She glanced at him hopefully. Was he really willing to forgive her for refusing his generosity? She dropped her arms.
“What . . . what were you planning on doing?”
He closed the distance between them. “Well, I was planning on a little shopping and a late lunch, but now that I hear your opinion on the matter, I think a change of plan is in order.”
She hid her grimace. She knew he didn’t like to change his plans.
“What about a quick tour of the Musée d’Art Moderne and a late lunch instead?”
She studied his impassive face closely, searching for clues as to his mood and finding none. “Yes. That would be wonderful.”
He nodded once and held out his arm toward the door. She walked past him, halting when he called her name suddenly, as if he’d been hesitating about saying something before, but now it popped out of him. She looked back.
“I want you to know that I am far from being critical of your appearance. Whether you’re in pearls or your Cubs T-shirt, I find you to be extremely attractive. Perhaps you haven’t noticed?”
Her mouth fell open in shock. “I . . . I have noticed. Really. I just meant—”
“I know what you meant. But you’re an extremely beautiful woman. I would like you to own that, Francesca.”
“It seems more like you want to own it . . . for however long it’s convenient to you,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying.
“No,” he said so harshly she blinked. He inhaled slowly, looking as if he regretted his outburst. “I admit, you probably have good reason for believing that, given what you know of me . . . what I know of me, even. But I find I truly would like you to see yourself clearly . . . to recognize your power.”
She just stared at him, her mouth hanging open, confused by the message in his eyes.
She was still bewildered when he took her hand and led her out of the suite.
* * *
Francesca had to keep repeatedly reminding herself that it was a purely sexual agreement she had with Ian, because in truth, she couldn’t have imagined a more romantic day in her life. At her request, they left Jacob to his own devices and walked the streets of Paris, Francesca experiencing a ridiculous amount of excitement and euphoria at the sensation of her hand enfolded in Ian’s, frequently glancing sideways to assure herself that she really was being escorted around the most romantic city in the world by the most appealing, compelling man she’d ever seen.
“I’m starving,” she said honestly after their brief and enjoyable tour of the Musée d’Art Moderne, where she’d continued to be amazed by the depth of his artistic knowledge and innate taste. He’d been the ideal companion—considerate of her desires for what she wanted to view, interested in what she had to say, revealing more of his dry, sharp wit and sense of humor than he ever had before with her. “Can we eat here?” she asked, pointing at the attractive little sidewalk bistro they passed on Rue Goethe with outdoor seating.
“Lin has arranged a private table for us at Le Cinq,” Ian said, referring to the ultra-exclusive, pricey restaurant in their hotel.
“Lin Soong,” she mused, watching a couple seated at a nearby table, the woman picking at her food idly with her fingers while she laughed at something her companion had said. “She’s extremely efficient at planning things, isn’t she?”
“The best. That’s why I employ her,” he said crisply before he gave her a sideways glance. She looked at him in surprise a moment later when he paused before the entrance to the little bistro and waved his hand to enter, his expression one of subdued amusement.
“Really?” she asked excitedly.
“Certainly. Even I can be spontaneous once in a while. In very small measures, anyway,” he added drolly.
“Will miracles never cease?” she teased. He blinked, looking slightly surprised, when she went up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth before they sat at one of the outdoor tables.
“Would you like anything else to drink besides club soda?” Ian asked politely when the waiter came to their table.
She shook her head. “No, just that, thank you.”
Ian placed their order and they were left to each other’s company. She smiled at him from across the table, feeling very happy, admiring how electric blue his eyes looked even though they sat in the shadow of the canopy above them.
“You mentioned to me once that you didn’t really bloom and come into your own until you went to college. How is it that you never ended up in a serious relationship with a man in all the intervening years?” he asked.
She avoided his gaze. Her experience with dating—or lack of it—was not really the sort of thing she wanted to discuss with a sophisticated man like Ian.
“I just never really clicked with anyone, I guess.” She glanced up cautiously and saw that he continued to regard her expectantly. She sighed. He wasn’t going to drop the topic. “I wasn’t interested in most guys in college, not in a romantic sense, anyway. I like hanging around men, as a rule. I get them better than women. Women are all like . . . How do I look? Where’d you get those jeans? What are you wearing on Friday night so we can all look the same?” She rolled her eyes.
“But when it came down to it with men . . . to the . . .” she faded off, having difficulty finding the right words.
“Dirty details?” Ian supplied quietly.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she admitted, falling silent for a moment while the waiter served their beverages. They both placed their orders for lunch. After the waiter left, he glanced at her again as if waiting.