drank too, and she was riveted by the sight of his strong throat and the ripple of movement as he swallowed.
Imogen frowned. There was nothing sexy about a man’s throat. Was there? There never had been before and she worked surrounded by men.
But none of them were Thierry Girard.
‘You’re right. Definitely pears.’ He watched her over the rim of the glass. ‘To new experiences? You have some planned?’
Imogen shrugged. ‘A few.’
‘Tell me.’ When she hesitated he added, ‘Please. I’d like to know.’
‘Why?’ The word shot out, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Typical of her to sound gauche rather than sophisticated. She just wasn’t used to male attention. She was the serious, reserved sister, not the gregarious one with a flock of admirers.
‘Because I’m interested in you.’
‘Seriously?’ As soon as the word escaped heat scalded her throat and face. She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Tell me I didn’t say that.’
A rich chuckle snagged at her senses, making her eyes pop open. If his smile was gorgeous, his laugh was... She couldn’t think of a word to describe the molten-chocolate swirl enveloping her.
‘Why don’t you tell me about these new experiences instead?’
Imogen opened her mouth to ask if he was really interested in hearing about them then snapped it shut.
Here was a wonderful new adventure, flirting with a gorgeous French hunk over champagne. She wasn’t going to spoil it by being herself. She was going to go with the flow. This trip was about stepping out of her shell, tasting life’s excitement.
Chatting with Thierry Girard was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in ages.
‘I’ve got a list. Things I want to do.’
‘In Paris?’ She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled.
‘Not just here. I’m away from home for a month and a half but I’m only in Paris a fortnight.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m already realising my plans were too ambitious. I won’t fit everything in.’
‘That gives you a reason to return. You can do more on your next visit.’
His eyes were almost warm enough to dispel the wintry chill that descended at his words. There’d be no return visit, no second chance.
She had one shot at living to the max. She’d make the most of it, even if it meant stepping out of her comfort zone. She tossed back another mouthful of champagne, relishing the little starbursts on her tongue.
‘This is delicious wine.’
He nodded. ‘It’s not bad. Now, tell me about this list. I’m intrigued.’
She shrugged. ‘Tourist things, mainly.’ But she refused to feel self-conscious. ‘See those Impressionist masterpieces at the Musée d’Orsay, visit Versailles, go for a boat ride on the Seine.’
‘You’ll have time to fit those in if you have two weeks.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s only the beginning. I want to attend a gourmet cooking class. I’ve always wanted to know how they make those melt-in-the-mouth chocolate truffles.’ The ones that were exactly the colour of his eyes.
Her breath gave a curious little hitch and she hurried on. ‘I’d hoped to eat at the Eiffel Tower restaurant but I didn’t realise I needed to book in advance. Plus I’d love a champagne picnic in the country and to go hot-air ballooning and drive a red convertible around the Arc de Triomphe and... Well, so many things.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Visitors are usually scared of driving there. Traffic is thick and there aren’t lane markings.’
Imogen shrugged. She was scared too. But that was good. She’d feel she was really living.
‘I like a challenge.’
‘So I gather.’ Was that approval in his expression? ‘Have you been hot-air ballooning before?’
‘Never.’ She took another sip of champagne. ‘This is a trip of firsts.’
‘Like the champagne?’ There was that delicious crinkle around his eyes. It almost lured her into believing Thierry Girard was as harmless as her work colleagues. Yet every feminine fibre screamed she was out of her depth even looking at the ultra-sexy Frenchman. Everything about him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the intriguing dark shadow across his jaw, signalled he was a virile, powerful man. ‘Imogen?’
‘Sorry, I was distracted.’ Her voice was ridiculously husky. The way he said her name turned it into something lilting and special. She lifted her gloved fingers to her throat, as if that could ease her hammering pulse.
The glint in his eyes warned that he understood her distraction. But she refused to be embarrassed. He must be used to women going weak at the knees.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said. ‘Do you live in Paris?’
He shook his head. ‘Occasionally. I’m here for business meetings over the next week or two.’
‘So while I’m out enjoying myself you’ll be in meetings? I hope they’re not too tedious.’
Nonchalantly, he lifted those impressive shoulders, and a wave of yearning washed through her. She wanted to put her hands on them, feel the strength in his tall body and lean in to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
Imogen blinked, stunned at the force of her desire. She didn’t do instant attraction. She didn’t fall in a heap in front of any man. But her knees were suspiciously shaky and her instincts urged her to behave in ways that were completely out of character.
Was it champagne or the man? Or maybe the heady excitement of Paris and wearing Isabelle’s gorgeous gown. Whatever it was, she approved. She wanted to feel, and from the moment her eyes had locked on Thierry’s she’d felt vibrantly alive.
‘You sound like you have experience of boring meetings.’
Imogen sipped more wine, enjoying the zing on her palate. ‘Definitely.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Our firm specialises in them. I’d bet my meetings are more boring than yours.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’
Thierry took her arm and guided her away from an influx of newcomers. Even through the satin gloves his hands felt hard, capable and incredibly sexy. Trickles of fire coursed from the point of contact then splintered into incendiary darts that trailed through her body to pool down low.
How sad that she could be so turned on by that simple courteous gesture. But that wasn’t surprising, given the state of her love life. Or her lack of one.
‘Believe it.’ She dragged herself back into the conversation. ‘I’m an accountant.’ She waited for his eyes to glaze over. ‘A tax accountant. I know tedious.’
His
