Maureen Child - Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair - Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair

“Good.” He nodded.

“Maybe you can go find her for me,” she said, her hint to leave none too subtle.

“About Charlotte…I thought you might need someone to talk to.” He plucked a couple of grapes from the breakfast tray and popped them into his mouth.

“That’s my decision to make.”

“Hey—” he thumped his chest “—I’m trying to be nice here.”

“No hidden agendas?”

“Who me?” He pinched up another purple grape.

“Said the spider to the fly.”

“Forgive me?” He brought the plump fruit to her mouth, caressing it along her lips, reminiscent of how they’d fed each other strawberries and champagne.

She bit the grape, nipping his fingers none too gently in the process. “Not yet.”

Yet? That meant he had a chance to get in her good graces again, a prospect that became all the more important as even her playful bite sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin.

Bella swallowed the grape, her tongue flicking over her lips.

“What did you mean about kidnapping me?” she asked, her voice throaty and confidential.

Victory shot a second jolt through him almost as strong as desire. “I thought you might like to spend time in France somewhere other than cooped up in a hotel.”

Her nose scrunched. “And run through the gauntlet of reporters? I don’t think so.”

He looped the scarf over her head and dropped the sunglasses in her lap. “Put those acting skills of yours to work and change up your walk a bit, take on an accent. Leave the rest to me. I’m willing to bet you could plow through your entire Christmas shopping list before a single photo is snapped…unless you would rather go home.”

She winced.

Good. Score one for his master plan.

“Come on, Bella. I have Christmas shopping of my own to take care of and I could really use your help in choosing something for my mother. So?” he pressed. “Are you in?”

“Well, I haven’t had time to shop for gifts.” Finally, her face cleared and she sighed. “All right. Find my dog and you can take me shopping.”

He held back his smile of victory.

“I need to shower first.”

His body stirred at even the thought of her naked under the spray of water. Too bad he couldn’t convince her to skip shopping altogether and spend the day in bed together.

She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You are not invited to join me.”

“Muffin and I will be waiting.”

If only every day could end with coffee and a handsome man, the Eiffel Tower silhouetted in the distance.

Bella tightened the gold scarf draped over her head, but she’d ditched the large sunglasses since the sun was setting. Besides, they were indoors, tucked away in a corner of a small Parisian café. The scent of espresso wound through the restaurant, the soft chatter of native speakers soothed her with its melodious cadences.

So far Sam had done a brilliant job at evading the press, arranging a limo and extra security at one side entrance while spiriting her away to a private car out another. The plan had gone off without a hitch, but then he was full of surprises today.

Sam had told her he intended to take her shopping. He hadn’t mentioned they would be flying to Paris in his personal jet.

They’d left her dog at the hotel. Sam had reassured her that his assistant—Parrington—would take care of Muffin’s walks, food and water. Muffin would be happier playing, after all, rather than being carted around in her carrier all day.

He was right. Besides, juggling the little crate and her packages could be tough. She’d bought so much, they’d already left a load in their chauffeured car. She hadn’t had time to do any Christmas shopping with the hectic prerelease publicity schedule for Honor. She’d certainly fixed that problem now.

Somewhere around the fourth store, her anger at Sam for interfering had diminished to mere irritation. She didn’t totally trust him. After all, what man actually wanted to go shopping? Yet he hadn’t made even one move on her since they’d left the hotel. She would simply keep a wary eye on him.

A guitarist in the corner crooned “The First Noel” in French while Bella sipped her black coffee contentedly, eyeing the rest of her dessert and wondering if she dared pack on more calories. The answer? Definitely. The poire au chocolat —a Bosc pear, cooked in wine, dipped in chocolate, served with whipped cream—was irresistible.

She speared another bite, as the couple at the next table left, speaking in French at the speed of light. “I’m never going to fit into my dress for the movie premiere if I let you keep feeding me like this.”

He cocked a brow. “You look fabulous and you know it. Quit fishing for compliments.”

“Ouch.” Her irritation sparked higher. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Of course, most people had no way of knowing how hard an actress had to fight to stay competitive in an absurdly weight-conscious business. Bella had never been one of those stars accused of being anorexic, after all, she liked her food. But to remain in an industry where she was photographed constantly, she had to be extremely disciplined. One day, when she’d had enough of Hollywood, she planned to celebrate with a ten-day doughnut spree. All doughnuts. All the time.

He toasted her with his coffee, the bone china absurdly delicate in his large hand. “I’m a no B.S. kind of guy.”

“I guess there’s honor in that.” She forced down miffed feelings and savored another bite, her eyes closing in ecstasy. “I love food, but it’s true what they say about the camera adding pounds. I work out a lot. I decided early on I would not spend my life living on rice cakes and cocaine.”

“Admirable.” He seemed surprised, darn him. “Did your personal trainer come along?”

She snorted and quickly dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Don’t have one. Sure I consult with trainers on how to target problem areas, but honestly, I have such a large entourage following me around with a camera documenting everything I do, I prefer to exercise alone. Well, except for Muffin of course. Muffin needs lots of exercise too or she misbehaves. So when I walk on the treadmill, she runs circles around me. I enjoy bike rides and she trots alongside. If she gives out, I have a carrier attached to the back of the seat…”

She paused mid-ramble and stared across the table at Sam who was watching her intensely. The sunset through the window cast shadows on his leanly handsome face. Had he truly been listening or was he a B.S. artist after all? Because she truly didn’t have a clue why he’d signed on for a shopping trip today. Most men would have avoided this like the plague.

Bella ducked closer to him, careful to keep her voice low so the waiter angling past wouldn’t overhear. “Why are we doing this? What do you hope to gain?”

“I enjoyed last night,” he said simply. “I don’t see why it has to be a one-time deal.”

She’d been wondering, half expecting this all day, but hadn’t wanted to face the inevitable discussion. Spending time with him had been more fun—laid back and easy—than she’d expected.

Now that was coming to an end. “Weren’t you listening to me when I poured my heart out to you over supper? My life is a mess. I’m not in any shape for a relationship.”

She wasn’t in any shape to withstand more hurt.

“I never said I wanted a relationship.” He set his coffee back on the small café table and leaned on his elbow, closer, intent. “No offense meant, but I am most definitely not looking to marry you.”

She leaned back, her cheeks puffing out a sigh that played with the flickering candle in the middle of their table. “Wow, no need to soft soap it.”