“Did he now?”
If the man sensed the danger lurking in her tone, he didn’t reveal it.
“Oui, mademoiselle. I’m to take you to your destination before you continue to Marseille.”
Hard to be angry at a thoughtful gesture even though her instincts were screaming at her to be cautious. Warily, she allowed the chauffeur to put her suitcase in the trunk and open the door. Black leather and cool air welcomed her into the luxurious interior.
The chauffeur hurried around and pulled away from the curb before she could change her mind. They passed the glass pyramid outside the Louvre, the sparkling waters of the Seine and the vivid green storefront of the legendary Shakespeare & Company, the sidewalk outside the shop crowded with shelves of books and tourists.
Just as she started to relax and enjoy the sights, her phone pinged. She pulled it out of her pocket and frowned as she read the message.
“‘Your train ticket has been refunded’?” she read aloud. She looked up just in time to see the limo pass by the bridge that would have led to the train station.
Realization hit first, followed by a swift rush of anger so intense she barely stopped herself from cursing out loud. So much for Alejandro letting her make her own decisions. Did he think he could arrange everything to his liking?
By the time the limo pulled into a private airfield thirty minutes later, she had reined in her temper to a manageable level. The limo drove straight onto the tarmac and stopped next to a jet with the letterCemblazoned on the side in scarlet. Alejandro stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, dark hair falling about his chiseled face. He looked like he’d just come from a magazine cover shoot—V-neck navy shirt stretched across his muscular chest, blue jeans hanging casually from his tapered waist. The grin he aimed at the window of the limo was playful. But beneath the casual smirk she now saw the edge, the determination in the firmness of his lips.
She’d underestimated Alejandro. Again. But, she reminded herself, each event like this gave her more insight into what she was fighting. It was a learning experience, not a failure.
“Buenos días, sol.”
She arched a brow as she drew nearer, hardening her heart with every click of her heels. “Sunshine?”
“You brighten up my day by accepting my invitation.”
“Invitation?” She returned his smile with a frigid one of her own. One that clearly let him know she would not be bought off nor controlled. “You and I have different definitions of invitation.Threatwould be more accurate.”
He stepped closer and whipped off his sunglasses. The intensity in his dark blue gaze almost made her step back. Almost. She stood straighter, one arm instinctively crossing over her waist.
Alejandro’s gaze dropped down to her belly, and he frowned.
“Do you truly think I would harm you? Harm our child?”
“Mychild. And no, not physically,” she admitted at the flash of what almost looked like hurt in his eyes. “But I don’t appreciate you rearranging my schedule or canceling my train tickets. That’s a violation of my privacy.”
The hint of emotion disappeared as swiftly as it had appeared, replaced by something hard and unsettling. Not the affable, immature playboy, but the man who had brought Cabrera Shipping back from the brink of ruin. An intelligent, driven man who, she was finding out the hard way, went after what he wanted.
What did it say about her, that instead of being angry or afraid, a thrill shot through her veins at the sight of that strength?
“You agreed to spend time with me, Calandra. To get to know me better. A three-hour train ride by yourself is not the way to accomplish that.”
“You canceled my ticket,” she repeated.
“Of course. How rude of me. Next time I’ll just let you pay for a ticket you’re not going to use.”
She didn’t know which was worse—that he had interfered in her travel plans and was showing absolutely no remorse, or that he was at least partially right. When he’d brought up traveling to Marseille as he escorted her back to her bed-and-breakfast after their trip to the Eiffel Tower, she’d interrupted him with a plea of a headache and rushed inside, away from what she’d known would be his suggestion that they travel together.
Before she stuck her foot in her mouth or, worse, apologized, she started to climb the stairs into the plane. A hand settled on her waist, and she bit back a gasp as electricity skipped across her skin and sent frissons of crackling warmth straight to her thighs. She turned and nearly came nose to nose with Alejandro. He stood on the step behind her, but with his impressive height, they were face-to-face. He kept his hand at her waist, his touch burning through the thin cloth of her dress.
Could he hear her heartbeat as it galloped through her chest? Did he see the rise and fall of her breasts as she tried to keep her breathing steady?
Slowly, ever so slowly, his fingers trailed from her hip, delicious, traitorous shivers radiating from his fingertips throughout her body.
And then he laid his hand flat across her belly. Possession tightened his face as his lips parted and his eyes grew dark. She was caught in a whirlwind of conflicting desires—the need to run away, far away, and the desire to lean in, to let go of her control and let him in.
“This child is ours, Calandra.” He leaned in, and for one brief, horrific, glorious moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. “Ours.”
Before she could gather her wildly spinning thoughts and utter a retort, a voice called out from behind her.