One Kiss in... Paris. Robyn Grady

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      “Mateo, I’m confused.”

      He brought her near again and flicked a glance over his shoulder at the couple dancing nearby. “Blame Alex. He suggested it.”

      She tried to ignore the delicious press of his body, the masculine scent of his skin, the way his hard thigh nudged between hers as he rotated them around in a tight circle. “You know I don’t have money for a ticket to Europe.” Her jaw hardened. “And I won’t take any more charity.”

      “Even if you’d be doing me a favor, keeping me company?” His dark gaze, so close, roamed her face. “One good turn deserves another.”

      “That’s not fair.”

      His mouth turned into a solemn line. “There wouldn’t be any conditions.”

      Bailey blinked. Maybe because he was Mama’s grandson, she hadn’t considered he might be trying to buy more than her company.

      With the lights slowly spinning and couples floating by, oxygen burned in her lungs while she tried to come up with an appropriate reply to a question that had knocked her for a loop. After an agonizingly long moment, she felt the groan rumble in his chest and his grip on her hand loosen.

      “You’re right,” he said. “Crazy idea.”

      “It’s not that I wouldn’t like to go.” She’d always wanted to see Paris. It was her biggest disappointment that she’d planned to save France for last rather than enjoying that country first. “But I’ve just got back,” she explained. “I’m starting that job Monday.” She finished with the obvious excuse. “We don’t know each other.”

      He dismissed it with a self-deprecating smile. “Like I said. Forget I spoke.”

      But as his palm skimmed up her back and he tucked her crown under his chin while they continued to dance, although she knew she really should, Bailey couldn’t forget.

      At the end of the evening, she and Mateo dropped Natalie and Alex off then drove back to his place in a loaded silence.

      Her breathing was heavier than it ought to be. Was his heartbeat hammering as fast as hers, or was she the only one who couldn’t get that enthralling dance and tempting offer out of her mind? Mateo had asked her to jet away to France with him. What had he been thinking? What was she thinking still considering it after having already told him no?

      Bailey pressed on her stomach as her insides looped.

      Admittedly, she was uniquely attracted to Mateo Celeca; he had a presence, a confidence that was difficult to ignore. But how did she feel about him beyond the physical? Yesterday, after he’d tried to degrade her over the money she’d loaned, she’d thought him little more than a self-serving snob. And yet, tonight, when she’d met his friends … had been his date …

      Her stomach looped again.

      After that episode with Emilio, the last thing she wanted was to get caught up in a man. Any man. Even when he gave generously to the orphanage where he’d spent his earliest years. Even when she felt as if she’d found a slice of heaven in his arms.

      Since that dance, the air between them had crackled with a double dose of anticipation and electricity. If, when they got home, they started talking, got to touching, she didn’t know if she’d want to stop.

      After they pulled into the garage, Mateo opened her door and helped her out. Their hands lingered, the contact simmered, before his fingers slipped from hers and he moved to unlock the internal door and flick on the lights. Gathering herself—straightening her dress and patting down her burning cheeks—Bailey followed into the kitchen.

      “Care for a nightcap?” he asked, poised near the fridge.

      Bailey clasped the pocketbook Natalie had loaned her under her chin and, resolute, made a believable excuse.

      “I’m beat. Practically dead on my feet. Think I’ll go straight up and turn in.”

      As she headed out, Bailey laughed at herself. He might not even want to kiss her. She could be blowing this awareness factor all out of proportion. But prevention was always better than cure. She’d accepted his invitation to stay a couple more nights. She didn’t want to do something they both might regret in the morning. And if they got involved that way, there would be regrets. Neither was looking for a relationship. She certainly didn’t want to get caught up in a man who, only yesterday, had as good as called her thief. A man who might set her pulse racing but who could never get serious about a woman in her situation.

      And yet, he had asked her to France….

      When Mateo reached the foot of the staircase, he stopped and turned to face her. Standing there, simply gazing at one another in the semi-darkness, she had this silly urge to play down the scene, stick out a hand and offer to shake. But, given past experience, probably best they didn’t touch.

      “Thank you for the lovely evening,” she said.

      “You’re welcome.”

      Still, he didn’t move.

      “Well …” Clutching her pocketbook tighter, she set a foot onto the lowest stair. “Good night.”

      “Good night, Bailey.”

      When she began to climb, he started up too. They ascended together until they hit a point where the stairs divided into separate branches. A fork in the road.

      Her stomach twisting with nerves, she chanced a look across. He was looking at her too, a masculine silhouette a mere arm’s length away.

      Swirling desire pooled low in her belly and she frowned. “You’re not moving.”

      “Neither are you.”

      Rolling back her shoulders, she issued a firm and final, “Good night.”

      She hiked the rest of the stairs, right to the top. But before she could head off down to her suite, curiosity won out again. She edged a gaze over her right shoulder, to where she’d left Mateo standing seconds ago. What she saw sent her heart dropping in her chest.

      He was gone. And wasn’t that what she’d wanted? What she knew was best for both their sakes?

      Still, she stared at that vacant spot a moment more, feeling strangely empty and no longer so pretty in her pink designer dress. Shifting her weight, she finally rotated back … and ran right into Mateo’s solid chest.

      Her heels balanced on the edge of the stairs, Bailey toppled back. But before she could fall, his arm hooked around her waist, pulling her effortlessly against him. Déjà vu. With the bodice of her dress pinned to his chest—with every one of her reflexes in a tailspin—she worked to catch her breath before croaking out, “I thought you were tired.”

      “You said you were tired.” His dark eyes gleamed. “I’m wide awake.”

      When she felt his hardness pressed against her belly, she gulped down another breath only to feel him grow harder still. Any doubts she may have had were blown away. The way her own blood was throbbing, taking this steadily growing attraction further seemed frighteningly inevitable.

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