weeks, even months, now she understood there was no love involved. There would be no arguments, no goals of marriage or children to fight over. They could just enjoy each other’s company for as long as the pleasure lasted.... He fell asleep, smiling and warm.
When he woke, the shadows of the room had changed to the soft gray light of dawn. Emma was stirring in his arms. He saw she was looking up at him with big, limpid eyes.
“Good morning,” she said shyly.
Cesare stroked her cheek with amusement. “Good morning.”
She bit her lip. “Um. If you want to go sleep in your own room, I’ll understand....”
He placed a finger to her lips, gently stopping her. “I don’t.”
Her expression suddenly glowed. “You don’t?”
He didn’t blame her for being surprised. He was somewhat surprised himself. Usually he couldn’t wait to get out of a woman’s bed the morning after. He usually left long before morning, in fact.
But he felt oddly comfortable with Emma. He didn’t need to pretend with her, or play games, or be polite. It was strange, but he felt like he could just be himself, without trying to hide his flaws. How could he hide them? She knew them all.
“I’m hungry,” Emma confessed, sitting up. “I can’t stop thinking about fried eggs and bacon and oranges...”
Cesare kissed her bare shoulder. He was not thinking about food. “We could go down to the kitchen.” He let his fingertips trail over her breast. “Or we could have a little breakfast in bed first....”
“Yes,” she whispered, lifting her lips toward his. He stroked back her wildly tousled black hair.
“I’m so glad you came to your senses,” he murmured as he kissed her.
She drew back with a frown. “My senses?”
He smiled, twisting a long black tendril of her hair around his finger. “You are going to be a very enjoyable bit of carry-on baggage.”
“Oh, so now I’m baggage, am I?”
“I’ve decided you were right.”
Her green eyes suddenly shone. “You did?”
“I’m glad you quit,” he said lazily, running the pad of his thumb over her nipple, for the masculine pleasure of watching it instantly pebble beneath his touch. “I need to be in Asia tomorrow, Berlin on Friday.”
Lifting a dark eyebrow, she said lightly, “And I need to take that job in Paris.”
“You’re thinking about your job?” He snorted. “I want you to come with me.”
“Give up my career to do what—just hang out in your bed?”
“Can you think of a better idea?”
“I like my career.” Her voice had a new edge to it. “I’m good at it.”
“Of course you are. The best,” he said soothingly. He hadn’t meant to insult her. “But I’ll cover your expenses while you’re with me. We can just both enjoy ourselves. For however long this lasts.”
“Are you joking?” She sounded almost angry.
Cesare was still waiting for her burst of excited joy and arms to be thrown around him at the brilliance of his plan. Her joy didn’t seem to be forthcoming. “Don’t you understand what I’m offering you, Emma?”
“I must not,” she said. “Because it sounds like you expect me to drop everything for you, when all you want is sex.”
“Sex with you,” he pointed out. He would have thought that would be obvious. “And friendship,” he added as an afterthought. “It’ll be...fun.”
“Fun?” she said in a strangled voice.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Wow. It’s the answer to all my childhood dreams. Fun.”
He was starting to grow irritated “You can throw away your mop and broom. No more twenty-four-hour days with a jerk for a boss.” He tried to laugh, but she didn’t join him at the joke. He continued weakly, “You’ll travel with me—see the world...”
Pulling away from him entirely, she looked at him in the gray dawn.
“For how long?” she said quietly.
“How should I know?” Sitting up straighter against the headboard, he folded his arms grumpily. “For as long as we’re enjoying ourselves.”
“And you’ll kindly pay me for my time.”
He ground his jaw. “You’re twisting this all around, making it sound like I’m trying to insult you. Why aren’t you happy? You should be happy—I’ve never offered any woman so much!”
She rebelliously lifted her eyes. “We both know that’s not true.”
A cold chill went down his spine. “You’re talking about my wife.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
“Christo.” Cesare clawed back his hair. This couldn’t be happening. “We’ve been together only two nights, I’ve barely asked you to be my mistress, and you’re already pressuring me to marry you?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You don’t have to.” He could see it in her face: that terrible repressed hope. The same expression he’d seen in so many women’s faces. The desire to pin him down, to hold him against his will, in a place he didn’t want to be. To make iron chains of duty and honor replace delight or even pleasure.
“You did get married once. You must have had a reason.”
Anger rushed through him. The memory of Alain Bouchard’s hateful voice. You married my sister for her money and then made her life a living hell. Is it any wonder she took the pills? You might as well have poured them down her throat.
Cesare’s lips parted to lash out. Then he forced himself to focus on Emma’s lovely, wistful face. It wasn’t her fault. He choked back furious, hateful words.
“I married for love once,” he said flatly. “I’ll never do it again.”
“Because you still love her,” she whispered. “Your wife.”
Cesare could see what Emma believed. That he’d loved Angélique so much that even a decade hadn’t been enough to get over the grief of losing her. He let it pass, as he always did. The beautiful, simple lie was so much better than the truth.
He set his jaw, facing her across the bed, not touching. Just moments before, they’d been so close. Now an ocean divided them.
“I thought I made myself clear. But it wasn’t enough. So hear this.” He looked
