He’d done something to her. She wasn’t sure if it happened with the kiss or sometime before. Maybe even while she was watching him during his concert. Something was different inside her—in her brain and her body. She hadn’t felt true arousal for years. It pained her to admit that she’d lost those feelings for her husband at least a decade ago. She felt deep affection for him but none of the zing that had accompanied their caresses in the early years of their marriage.
Yes, she’d done her duty in the bedroom, but she hadn’t fully enjoyed it for a long time. She’d assumed her lack of interest was due to normal changes in the body and brain due to growing older. Really, it would be distasteful if older people wandered around pawing at each other the way young ones did.
Wouldn’t it?
And now suddenly she had all those awkward, uncomfortable, hot, sticky feelings pulsing and churning inside her like she was twenty again. It was undignified and downright disturbing!
The last thing she needed was to find herself in close proximity to the man who’d jump-started her rusting motor.
Where was her lipstick? She searched the bathroom, then looked on the dressing room table. Perhaps it was in her handbag? She hadn’t been outside without lipstick on in decades, and there was press everywhere in Paris. It was her royal duty to look the part at all times.
She knelt down and peered under the bed. Yes! The gold tube gleamed in the shadows. It must have fallen and been kicked under there. She reached an arm in and—
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Mom, let me in.”
“I told you to wait downstairs.”
“I know. Do I always listen to you?”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” She grabbed the lipstick and climbed to her feet, heart pounding. She had to get out of there without Callista seeing the flowers. She hadn’t been able to think of a way to get rid of them without drawing attention. It was awkward to ask housekeeping to remove them.
She patted her hair back into place and headed for the door. If she could just slip out and— She pulled on the handle and tried to ease her way through the open crack.
“Not so fast. I came up because I need to use the bathroom.”
“There’s one in the lobby.”
“There’s a closer one up here. Do you have a man hiding in there or something?” Callista lifted a brow. “You’re up to something! What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” insisted Lina, upset that she already looked and sounded guilty when she hadn’t actually done anything at all.
“Then let me in.”
Reluctantly she stepped aside and let her daughter in. “It’s a mess. The maid didn’t come yet.”
“What beautiful flowers!” Callista made a beeline for them. She grabbed the tag. Lina closed her eyes and cursed herself for not removing it.
“Whoa, these are from Amadou Khadem? Mom! What’s going on here? Are you having an affair with him?” Her daughter’s eyes were wide as saucers.
“I most certainly am not.”
“Then why is he sending you flowers?” She picked up the card on the next vase. At least he’d had the common sense not to write anything compromising in his notes. Each one simply said “To Carolina, from Amadou.”
“Three bouquets?” She picked up the third tag. “Have you seen him again?”
“No.” She sighed. “He’s asked me out several times. I wish he’d stop.”
“Why? He’s dreamy. Do you think he’d notice if I went instead?”
“Let’s see, age difference aside, I’m blonde sprinkled with silver and have blue eyes and you have curly chestnut hair and green eyes.”
“Men aren’t all that observant.” Callista winked. “Seriously, though. He must be kind of crazy about you.”
Lina shrugged. “I’m not really sure what’s going on in his mind. But I know my own mind. I’ll always be your father’s wife and that’s that.”
“Mom! You can’t just wall yourself up in Dad’s tomb. You have a lot of life to live. You should at least be open to dating.”
“Why? So I can get my heart broken in public by a famous musician? The paparazzi are merciless. You know what they did to Princess Diana right here in Paris.”
“That was years ago.”
“And you really think things are different? If I went on a date—especially with someone famous like him—I’d be opening myself up to be preyed on by vultures. I’d rather stay home with a good book.”
Callista sighed. “You do have a point. But maybe some quiet country gentleman could work? Someone respectable, who the paparazzi wouldn’t care about.”
“Someone nice and dull who collects claret and lives to shoot ducks and hunt rare mushrooms.” Lina had to laugh.
“Exactly.”
“Like I said, I’d prefer a good book. Are you going to use the bathroom, or are we just going to stand here all morning? I want to see the Renoir exhibit before it gets too crowded.”
“Won’t be a minute.” Callista vanished into the bathroom, and Lina ripped the cards off the flowers and threw them in the bin. If anyone else waltzed in here, at least they wouldn’t know she was under siege by Amadou. And what did he want with her, anyway?
He probably just wanted to break her heart as revenge for her carelessly breaking his all those years ago.
Her phone pinged. If you’ll have dinner with me I’ll stop sending flowers.
She had to laugh. Maybe it would be worth it. She could have dinner with him and tell him—to his face—exactly how she felt and that their kiss had been a one-off mistake and that they were both grown-ups with completely incompatible lives and—
On that condition, I will have dinner with you.
Her thumb pressed send before she could retract it.
I’ll pick you up in your lobby at eight.
Adrenaline surged through her at the thought of people seeing them together. Can we meet somewhere more private?
Of course. I’ll arrange for dinner in my suite and send a car for you.
She gulped. That certainly would be private. Private enough to get her into a whole world of trouble…
Chapter 7
The driver called to say he was outside and Lina hurried down, hoping she didn’t look too overdressed. How did you dress for a private assignation in an ex-lover’s hotel room? Especially if he was an international celebrity? She decided on a sleek black dress with a simple necklace of uncut gems, as if she were going out to dinner at a fine restaurant. High heels, too, so he wouldn’t tower over her.
The driver made no effort at conversation, and in a few minutes they pulled up in front of one of Paris’s most extravagant hotels. She’d stayed there herself a few times when in town with her husband. Now she preferred something more low-key. Amadou had given her his room number, so she passed through the opulent lobby without going near the front desk or giving her name to anyone.
Thank goodness for modern technology.
Her pulse ratcheted up as she took the elevator to the top floor. You’re here to tell him there’s nothing between you. To be polite and kind and wish him well, then get on with the rest of your life. She couldn’t have him sending her extravagant bouquets, thinking that something more would happen between them.
He opened the door to his suite as she got off the elevator, so she had to walk toward him, eyes on him and his on her, for the entire length of the hallway. She instantly regretted overdressing. He wore a white T-shirt and dark jeans and his feet were bare, as if she were coming over to watch TV with him back in his one-room garret in Zurich. Not that he’d had a TV. Too prosaic for him.
He didn’t say anything at all until he’d stepped aside to usher her in, then closed the door behind her. “I’m so glad you came.” He didn’t kiss her or try to take her in his arms or any of the things she’d been ready to resist. “It was a good idea to meet privately, away from the prying eyes of the press.”
“This hotel is not where I would have pictured you.” She looked around at the vast suite with its expansive views toward the Arc de Triomphe and its elaborate furnishings. “You must have changed a lot.”
It sounded like censure, and maybe it was. It was somehow disappointing that someone so unmaterialistic as Amadou now chose to live in quasi-imperial splendor.
He shrugged. “When in Rome, tu sais? This is what people expect of me. My surroundings mean little to me, so why disappoint them?”
“I suppose I take the same view of mine. You do get used to palatial splendor after a while, don’t you?” She giggled, surprising herself. Uh-oh. That schoolgirl giddiness had come back. Maybe it would have been better if they had shared a quick peck on the cheek. Not touching him at all worsened the sexual tension between them.
“Champagne?” He indicated a bottle chilling in a silver ice bucket. A comically retro touch considering she could see a full bar with a series of refrigerators. “It’s from Altaleone.”
“That was sweet of you. I know we brag about our champagne being the finest on earth, but I don’t suppose it’s really true.”
“Any champagne drunk in your presence would be the finest to me.” He said it simply without a hint of garish flirtation as he poured them both glasses. Their fingertips brushed as he handed her glass to her, and she could swear she felt a jolt of electricity shoot to her toes.
“Thanks.”
“To the future.” He raised his glass to her.
“Which is a little scary right now, but I’ll embrace it.”
“Why scary?” He sipped his champagne.
Damn, why did he have to look so good? His tall, broad frame and even his slim bare feet were doing something strange to her insides.
She sighed. “I’m alone now, for the first time in…forever.”
The compassion in his eyes made her wish she could eat her words. The last thing she’d intended was to come here with what sounded like a plea for companionship.
“I envy you your big family. I don’t imagine they’ll be as distant as you expect.”
“I know. I suppose that adapting to change isn’t my strong point. But you surprised me when you said you envied me. I thought you said you didn’t want children.”
“I didn’t.” He surveyed her over his glass.
“You didn’t say or you didn’t want them?”
“Both, I guess.” His mouth hitched in a smile. “But there are times when I wonder what my life would have been like if I had been crazy enough to start a family.”
“It’s not too late. You could do like most male celebrities and marry a woman half your age.” She congratulated herself on sounding like she cared little about whom he slept with.
He laughed. “No, thanks.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I? I prefer a mature woman with years of wisdom to share with me.” His dark gaze drifted over her face, and she could swear she felt heat from it travel across the room.
Flatterer. Shame it was working so well. She teetered in her high heels on the thick carpet.
“Come, sit down.” He gestured to the elegant sofa. “The kitchen will send dinner as soon as we’re ready.”
She walked to the sofa as steadily as she could manage, then sat down, arranging her dress primly about her knees. She’d have to go slow with the champagne. She already felt tipsy in Amadou’s heady presence.
He came and sat next to her, and the weight of his big body tilted her slightly toward him. She braced herself, trying to think of something light and pointless to say.
“I loved you, you know.”
His deep voiced words shocked her so hard she almost spilled her champagne. “What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes narrowed just enough to convey how seriously he spoke.
“I didn’t know. Honestly.” It felt right to say the truth.
“Would it have made a difference?”
He champagne glass sweated in her hand. Would it? Yes. No. Would she have defied her family and turned down a prestigious royal marriage for an uncertain future with him?
Amadou sighed. “I suppose you’d have married him anyway. You always were the kind of nice girl who does what people expect of her.”
“Not really.” She’d had the affair with him, after all. Her prudish and judgmental sister, Liesel, would have died if she’d known. Liesel would die right now if she knew she was here with him in his hotel room. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever been a rebel.”
His wistful look turned to a wry smile. “It’s not too late to start.”
“What am I supposed to rebel from?”
“Quiet boredom. Settling for less than you deserve.”
“I’m quite sure I don’t deserve to live in a magnificent three-hundred-year-old palace, but I certainly can’t complain about it. And why would you think I’m bored? I have plenty to do.”
“Tending your roses?” His brow lifted slightly.
“Something like that. Just because you wouldn’t enjoy it doesn’t mean that I don’t. You didn’t want children, and I devoted my life to raising mine and enjoyed every minute of it. So, you see, we weren’t meant for each other at all.”
She said it boldly, feeling it with conviction.
He watched her for a moment, his brow slightly furrowed with concentration. “Maybe with you, my life would have been different.”
“Why did you never have children?” It was the kind of socially unacceptable question you knew to never ask anyone. But since he was apparently accusing her of ruining his life—or something—it felt appropriate.
His chest rose slightly, inside his white T-shirt. “I was afraid.”
“Of what?” She wasn’t going to let him off with the kind of empty answer that went over well in magazine interviews.
He drew in a deep breath. “My father…he was a bad man.”
“I thought you never knew him.” She couldn’t fully remember the story he’d told her. It had been short on details even back then.
“I didn’t, but I knew enough to be…afraid. Of what I might pass on to my children.”
“What do you mean, bad?” In the nature versus nurture debate she knew from firsthand experience that nature was a big deal, but could the wrong DNA curse someone from birth? She didn’t believe that.
“He arranged for my mother to come here from Mali with the promise of work in a hotel.” He frowned. “He kept her locked up here in Paris, forcing her to work in an illegal sweatshop to pay her debt, which kept growing.”
“Modern-day slavery,” she said slowly.
He nodded. “One night he took my mother by force.” He pushed his words out through almost closed lips.
“Oh, no.” The words rushed out. “I’m so sorry. Goodness. I can see that would be hard—” She had no idea what to say. No wonder he hadn’t told her. No one wanted to be the product of a rape.
“It’s okay. She escaped from him that night and never saw him again. My history is just part of who I am.”
“Have you always known?”
“Since I was about eleven. I kept pressing my mom, pushing her, begging her to tell me who my father was and getting angry when she wouldn’t. She finally admitted it, and then I hated myself for forcing the issue.”
“You never told me.”
“I never told anyone. Not until years later. It was still an open wound when I was with you.”
She sighed and sipped her champagne. “I suppose what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
“And sometimes the pain leaves you in the form of beautiful music.” A smile lit his eyes again, even though the rest of his face still looked serious. “I probably wouldn’t be who I am if my dad was a nice accountant or engineer and I’d had a pampered existence.”
“And the world would have missed out on your talent.” Phew. Negative into a positive. Next time she got the urge to ask a probing question, she was going to keep her trap shut.
His smile shone quietly in his
eyes for a moment. Then he tilted his head. “Perhaps I should call for dinner. Would you like the salmon? It’s pretty decent.”
“That sounds lovely.” He called in their order, and they went back to polite chatter. What a relief.
“More champagne?”
“Why not?”
The delicate poached salmon and braised vegetables were delicious—as you’d expect at such an expensive hotel—and they managed to keep the conversation on conventional topics like what all her children were doing. She could talk about them all day, and with all their accomplishments it was easy to do. “Did you know my son Darias is a world-renowned artist? He’s hoping to keep painting even now that he’s king. He’s set up a studio in the top of the medieval castle in the town center where he and his wife, Emma, live.”
She didn’t mention how his wife was a former gallery assistant whom he’d paid to pretend to be his wife for a year. They’d made such a lovely couple at the lavish royal wedding that neither she nor anyone else had guessed it was all an act. Life was always more complicated than it seemed on the surface.
“I’ve seen his work. He has a true appreciation for the beauty of women—both inside and outside. I’m sure he gets that from being raised by such a fine woman himself.”
She laughed. “Flattery doesn’t work on me at all. Royals hear so much of it that we grow to hate it.”
Amadou laughed loudly, probably grateful for some honesty after all the pleasant chatter. “I’ll do my best to be brutally frank.” He sat back in his chair and looked steadily at her face for a moment. “Did you miss me at all?”
“Of course I did.” She spoke the truth. “You were my closest friend, and under the circumstances I could hardly call you up for a chat.”
“I’d have given you all kinds of bad advice.” His wolfish smile did something strange to her insides. “Especially late at night when I was missing you in my bed.”
“I know.” She turned the stem of her wineglass. “And I might well have listened. So I didn’t call.”
“I ached for you, and there you were in the cheap newspapers, beaming with joy under your tiara.” He let out an exhale. “I’ve never been so jealous in my life as I was of your husband. I’d have liked to challenge him to a duel over you.”
Hot Silver Nights: Silver Fox Romance Collection Page 34
