Читать книгу The Billionaire's Bedside Manner / Her Innocence, His Conquest: The Billionaire's Bedside Manner / Her Innocence, His Conquest - Robyn Grady, Jules Bennett - Страница 15

As Mateo predicted, Natalie wasn’t the least bit upset when the following day, Bailey rang to explain.

“I know I’m only starting,” she began, sitting behind Mateo’s desk in his home office. “I’m so grateful for the chance, but I was wondering if I could possibly ask for the week after next off?”

“Are you all right?”

“I feel great.” In fact, better than great. “Mateo asked whether I might like to fly with him to France.”

Bailey jerked the receiver from her ear as Natalie squealed down the line.

“Sorry,” Natalie said. “I’m just excited for you. For you both. And I’ll need to go through my wardrobe with a fine-tooth comb. In late October, you’re going to need some warm clothes over there.”

The following day Bailey dived into the first of her cleaning jobs. The work was constant and anything but glamorous, but she rolled up her sleeves and took pride in making sure the floors were spotless and that the kitchens and bathrooms sparkled. She was being constructive, pushing forward, earning her way and feeling rewarded because of it.

When Friday came, Bailey was exhausted by the time she got to Mateo’s place. But she was also elated. When he opened the door for her, she threw out her hand.

Mateo took the slip of paper she held. “What’s this?”

“A printout of the receipt from my transfer.”

Mateo had set up an account solely for the purpose of her loan repayments.

When he smiled, he truly looked pleased.

“We should celebrate.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Dinner at this little Italian taverna five minutes from here. Unless you’re too tired …”

“No.” Suddenly she was feeling pepped up. She should celebrate. This was a noteworthy step toward reaching her goals. “But on one condition. I pay my way.”

One brow hiked up. “You’re supposed to be saving, not spending.”

“We go dutch or we don’t go.”

They went and enjoyed a carafe of Chianti, twirled and slurped spaghetti, paid half each and, when they arrived home, made love as they’d done every night since their first.

Afterward, as they lay tangled in each other’s arms and Mateo stroked her hair, Bailey thought back on the week, feeling happier than she had in a long while. She’d had fun backpacking around Europe and she’d enjoyed herself in Italy—before Emilio had cornered her the way he had. But now, here with Mateo, she’d stepped up to a different level of understanding.

Funnily enough, she felt settled. Living in this grand palace with a strong-minded millionaire doctor … unbelievable, but she felt as if she belonged.

But this hyper exhilaration was only temporary. It wasn’t real. Wouldn’t last. Staying in this extraordinary house with this extraordinary man was a fairy tale she happened to fall into. Clearly, Mateo had been with other women but he’d never committed, as Mama had told her more than once. There was no reason to believe that what they’d shared this week would last either.

She was a big girl. She was fine with that.

Smoothing a palm over his chest, she smiled softly. This time with Mateo might be temporary, but she planned to enjoy each minute and, when it was over, cherish every memory. It was a temporary happy ending to an unpleasant episode in her life. And Paris was yet to come!

Two days later they flew halfway around the world on the sumptuous private jet Mateo hired. Nibbling on mouth-watering cheese and fruit platters, feeling as if she were lounging at a luxury retreat rather than an aircraft, Bailey was certain she would never view air travel the same again.

It was early evening when they landed at Charles de Gaulle. The weather was cool in the City of Light, but the darkening sky held no threat of rain or sleet. Bailey tugged Natalie’s silk-lined designer jacket higher around her ears and, loving the chilly nip on her nose—so different from the warm weather in Australia this time of year—slid into the back of the chauffeur driven limousine, with Mateo entering behind her. She guessed her mother would have felt just as excited when she’d arrived in this famous city years before.

As the driver performed a pared down city tour, she lapped up the scenery while Mateo pointed out noteworthy spots. The iconic spire of the Eiffel Tower, the history effused Arc de Triomphe. Then they passed the Louvre and the Pyramid.

Bailey sighed. “I wonder if there’s a person in the world who doesn’t want to see the Mona Lisa.”

His hand found hers and squeezed. “We’ll spend an entire day there.”

“Before or after we’ve spent a morning strolling along the Seine? And I want to sip coffee at a gorgeous sidewalk café and gaze up at the obelisk at the Place de la Concorde.”

Mateo nuzzled her hair. “We’ll do it all. I promise.”

They checked into one of the best hotels in the city, only steps from the Champs-Elysees. Bailey held her pounding heart as she took in magnificent glittering chandeliers, mirror polished floors, classic marble statuettes and fountains of fresh scented flowers. She wasn’t interested in being wealthy. Money did not buy happiness—ask her father. But this kind of experience was different. It was about appreciating another culture. About absorbing history. Enriching one’s life by seeing how others communicated and lived. This hotel was a prime example of crème de la crème. Tomorrow they would move among the less fortunate … children without family or homes of their own. Children who lived as Mateo had once done.

As Mateo checked in at the reception desk, Bailey absorbed his effortless sophisticated air. Calling into that orphanage each year must be a bittersweet experience. Were his memories of that place still sharp or were those long ago days more like a dream … as these days would no doubt be to her in a few years’ time?

When they reached their suite, Bailey drifted toward a twinkling view, visible past a soaring window, while Mateo wasted no time coming up behind and enfolding her in his arms.

“It’s said that Paris in daytime is only resting,” he murmured against her hair. “That the city only comes to life at night. So,” his breath felt warm on the sweep of her neck, “are you ready to take on the town?”

“I’d love to say yes, but I need sleep.” And she didn’t want to be dead on her feet tomorrow when they reached their first and most important destination—the orphanage.

“Hungry then?” He twined her arms around his and pressed her extra close. “Or perhaps we ought to check out that fine piece of furniture.”

Eyes drifting closed, she hummed out a grin. He meant that canopied bed.

Turning her back on the view—on the glittering spectacle of Paris at night—she rotated until they were facing one another then gifted his stubbly jaw with a lingering kiss.

“I like that idea,” she murmured. “Let’s freshen up first.”

“Only if we do it together.”

He led her through to a marble finished room, featuring a classic clawfoot tub, big enough for two. After kissing her thoroughly, a toe-curling taste of what was to come, he left to order up refreshments.

Floating, Bailey ran the gold gooseneck faucet, added salts and bubble liquid into the rising water then, humming, twirled her hair up and set it with a single pin. After stripping off her shoes and Natalie-sponsored clothes, she threaded her arms through an oversized courtesy robe but stopped when she caught her reflection in the window.

Holding her fluttering stomach, she wanted to imprint this precise moment … this dreamlike feeling … into her memory forever. Beyond that pane, Paris was buzzing with music and laughter and life. Even more amazing, beyond that door, Mateo Celeca was looking forward to sharing this bath with her.

Tying the robe’s sash, she lowered onto the edge of the bath’s porcelain rim and took stock.

Two weeks ago she’d been near desperate to get home, for the chance to start again. Two weeks ago she’d thought constantly about her father … reliving those earlier happier years … regretting that their relationship had come unstuck. When she’d seen Damon Ross in the city during that exhausting second day back in Australia, her heart had screamed out for her to walk over. To give them another chance. The cab’s timely arrival had put a stop to that idea, thank heaven, because there was nothing she could say that she hadn’t said before. Nothing she could do that would mend those flattened fences. She’d tried in the past, over and again. The more she’d persisted, the more her father had only wanted to push her away.

One day, perhaps, they’d talk again, Bailey decided, swirling a hand through the deepening warm bubble-filled pool. But that couldn’t happen until she’d proven herself to herself. She was young. With the right attitude she could accomplish anything. Go anywhere.

Right now, however, she wanted to help Mateo accomplish his goals here in France. Of course, she also wanted to enjoy this time they had here as lovers. Still, she was mindful of keeping this whirlwind romance in perspective. It would be ridiculously easy to fall in love with an amazing man like Mateo Celeca only to be left behind.

After this time together, that he was so successful and she was so definitely not didn’t worry her so much. His state of mind, as far as commitment was concerned, did. She’d briefly wondered whether he might want to find a wife and adopt that little boy he’d spoken about. But Mateo was married to his career and wanted to keep it that way. He’d confessed he was too busy for a family of his own. Too selfish.

Despite his mansion back home and all his lavish possessions, she couldn’t believe he was self-centered. Although Mateo kept him well hidden, the orphaned boy he’d once been was still there deep inside. The boy who’d had no one and nothing. She felt the bracelet heavy on her wrist and smiled softly. People had different ways of dealing with the past.

The adjoining door fanned open and Bailey, brought back, pushed herself to her feet. Mateo entered the room carrying a silver service tray holding two champagne flutes and a dish of sliced pear. At the sight of him, the tips of her breasts tingled and her blood instantly heated. But for the white serving cloth draped over his forearm, he was naked.

Her gaze drank him in … tall, toned and completely comfortable in his own gorgeous bronzed skin.

“I hope you didn’t answer the door to room service dressed like that,” she said, holding off tightening her robe’s sash.

“I doubt they’d bat an eye.”

With his gaze lidded and hot, he sauntered closer. After placing the tray on a ledge next to the bath, he poured the champagne then handed over a flute. The glasses pinged as they touched.

“To Paris,” he said.

“To Paris,” she agreed and sipped.

As the bubbles fizzed on her tongue then slid down her throat, Mateo selected the largest piece of pear, bit in and watched juice sluice down his thumb.

“Delicious,” he said and licked his lips.

He offered her a taste. But when she moved to take a bite, he lowered the fruit and touched the piece to the hollow of her throat, drawing a calculated circle before sliding the pear farther down.

Pulse rate climbing, Bailey closed her eyes and waited for the cool to glide between the dip of her cleavage, under the folds of her robe. Instead Mateo lowered his head and sucked at the juice slipping a single line down her throat.

Soaking up each and every thrilling sensation, Bailey sighed and let her neck rock back.

As his mouth slid lower, the sash at her waist was released. A moment later, cool air feathered over her exposed breasts, her thighs, at the same time a big palm trailed the plane of her quivering belly then higher, over her ribs and tender swell of each breast.

He nipped her lower lip and spoke of the near overflowing tub. “That bath needs attention.”

Winding her arms around his neck, she whispered in his ear, “Me first.”