He remembered every single thing about every single encounter with her. Did she think that was normal?
Her brow crinkled with disgruntlement and she set her chin mutinously, but there was something incredibly vulnerable in her expression. She was trying to resist him and finding it hard. If he had any morals, he’d protect her against the lothario in him.
Damn it, he was so desperate to kiss her and show her...
Jamming a desultory foot against the opposite seat, he tilted back his head and groaned at the roof. Since when did he show mercy? Care? Use words to communicate rather than actions?
“I realize that walking out on you that night, when you took that call from her, was insulting,” he said, searching for the right thing to say. “I’ve been regretting ever since that I didn’t stay and try to find a compromise. I want to keep seeing you, Natalie. I like what we had. You told me you weren’t looking for marriage and picket fences, either. Was that a lie?”
“No,” she admitted after a weighty moment, voice low. “I have my own version of that already.” She nosed toward the suburban street the limo had slowed to navigate.
It was a quaint old neighborhood of new mansions and restored heritage homes, mature trees and lopsided snowmen waving from the front yards. Not far from the city center, he noted. Quite the upscale location.
“Exactly how much does my brother pay you?” he asked.
She chuckled self-consciously. “My grandfather was an architect. He built the house and my mother inherited it, then it came to me. My mortgage paid for a new roof and some other updates along with the estate taxes, but the actual house was paid off years ago.”
The limo turned into her drive and stopped. He leaned forward to look up at the charming two-story—three, since she appeared to have a basement. Steps rose to a covered and recessed front door. He liked how she’d married the 1940s architecture with efficient replica windows and modern siding.
“Invite me in to see it,” he said as the chauffeur left to come around to her side.
She shook her head, gaze flicking to the back window of the limo. He glanced across the street to where a pair of little girls, bundled in snowsuits, climbed the berm of plowed snow to exclaim at the fancy car.
“Zoey walked home with her friend’s mom, but will be hungry for dinner.”
Inexplicably, he found himself about to insist she introduce him to her daughter, but he could already see the shadows of refusal building behind her eyes.
“When can we have dinner? Friday?” he asked, holding her pensive gaze. Willing her to capitulate.
She hesitated. “I don’t know where this could go.”
“Don’t you?” he wanted to ask, but schooled himself from stealing a kiss to demonstrate.
She gave him a look that was a mixture of scold and hurt and yearning. Then she shot another look out the back window. “I have to go,” she insisted, reaching for the door latch.
The moment she did, the chauffeur, who’d taken himself around to wait for her, opened her door.
“Friday,” Demitri said, helping her gather her bags. “I’ll be here at six.”
“I...” Her attention was torn between him and the girl across the street. “I’ll meet you in the city,” she finally ceded.
He howled with triumph inside, but shook his head sternly. “You know my feelings on that. I’ll be here.”
She might have protested, but a happy cry of “Mom!” cut her off.
She straightened and urged the chauffeur to close the door, calling, “Stop and look for cars! Is it safe? Then yes, you can come across.”
A moment later, she took a full-body hit in the middle from a girl with a purple hat and a yellow jacket who wrapped her arms around Natalie and beamed up at her. Her reddened nose topped a profile that was a rounder, younger version of Natalie’s. He hadn’t anticipated that she’d look like her mother, or have that same bright glow of optimism that he found so likable in Natalie.
“Why did you come home in this big car?” her high voice asked, audible through the glass. “Can I see inside?”
“A friend gave me a lift. How was school?” Natalie steered the girl to start up the front steps with her.
Natalie’s daughter stopped and turned as the limo began to back out. She waved, but Natalie only watched, a troubled look on her face, bottom lip worried by her teeth.
* * *
Arriving home to find Zoey outside at the neighbor’s had forestalled Natalie really working through everything that Demitri had said. She kept trying to tell herself that it didn’t matter that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. Or that, according to him, he hadn’t used her, either. He thought what they’d had was good.
He still didn’t want a future. He didn’t want anything more than the casual arrangement they’d had in Paris. Actually, he wanted less, since he lived in New York. How would a relationship—an affair—even work? She definitely shouldn’t cheapen herself by agreeing to one.
Except when he’d reminded her that she’d claimed not to want marriage and more children, an unexpected greed for something had risen in her. No, she wouldn’t dare ask for the full package. Look how dreaming too big had stung her in Lyon. But it felt awfully good to have someone tell her she looked good, stroking her ego and her skin, before kissing her in a way that made her blood race.
Oh, she knew exactly what had happened. The charm train had rolled into the station and she was tempted to climb aboard, forgetting that she’d been dumped from it once before.
She agonized all day Thursday, then spent every spare moment on Friday drafting lies and excuses, going so far as to type them into her phone, but never hitting Send.
I have to work late.
I’ll be in the city anyway.
I’m sick.
Zoey is sick.
Zoey was away for the weekend at her grandmother’s. Yes, a wicked part of Natalie had wanted to be available to whatever Demitri might plan, but now that her workday was done and she was ruminating in front of her closet, she had to ask herself what the heck she thought she was doing.
She’d made her peace with being single after breaking up with Heath. Demitri had stirred up a pile of longings in her while they’d been in France, a vision she’d blacked out because it was so far-fetched, especially because it starred him. It would definitely be better if he disappeared as abruptly as he’d shown up.
Which was exactly what she’d tell him over dinner, she assured herself.
Then he showed up looking all alpha and sexy in a cream-colored mock turtleneck under a fitted blazer in chocolate brown. It had a casual formality that lent him authority and command. And he brought flowers and a bottle of wine, which nearly finished off whatever defenses she had.
“No chocolates?” she mused facetiously, trying not to melt into a puddle of submission.
He looked at the items in his hands, expression blanking with surprise. “They’re in the limo.”
“No way!” she burst out with a laugh. “I was joking.”
He stared at her, making her self-conscious. A pleased, answering smile twitched his mouth. “That laugh gets me every time,” he said, voice husky and intimate. Affected? “I’ll be right back.” He pushed the wine and bouquet into her hands and left.
She did the only sensible thing she could do. She moved through to the kitchen to put the flowers in water, using them as a shield of busywork so he didn’t completely disarm her when he returned.
Snowflakes glittered in his hair when he came back. He set a large, flat wooden box on the kitchen table.
Her eyes popped when she saw the gold-embossed name. He’d bought them a pair of those truffles from a specialty shop in Switzerland as if it was penny candy, even though he’d turned over a very large note for them. Eating hers had been a peak life experience. Now he’d brought her a whole box of them?
Shrugging out of his jacket, he draped it over the back of a chair and reached for the wine, beginning to peel the foil off the neck. “You look fantastic.”
“Tickets, please,” the conductor said, and she found herself with one foot on the Demitri Heartbreak Express, all of her tingling with excitement.
Check yourself, Natalie. Where on earth did she think this train was going? This wasn’t France and fancy-free time. This was nine-to-five, get-the-groceries, be-a-mother-and-set-a-decent-example time. Sure, he had money and turned up with fringe benefits, but she couldn’t count on him any more than she could on Heath.
“I bought it in Lyon,” she said of the dress. She’d found it on one of her many excursions out of the hotel to avoid all those speculative looks. Remember that? she scolded herself.
The dress was a thick knit that fell to just above her knees, the wool speckled with green-and-gold tones. She’d paired it with a filmy gold scarf and a narrow belt. Her tall boots, pretty much her regulation attire from November to February, would jazz it up, but it wasn’t deliberately sexy or seductive. She might as well be in a bikini, though, given the way he scoped her from top to bottom and back.