moment, marvelling that she’d actually had the nerve to go to the top. ‘I did it.’ She flashed Marcus a shaky smile.
‘Yes.’ He smiled back. ‘But I think Les Invalides, and Napoleon’s tomb next; it is underground and safe for you. Unless you are afraid of going underground as well,’ he queried seriously.
She was elated that at last she had finally seen the view from the top of the world-famous tower. She had never dared do it by herself, even though she had been to Paris quite a few times in the past months—and, surprised by Marcus’s apparent concern, her luscious lips parted in a beaming grin. ‘Marcus, you’re fussing like an old woman,’ she giggled.
An arrested expression flickered across his handsome face, and he closed the space between them. He braced his hands on the iron beam either side of her, and covered her mouth with his. And there at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, in broad daylight, with hundreds of people watching, he kissed her with a hunger, a fiery brand of ownership that sent a wave of scorching heat racing through her veins.
‘Marcus.’ She gasped his name as he released her swollen lips. ‘People are looking.’
‘So? You’re my woman,’ he declared on a ragged breath. ‘But you’re right, I am not usually in the habit of kissing in public. But you drive me crazy.’ He looked around distractedly, ‘Let’s go.’
Marcus could have been one of Napoleon’s generals Eloise thought with secret amusement, as he proceeded to lead her to Les Invalides, then across the river to the Arc de Triomphe, and the tomb of the unknown soldier. He pointed out the matching arch over a mile away, marvelling at the skill of the architect.
They sat at a pavement café of the Champs Elysée, and there with the local Parisians, and the obvious tourists from all over the world, they shared a bottle of wine, and a meal of light fluffy omelettes with salad. Whether it was the wine or the company, Eloise realised she really was enjoying herself. Marcus was a good conversationalist and very knowledgeable about Paris, and as if by common consent they avoided talking about anything personal. Relaxed, Eloise drained her glass and replaced it on the table. She glanced across at Marcus; he was withdrawing some money from his wallet.
‘Are we leaving already?’ she demanded. ‘I quite like watching the world go by.’
And he loved watching her, Marcus realised, but didn’t say it. ‘Yes,’ he confirmed. The jade silk shirt was sleeveless, and the top button was unfastened, revealing a shadowy cleavage. Intellectually, he knew she was a liar and a cheat, but it didn’t stop his body responding in a most inconvenient manner.
‘I plan we visit the Louvre next for approximately two hours, and then visit the Pompidou centre,’ he ground out, shoving one hand in his pocket and rising to his feet.
‘Very organised,’ Eloise teased him but took the hand he held out to her, and let him lead her down towards the Louvre.
The queue to enter was huge…
Eloise turned laughing eyes up to Marcus, and saw the frustration in the set of his hard features. ‘Finally defeated, mon generale,’ she mocked. ‘You have to wait like everyone else.’
‘No, I think I have waited long enough.’ He tightened his grip on her hand and surveyed her with blatant male intensity.
Suddenly tension simmered in the air between them. The crowd around them vanished and Eloise was drowning in the darkening depths of his deep brown eyes. His thumb stroked the palm of her hand and then he tugged her very gently against the hard heat of his body.
‘Why wait to see an ancient work of art, when I have a perfect work of art in my grasp?’ he said with blunt urgency. ‘My apartment is not far.’
She wanted to lash out at him for looking at her with such arrogant possession. Yesterday she might have done but, after last night, all she
