by BETH KERY
Knowing she couldn’t ask that question, she started to walk past him. She halted when he put his hand on her upper arm.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
She just stared at him, mute with surprise at his admission and what seemed to be genuine regret in his tone.
“Which part?”
“I think you know which part,” he said quietly after a moment. “I was a million miles away last night. I fear you felt abandoned.”
“Wasn’t I?”
“No. I’m still right here, Francesca—for whatever that’s worth,” he added grimly. He leaned down and seized her mouth in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. Was it her imagination or did that kiss seem to tell her something Ian couldn’t say?
Francesca just stared at his broad retreating back a moment later, experiencing her typical bewilderment when it came to Ian, her heart still throbbing all the way to her clenched sex from his kiss.
* * *
Despite his earlier apology, she still sensed Ian’s preoccupation as Jacob drove them to the airport and they boarded his private jet. She was torn between feeling concern for him—compassion for that lost-looking Ian she’d glimpsed in the hotel lobby—and lingering irritation at his apparent ability to shut his awareness of her out like a light.
“What’s this important acquisition you said you had coming up later this week?” Francesca asked once she was seated across from him on the plane and he bent to retrieve his computer from his briefcase.
“I’ve been wooing a particularly coy—well, actually, annoying as hell, to be honest—owner of a company for over a year now, and it appears that we’re finally getting to a compromise,” he said, opening his computer. “I’m not that interested in the company itself, but the deal includes a patent on a piece of software I absolutely require for this new social media gaming venture I’m starting.” He glanced up at her and then apologetically at his computer. “Would you mind?”
“No, of course not,” Francesca said, meaning it. He may confuse and vex her, but she wasn’t so clingy that she constantly required his attention. He immediately plunged into work when they arrived on the plane, reading files, typing fleetly, and occasionally making a terse phone call.
Francesca learned from a message on her cell phone that Lin Soong had e-mailed her the “Illinois Rules of the Road” manual. When had Ian made the request of his assistant? Last night, while he’d been ignoring her after their romantic dinner?
Didn’t that mean he’d thought about her . . . even a bit?
And weren’t those precisely the kind of slavish thoughts a supposed submissive had, constantly gauging her world by whether or not her master was thinking about her, whether or not he was pleased by her?
Disgusted by the mere idea, Francesca determinedly turned her attention away from the compelling man who sat across from her. She e-mailed a warm thank-you message to Lin, then briskly asked Ian if she could borrow his tablet.
“Why?”
“To read something.”
“The ‘Rules of the Road’ that I had Lin send you?”
“No,” she lied without blinking. “A trashy novel.”
She gave a small smile at his dry glance. He handed her the tablet without hesitation or further comment.
Fortunately, Francesca could be nearly as focused on a task when she wanted to be as Ian. She diligently memorized each rule of the road on the flight home, oddly determined to get her driver’s license now that Ian had brought the issue to the forefront. The experience of being in control behind the wheel had exhilarated her. After a while, she forgot her irritation at Ian, feeling comfortable with his presence as they both attended to their separate concerns.
She napped for a while and used the restroom. In her absence, Ian had brought both of them a refreshment from the wet bar. She sipped on her chilled club soda and watched him for a moment as he worked. He really was a force of nature. If he could patent that intense focus of his, he’d be the wealthiest man on the planet.
He already is one of them, she reminded herself wryly with a shake of her head before she went back to studying.
When the pilot’s voice came through the intercom and told them they were beginning their descent into Indiana, Ian glanced up, blinking several times, as if seeing the world around him for the first time. He shut off his computer and raked his fingers through his short, stylishly mussed hair, making Francesca experience a sudden longing to have her fingers where his were.
“How did your studying go?” he asked, his voice sounding a little hoarse from not using it for so long.
“Excellent,” she replied, not at all surprised by the fact that he knew she’d been lying about the novel. Not much got past him.
“You say that with a great deal of confidence,” he said, sipping his ice water and eyeing her over the rim of the glass.
“No reason I shouldn’t.”
He put out his hand expectantly. She held his stare and handed him the tablet.
He began to question her on the material. Francesca rattled off the correct answers without hesitation. The pilot informed them to prepare for landing, and Ian closed the tablet, sliding it into his briefcase. His handsome face was impassive, but she had the impression he was pleased.
“I have meetings this afternoon and all of tomorrow at the office, but I’ll ask Jacob to take you out for some driving practice. Another time or two behind the wheel, and you’ll be ready to get your license,” he stated with confidence.
Francesca ignored the flare of irritation she felt—it was as if getting her license had been added to some kind of mental checklist that he planned to complete in methodical Ian fashion. Instead of commenting on that, however, she focused on something else that he’d said that surprised her.
“This afternoon? What time is it in Chicago?”
He checked his Rolex. “About the same time that we left Paris: eleven forty.”
“Wow, it’s like we transported.”
He flashed an unexpected smile. The plane dipped as they went in for a landing, amplifying the swooping sensation in her belly. That smile always made him more approachable. She had an overwhelming desire to ask about the woman she’d seen him with this morning, to ask him why he’d seemed so affected by the meeting . . .
. . . to demand that he tell her something that helped her understand the enigma of him.
But Ian had another agenda altogether.
“You mentioned being a financial disaster,” he said. Francesca stared at him, openmouthed. It was as if he’d just resumed a conversation they were having yesterday, without a beat. “What do you plan on doing with the money you earned for the painting commission?”
She gripped the armrest, jolting slightly when the plane hit the runway. Ian never blinked.
“What do you mean what do I plan to do with it? I plan to use it for my education . . . my future.”
“Naturally, but it’s not as if you’ll have to write a check for a hundred thousand dollars anytime soon, will you?”
She shook her head.
“Why don’t you let me invest the bulk of it?”
“No,” she blurted out. She saw his blank expression of incredulity at her adamancy. There were thousands of people who would be turning cartwheels at the prospect of financial wizard Ian Noble offering to invest their money for them.
“You can’t leave that much money in a checking account,” he stated as if saying the most obvious thing on the planet. “It makes no sense whatsoever.”
“It makes sense to me! People like me don’t invest money, Ian.”
“People like you? Do you mean other fools? Because that’s what you’d have to be to leave that amount of money in a checking account,” he said, blue eyes sparking.
She started forward in the lounger, prepared to retort hotly, and then reconsidered. She leaned back and regarded him. He stilled when he noticed her speculative look.
“What?” he asked, slightly suspicious.
“I’ll invest it myself if you teach me how.”
The wary gleam in his eyes transformed into one of amusement.
“I haven’t got time to tutor you.” She raised her eyebrows. “Not on personal investing, anyway,” he added, a sexy grin pulling at his lips. Her pulse skipped. God help her, he was beautiful. He unfastened his seat belt when the plane came to a halt.
“Would you really like to learn about finances?”
“Sure. I need all the help I can get.”
He said nothing as he clicked his briefcase closed and stood. He donned his sport coat and came over to her, reaching for her hand. She unfastened her seat belt, and he gently pulled her up next to him.
“We’ll have to see what we can manage between your other lessons,” he murmured, dipping his head and fitting his lips to hers.
What was it about the contrast between Ian’s aloofness at times and his sudden, immense heat that created such a sharp, overwhelming longing in her?
It felt strange to her a half an hour later to see the Chicago skyline set against a cornflower-blue sky. It looked the same as it always had, but she felt different. When Jacob veered the limousine onto North Avenue from the interstate, she mentally prepared herself for returning to her former life. It was hard to mentally fit this Francesca into the former Francesca’s world. Paris had done that to her.
Ian had.
Even if he walked away today, could she really regret her sensual awakening, the widening and deepening of her world?
“Are you painting tomorrow after class?” Ian asked from where he sat across from her on the leather bench seat in the back of the limo.
“Yes,” she said, gathering her purse. Jacob had just come to a stop in front of Davie’s Wicker Park townhome. She glanced at Ian, feeling a little awkward at the realization that now they would return to their separate worlds. Jacob rapped once on the window, and Ian casually leaned over and rapped once back. The door remained closed.
“I would like you to have dinner with me Thursday evening,” he said.
“All right,” she said, both pleased and flustered by his statement.
“And on Friday and Saturday, I’d like to have you. Period.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. A profound sense of relief struck her. Given the edge to his tone just now, he definitely wasn’t finished with her yet.
“I have to work on Saturday night.”
“Sunday then,” he said, unconcerned.
She nodded.
“I’ve asked Jacob to take you driving later this afternoon, and tomorrow afternoon as well. You two can arrange a time for tomorrow. Today, he’ll pick you up at four. Maybe you’d like to rest before then.”
“Not likely,” she said wryly. “I’m going to take a run, and then I need to get some work done for school.” He regarded her silently, his face cast in the shadows of the interior of the cab. She swallowed and gathered her purse closer to her body. “Thank you. For Paris,” she said in a rush.
“Thank you,” he replied simply.
She edged toward the door, feeling self-conscious.
“Francesca.” He dipped his hand into an inner pocket of his sport coat and handed her a leather box. Her breath froze when she recognized the name of the jeweler that had been in the Paris hotel.
He’d gone into the jeweler this morning to get something for me, not the mysterious woman.
“I told you that I would get you something for your hair when we arrived in Paris, but you wouldn’t let me take you shopping. I hope they’re to your liking. I’m not accustomed to choosing such feminine things without Lin’s assistance.”
Swallowing thickly, she opened the box. She gasped. Nestled in black velvet were eight large hairpins, each with a delicate crescent of stones at the tip. Once they were pushed into a twist of hair, it would appear that the upswept style glittered with diamonds. It wasn’t only a luxurious gift, it was incredibly tasteful and personal.
She looked at Ian, eyes wide in amazement.
“I told the jeweler about the amount of hair that you had, and she assured me this number of pins would restrain even your glory.” He blinked when she didn’t speak. “Francesca? You like them, don’t you?”
If she hadn’t heard the hint of uncertainty in his usually level, brisk tone, she might have had the wherewithal to refuse what she suspected was a very expensive gift. As it was—
“Are you kidding? Ian, they’re gorgeous.” Her lips trembled as she looked back at the pins. “They’re not real diamonds, are they?”
“If they’re rhinestones, I paid a great deal too much,” he said dryly, all traces of his former uncertainty gone. “Will you wear them? Thursday night at dinner?”
She looked into his shadowed face. Why was it so difficult to say no to him? It wasn’t that need to please him that she experienced with him sexually. It was something else . . . a desire to show him that she’d found his gift thoughtful . . . beautiful . . .
. . . that he was beautiful to her.
“Yes,” she answered, wondering how diamond-studded hair and jeans would look together.
Ian’s slow smile was reason enough to accept the luxurious gift. She forced herself to look away from that addictive sight and reach for the door handle.
“And Francesca?”
She glanced back, breathless.
“Just so you know,” he said, his smile now seeming to laugh at himself, “if it weren’t for this damn acquisition, I’d have you in my bed right this second, and we’d be continuing your lessons with vigor.”
* * *
The next several days flew by as Francesca ricocheted from homework, class, painting at Ian’s penthouse, and her new driving lessons with Jacob. The latter ended up being more fun than she’d expected. Ian’s driver was pleasant, fun company. Plus, Jacob possessed two important qualities for sitting in a passenger seat while Francesca piloted one of Ian’s luxury automatic vehicles: nerves of steel and a sense of humor.
On Wednesday evening, she drove for the first time in the city. When she pulled up in front of High Jinks and put the car in neutral, she gave Jacob a hopeful glance, which the middle-aged driver returned with a wide grin.
“I think you’ll be ready to take your test anytime you say the word.”
“You really think so?” she asked.
“I really do. We’ll go out to the suburbs to take the test. It’ll be a lot easier taking it there than in the city.”
“I feel bad about taking you away from your duties so much this week,” she said, gathering her purse. She was working a shift tonight at High Jinks, and Jacob had suggested she drive herself there as part of her lesson.
“My duties are whatever Ian tells me they are,” Jacob said, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “And he tells me my duty is to make sure you get your driver’s license . . . oh, and to keep you safe at all costs in the process.”
She lowered her head to hide her pleasure at his off-the-cuff comment. “He doesn’t ask much, does he?” Francesca asked, thinking about the handful of times she’d just missed hurtling the two of them into wrecks on Chicago streets this afternoon.
Jacob chuckled. “It’s been a nice break from my normal routine. Besides, Ian has been holed up in his office since we got back from Paris, hammering out the details for a deal going down this week. He hasn’t needed me.”
Francesca had been glad for this tidbit of news. She certainly hadn’t caught a glimpse or heard a peep from Ian since they’d returned to Chicago. His absence just made her anticipation for having dinner with him—of seeing him, period—on Thursday all that much sharper.
Unfortunately, he never called her to say the time he expected to see her for dinner. As a result, she did her best to focus on her painting Thursday afternoon and into the evening. Mrs. Hanson would tell him she was in the studio if he inquired. Slowly, as her work commenced, all of her fluttery, nervous excitement about spending time with Ian slipped away, and she entered the sublime zone of creative focus she craved
as an artist.
When a shoulder cramp sliced through her concentration at about seven o’clock that evening, she was forced to lower her brush and consider what she’d wrought.
“It’s incredible.”
The hair on her arms and on the back of her neck stood up in awareness of the familiar quiet, hoarse voice. She spun around. He stood just inside the closed door, wearing an immaculately cut dark gray suit, white shirt, and pale blue tie. His hair was sexily mussed, as if he’d walked home from the office through a Lake Michigan breeze. Francesca walked over to a table in order to dry the excess paint off her brush, needing a moment to catch her breath at the sight of him.
“It’s coming along. I’m having some trouble getting the light just the way that I want it on the Noble Enterprises building. I need to go over and stand in the lobby of Noble Enterprises to check the light there, as well . . . see what it’ll look like once it’s hung.”
From the corner of her vision, she saw him walking toward her, his approach like that of a sleek, powerful animal’s. She placed her brush in a solvent and turned to face him. His blue eyes captured her stare and held tight.
Like always.
“The painting is amazing. I was referring to you, though. It’s incredible to watch you work. It’s a little like catching a goddess while she creates a small part of the world,” he said, reaching up to touch her cheek, a self-deprecating smile on his full lips at his whimsical turn of thought.
“Do you really like it? The painting?’ she asked, unable to pull her gaze off his mouth. He stood close enough that she caught his scent—English milled soap, the subtle fragrance of spicy aftershave, and just a hint of the fresh breeze he’d just been in. Her body responded immediately, perking up in sensual awareness.
“Yes. But that’s no surprise to me. I knew whatever you painted would be brilliant.”
“I don’t know how you could know that,” she said, glancing aside in embarrassment.
“Because you are,” he said, shifting his hand to cradle her jaw, tilting her face back up to his. He leaned down and kissed her with firm deliberation. No brushing, shaping lips this time. He almost immediately penetrated her mouth with his tongue, as if he’d craved her taste and could wait no longer. Heat and pleasure rushed through her sex when she registered his heat and flavor . . . when she acknowledged his complete dominance of her senses.
