“What’s your townhouse like?”
He turned toward her. “Old.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “How old?”
“Old enough that the first residents used chamber pots. I have a collection of them.”
“Oh! Is that what you use?”
How refreshing that she’d come right out and asked. “No. The place has all the modern conveniences now. The last owner even installed an elevator, but I like taking the stairs.”
“And walking to the Louvre. That’s why you almost caught those muggers.”
“I would have, too, except for a busload of kids. They piled out right in front of me and I had to put on the brakes or I’d have run them down. By the time I worked my way through them, the muggers had disappeared.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted you to run over any little children to get my backpack.” She’d leaned her head against the seat.
“I wouldn’t have.”
“No.” She covered a yawn with her hand. “You’re a nice guy.” Her eyelids drifted down.
“Mm.” Some of his business associates might not agree with her. If he’d caught the muggers, they wouldn’t have thought so, either.
The steady sound of her breathing told him she was asleep. He could hardly blame her. She’d been on a plane all night long, and then she’d been assaulted. The good news was that she must feel safe with him or she never would have dropped off so easily. Apparently she trusted him.
And she had every reason to. He had no intention of taking advantage of this situation. But he had to admit she was damned appealing. And sexy in a subtle way that really got to him. He’d felt a connection from the moment he’d seen her standing in front of Notre Dame. And it wasn’t just because she was Texan. What he really noticed was that her face had reflected the same awe that had struck him when he’d first seen the cathedral twenty-five years ago.
From a distance, he’d sensed a kindred spirit. When he’d drawn closer, he’d been captured by a primitive tug of sexuality. Her snug jeans and red hoodie outlined the body of a flesh-and-blood Venus de Milo. Just as he’d decided to strike up a conversation, she’d been attacked.
He hated that, but considering how much closer it had brought the two of them, he couldn’t hate it too much. He would have spared her the trauma if he could have, but now . . . well, he’d have to see how things turned out.
Henri drove more sedately than usual, as if he didn’t want to jostle his sleeping passenger. Consequently she was still sleeping when the Mercedes stopped in front of Drew’s townhouse.
Speaking in a low voice, Drew instructed Henri to open Melanie’s door before getting the suitcase out of the trunk. The click of the door opening didn’t rouse her. When Drew walked around the car and crouched down to shake her awake, she murmured something he couldn’t understand and sleepily wrapped her arms around his neck. Apparently he’d be carrying her inside.
If he hadn’t felt like the great protector before, this maneuver would have done the trick. As he lifted her into his arms, he breathed in peppermint and wondered if she had a roll of them in her sweatshirt pocket. But under that scent he detected a sweet, womanly aroma that sent an urgent signal to his groin.
Cradling her soft body with one arm under her shoulders and the other behind her knees, he started up the walkway. She sighed and snuggled closer. Dear God, he was getting an erection. Not cool. Fortunately her cute little fanny covered his crotch, but that was part of the problem. Every step caused more friction between her bottom and his cock.
Henri had beaten him to the door with the suitcase. He opened it and stood back so Drew could turn sideways and ease through the doorway without bumping either Melanie’s head or her feet. Once inside, he glanced at the staircase. Not happening. Not three flights.
Smiling, Henri walked over to the elevator and pushed the button. Drew stepped inside and vowed he wouldn’t make fun of the contraption ever again. Initially he’d scoffed at the idea of an elevator for a three-story building, but then he’d never imagined hauling a sleeping woman up those stairs, either.
Moving with the silent grace of a cat burglar, Henri entered the elevator behind him and brought the suitcase along, too. Drew decided that Henri needed a raise. The driver had the rare quality of anticipating correctly what his employer needed.
The gilded elevator was beautiful but slow. Considering the circumstances, Drew appreciated the easy ascent. Now that they’d made it this far, he’d like to deposit Melanie on a bed without waking her. She’d probably be embarrassed as hell to find herself in his arms. Besides that, if she insisted on getting down, his arousal wouldn’t be a secret anymore.
When they left the elevator, Henri turned to Drew. “Bleu?” he said softly.
“Oui.” Drew had decided on the way up to put Melanie in the Blue Room. Other than his own bedroom, he liked the Blue Room the best. The other two on this floor were nice—one in shades of gold and the other decorated in green—but the blue was prettier.
In the five years he’d owned this place, he’d mostly entertained business associates here. Whenever he’d given them a choice, they’d picked the Blue Room. He’d brought one girlfriend here, thinking she’d enjoy Paris. He’d been wrong and she’d been miserable.
He couldn’t understand why anybody wouldn’t love this ancient city, with its centuries-old buildings and the Seine winding past all that historic architecture. Sure, the native language wasn’t English, but he liked the sound of French in his ears. Of course, it helped that he’d learned to speak it so easily at school. Maybe he’d been Parisian in another life.
Henri opened the door to the Blue Room and stepped back.
Drew glanced down to check whether Melanie was still asleep. Yep, out like a light. He edged through the doorway with the same care he’d used getting into the house and the elevator. Bonking her head at this stage would be criminal.
The Blue Room was at the front of the house with a view to the street, whereas his was at the back with a view of a small formal garden and courtyard below. That put Melanie all the way down the hall from him. The bulge in his jeans told him that was a very good idea.
The canopy bed held center stage and was draped with blue brocade trimmed with gold fringe and tassels. Matching curtains hung at the window. The antique furniture—an armoire, a writing desk, and an upholstered chair—could have come straight from Versailles. It hadn’t, but it had been purchased from an estate nearby.
Drew leaned over and laid Melanie on the brocade bedspread. Her eyelids didn’t even flicker. She was down for the count.
He stayed by her bedside, his back to Henri, and willed his erection to subside. He didn’t dare look at her lush mouth or he’d be tempted to kiss her, like some prince in a fairy tale. Except the kiss he had in mind didn’t belong in a kid’s storybook.
When he imagined kissing Melanie, it wasn’t some chaste brush of lips. Tongues would be involved, and heavy breathing, and unfastening of clothing, and . . . this wasn’t helping his condition at all. Taking a deep breath, he glanced across the room at a painting of fruit and flowers.
Technically, a still life created by some artist he couldn’t remember should calm him. Instead he pictured Melanie opening her petals to him, and himself as the banana in the fruit bowl.
Behind him, Henri unzipped Melanie’s suitcase and began quietly putting her clothes in the armoire. The slide of drawers was the loudest sound in the room, but it wasn’t enough to wake the sleeping beauty. Drew couldn’t stand beside the bed too much longer without looking like an idiot. He decided to take off her shoes. Nobody should sleep in their shoes.
She’d double-knotted them, and he struggled with the laces. That was good, though, because concentrating on her shoelaces took his mind off sex, and he was in much better shape by the time he eased one shoe from her foot. As he fiddled with the second shoe, she woke up.
She wasn’t slow about it, either. She sat straight up and glared at him. “What are you doing?”
He almost laughed, because her angry question was in sharp contrast to the gentle cuddle she’d given him while she was asleep. He stepped away from the bed. “I was taking off your shoes so you could be more comfortable.”
She frowned and surveyed her surroundings. “Oh. Now I remember.” Her gaze softened. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I forgot where I was.”
“You fell asleep in the car, so I carried you up here.”
“You did?” Her cheeks turned pink. “That’s embarrassing.”
“You were exhausted.”
“Yeah. Guess so. Still. I feel bad for conking out on you. I must have been heavy.”
“No.”
“Did you climb the stairs?”
He smiled. “Elevator.”
“That’s good.”
Henri cleared his throat. “C’est tout?”
Drew glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, that’s all for now, Henri. Merci.”
Henri nodded and left.
“This is nice.” Melanie glanced around the room. “Very nice. Thank you.”
“There’s a bathroom through that door.” Drew gestured toward it. “I’ll leave you alone so you can get some rest.” He hesitated. “Or are you hungry? I could have some food sent up.”
“No, I’m not hungry. They fed us constantly on the plane.”
“Then all you really need is sleep.” He backed toward the door.
Her gaze found his, and she looked uncertain. “Where will you be?”
His heart squeezed. In her dazed condition, he’d become her lifeline, and she didn’t want him to leave. “Just downstairs. I have an office on the first floor. It’s not hard to find.”
“Okay.”
“If you need anything, come and find me.”
“I will.”
He forced himself to walk out of the room and close the door behind him. But he felt as if he should be in there, holding her while she fell asleep again. How crazy was that?
Three
After Drew left, Melanie eased off the bed and prowled around the room. What a room it was, too. She fingered the thick fabric draping the bed. Marie Antoinette would have been thrilled with something like this.
The floor was hardwood, and the blue-patterned carpets looked like vintage Aubusson. Once again, if she hadn’t known Astrid, such things would have been lost on her. She should take a picture of this room to show her friends.
Then she remembered. She couldn’t take a picture of anything because she didn’t have a phone. She also hadn’t called Astrid to get the lowdown on Drew. Besides that, she should notify someone back home that she was not at the hotel she’d booked. If she called Astrid, that would accomplish everything at once. Astrid could attest to Drew’s character and also spread the word that Melanie’s plans had changed.
Much as she longed to climb under the covers in that beautiful canopy bed, she couldn’t do it until she’d borrowed Drew’s phone and made that call. She smiled as she imagined Astrid’s reaction to the news that she was in a historic townhouse within walking distance of Notre Dame, and the house belonged to none other than Drew Eldridge, who’d rescued her from a runaway horse.
But no matter how lovely the accommodations were, Melanie didn’t intend to sponge off Drew for the next five days. Once she had a credit card, she’d move out of Drew’s townhouse and then treat him to a nice meal as a gesture of gratitude.
Then she remembered her clothing situation. Drew’s idea of a nice meal would undoubtedly involve dressing up, and she hadn’t planned for that. She’d expected to explore Paris on her own, and elegant restaurants hadn’t figured into her wardrobe choices.
Well, she’d figure out something else, then. But first she had to head back downstairs and borrow Drew’s phone. He’d gone to the trouble of taking off one of her shoes, but she put it back on again and retied the laces of the other one.
Before leaving, she used her bathroom, which sparkled with gold-plated faucets, an enormous tub, and a sleek shower with a spotless glass door. The white towels looked like pure luxury. The designer had made room for both a toilet and a bidet.
Melanie had never seen a bidet, but she’d read about them. She knew the word was pronounced buh-day, and just saying it made her feel European and sort of sexy. After all, a bidet was designed for a quick wash of one’s private parts, so it would come in very handy if one were having lots of sex. Not that she would be.
Nope. This girl had no use for a bidet. But she could sure use a shower. After she’d made her call she’d come back up here, take a hot shower, and crawl into that big canopy bed. All the guidebooks suggested staying up until nighttime to readjust your body clock, but she wasn’t doing that. She’d had a rough morning.
The hallway was empty and silent. Maybe later she’d inspect the paintings hanging on the walls, but she was on a mission, so she started downstairs. The runner cushioning her steps glowed with red and gold threads, and the dark wood of the banister gleamed.
She slid her hand along it as she descended, and she wondered if kids had ever polished it with the seat of their pants. The house seemed too formal for children to play in, but if it had been here for centuries, they must have at some time.
Three flights down she finally heard noise, but most of it was coming up from a simple stairway that led to a basement level. She’d seen enough foreign movies to know that the servants probably stayed on the bottom floor, and they were the ones she could hear talking and laughing.
She paused in the foyer. Above her head a crystal chandelier glittered. To her left, double doors opened to what she would call a living room, but it might be known by a different name over here. She registered the contents as expensive, with vivid upholstery, polished wood, more art on the walls—no doubt originals—and a marble fireplace. But the room was empty, and Drew had said he’d be in his office, so she needed to find that.