One Kiss in... Paris: The Billionaire's Bedside Manner / Hired: Cinderella Chef / 72 Hours - Robyn Grady

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reached and took her hand again, angling her wrist to study the charms. “Have you added to it since your sixteenth?”

      “It’s never felt quite right. It’d have to be a really special charm.” She didn’t own much, but this possession was sacred. Not that her father would understand that. Even now he probably thought she was a day away from harming or losing it.

      “What about you?” She asked, looking up from their twined hands; hers looked so small and pale compared to his. “Do you have any childhood mementos hidden away?”

      Mateo’s gaze grew distant and his brows knitted before he shook his head. “No. Nothing material.”

      Bailey’s heart went out to him. Given all his chattels back in Sydney, that answer made sense.

      “But I do have something,” he said. “A memory I treasure.”

      She sat straighter. “Memories are good.”

      “The day Ernesto came back to the Chapelle for me. It was spring and everyone was playing outdoors. He called me over, beside that old oak and he said, ‘Mateo, if you’d like to be my son …'” His Adam’s apple bobbed before he seemed to come back from that distant spot. Then he shrugged and gave an offhanded smile. “How’s that. I’ve forgotten the rest.”

      From the way his dark eyes glistened, she didn’t think so. But she understood. Memories were the most valuable of all keepsakes. He was entitled to protect his. He’d certainly given her some amazing memories these past days to cherish.

      Leaning closer, she confessed with all her heart, “I’ll never forget our time here.”

      When his gaze darkened more and his jaw jutted almost imperceptibly, Bailey sat back as a shadowy feeling slid through her. They’d shared so much. Seemed to have gotten so close. But was that open admission too much? Had she sounded too much the lovesick schoolgirl?

      But then a smile swam up in his eyes and the tension seemed to fall from his shoulders. He lifted her hand, dropped a light kiss on the underside of her wrist and murmured against her skin, “I won’t forget either.”

      After dinner they strolled again, but the weather had turned even chillier and, while they’d been lucky so far, Bailey smelled rain on the way. She tried her best but when she couldn’t keep her teeth from chattering, Mateo stopped to turn and envelope her in his coat-clad arms.

      “I’ll take you back to the suite,” he said.

      Her heart fell. “I don’t want to go in yet.”

      “We can always come back.”

      Come back? She searched his eyes. Was she reading him right? “You mean … to France?”

      “And sooner than I usually plan.”

      Bailey couldn’t take a breath. It was a generous, wonderful offer but … should she read more into it? She supposed she ought to ask herself, How much more did she want? They’d been sleeping together, enjoying each other’s company, but did she want a relationship, if that’s what he was saying?

      Her smile quavered at the corners as she tried to contain her whirling mix of emotions. As they headed for a cab stand, she smiled a jumpy smile and said, “I’d like that.”

       Thirteen

      Mateo made love to Bailey that night feeling both content and never more conflicted. Caressing her silken curves as they played upon the sheets … kissing every sensual inch of her and only wishing there were more. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to keep this woman in his life even if, with every passing hour, he felt himself treading farther into dangerous ground.

      After the Emilio affair, it was safe to presume Bailey wasn’t interested in exchanging vows and wedding bands. He’d invited her back to Paris and she’d agreed. Would she presume, too, that he would also invite her to live under his roof on a more permanent basis? In time, would she expect more? Deeper commitment?

      Diamond rings?

      Mateo slept on the problem and when they stepped out to bid the City of Light good morning, with Bailey looking so vibrant and fresh on his arm, he made a decision—one he hoped she would be happy with. But now wasn’t the time to discuss it.

      He arranged for them to spend the morning on a cruise, absorbing the sights from a different point of view. They boarded near the Pont-Neuf Bridge.

      “Its name literally means the new bridge,” Mateo said as they settled into window seats beneath a Perspex roof that allowed an unhindered view of the sights, including the many graceful arches of the stone bridge. “But this is the oldest bridge in Paris.”

      Bailey narrowed her gaze on a distant point then tipped forward. “Look there.”

      She pointed out a couple standing at the center of this side of the bridge in the midst of a passionate kiss. Before their lips parted, the man swept the woman up in his arms and twirled her around. They were both laughing, bursting with happiness.

      Bailey melted back into her seat. “I bet he just proposed.”

      Mateo’s chest tightened at her words, at her tone. Shifting, he got comfortable again and explained, “The Pont-Neuf is rumored to be one of the most romantic places in the city.”

      She laughed. “Is there anywhere in Paris that isn’t romantic?”

      He gave an honest reply. “Not this trip.”

      All expression seemed to leech from her face before she blushed … her cheeks, her neck. From the look, she’d gone hot all over. That made him smile but also made him want to pull back. He really ought to rein it in. Although she knew his mind on the subject, he didn’t want to confuse the issue. Companionship was good. A marriage proposal was not.

      After a leisurely time enjoying the sights from the river, he helped her off the boat. Her posture and thoughtful look told him she wasn’t looking forward to leaving this behind and boarding that jet. But he had one more surprise before they left. One that would, hopefully, surpass all the others.

      As they meandered along the avenue, she said, “Suppose we’d better get back to the suite and pack.”

      He kept a straight face. “I need to duck in somewhere first.”

      “Souvenir shopping?”

      He twined her arm around his. “In a way.”

      He hailed a passing cab. When they arrived at their destination, Bailey didn’t seem able to speak. Her eyes merely sparkled, edged with moisture, as she clasped her hands under her chin.

      “It didn’t seem right that we leave without visiting here,” he said, stepping out from the cab.

      “The Paris Opera,” she breathed.

      “I have tickets, but the matinee starts soon.” He extended his hand to help her out. “Let’s hurry.”

      He escorted her toward a magnificent facade adorned with numerous towering rose-marble columns. The highest level was bookended by two large gilded statues. The interior luxury, including mosaic covered ceiling and multiple chandeliers, had been compared to the corridors in Versailles. When Bailey spotted the 98-foot high marble grand staircase—the one his own was based on—she gasped and held her throat. As he took her arm and escorted her up the flight, she looked over and beamed.

      “I don’t need a ball gown or glass slippers. No one could feel more like Cinderella than I do now.”

      When they emerged from the theater, she was floating. She literally couldn’t feel her feet descending those incredible grand stairs. The performance was a thoroughly beautiful ballet Bailey knew she would dream about for months.

      As they made their way toward the

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