“Look at how many people you’re surrounded by. There’s no privacy.”
“All of the servants have signed non-disclosure agreements.”
She pulled a face. “That’s not quite the same thing.”
“But it is a safeguard against your personal business ending up in the newspapers.”
The maid returned, placing a glass of orange juice on the table, as well as a small wicker basket of pastries. When they were alone again, Skye lifted her brows, as if to say, I told you so.
“Staff are essential to the running of a large house like this.”
“And to apartments like yours?”
“Yes, I have staff,” he admitted with a gruff tone to his voice.
“I just couldn’t get used to it,” she said again, shrugging her shoulders. “But that doesn’t really matter, because I don’t have to. In a matter of weeks, I’ll be out of your stunning, gilded, very not-private life, and on my way back to an existence as a nobody in Australia.”
“Yes,” he responded, his voice giving little away.
Her stomach tightened. She reached for a pastry—having not eaten since the night before—and took a bite, crumbs flaking over her shirt. She grimaced, dashing a hand at them impatiently. “But don’t you ever want to be alone?”
“I’m alone often.”
“Are you?”
His eyes bore into hers. “Meaning?”
“Well, tuning out staff isn’t the same thing. It seems to me that you go from the office where you have administrative staff to the car which is driven by a staff member, to your home where there are more staff.”
“Not at night.”
“Ah, yes, you’re right.” She teased him with a smile then took another bite of the pastry. “This is so good,” she enthused, not caring now about the crumbs that were covering her front.
He nodded. “Strange, I never really thought about the issue of staff. I suppose they make my life run smoothly.”
“Of course. My point is that you and I are very different people, and we live very, very different lives. So for me, coming here like this, it spins me out a bit, that’s all.”
“We’ll leave this afternoon.”
“We don’t have to,” she shook her head. “Naturally you want to spend time with your family—,”
“I came because I thought he was dying,” Matthieu said with a shake of his head. “But his health is improving once more.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she frowned, finishing off the pastry and wiping her hands together. “Mind if I ask you something personal?”
“Isn’t that sort of our deal?”
“I guess.” She bit down on her lip, searching for words. “The ‘complexity’ of your relationship with your grandparents. Does that extend to your aunt?”
“Definitely.”
“Ah,” she sipped her orange juice. “I thought—,” but just as she was about to finish the sentence, she saw the woman in question appear across the terrace, elegant in a long black dress with a grey head scarf keeping her hair in order. “Speak of the devil,” she muttered.
Matthieu scanned Skye’s face. “She’s here?”
“Uh huh.”
“Then we’d better give her a show.” And before Skye could guess his intention, Matthieu had leaned forward to kiss her, his lips claiming hers quickly, perfectly, his mouth on hers hot and demanding, despite the fact they were far from alone. She cared about that for all of two seconds before she surrendered completely to the passion of his possession, losing herself in his kiss, his needs, his masterful playing of her, stirring her senses to a fever pitch.