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“I’m glad I caught you guys,” she said, pouring herself another cup of coffee, even though she knew she shouldn’t drink it; nervousness about Ian being there in a few minutes was starting to make her stomach roil. “I’m going away for a few days,” she said, turning to face her friends.

“Going to Ann Arbor?” Caden asked before he sliced his fork into a syrup-drenched waffle. Her parents lived in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

“No,” she said, avoiding Davie’s curious stare.

“Where, then?” Davie asked.

“Um . . . Paris.”

Caden stopped chewing and blinked at her. She started when she heard a brisk knock at the front door. She set down her coffee cup on the counter with a loud thud, causing coffee to splash up on her wrist.

“I’ll explain when I get back,” she assured Davie as she used a towel to dry her forearm. She began to edge out of the kitchen.

Davie stood. “Are you going with Noble?”

“Yes,” Francesca said, wondering why she felt so guilty at the admission.

“Then call me as soon as you can,” Davie insisted.

“All right. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she assured.

The last image she saw as she left the kitchen was Davie’s worried expression. Damn. If Davie looked concerned, it was usually with good reason.

Was this one of the stupidest choices she’d ever made in her life?

She flung open the front door and all of her thoughts about Davie and wisdom versus foolishness vanished. He stood on the front steps, wearing a pair of dark blue pants, a white button-down shirt open at the collar, and a casual hooded jacket. Well, even if he did look good enough to eat, at least he wasn’t wearing one of his immaculate suits, given how she’d dressed.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his blue eyes running over the length of her.

She nodded and reached for her duffel bag and purse. “I . . . I didn’t know what to wear,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he took her bag. He glanced back at her as she followed him down the steps. Her heart leapt when he gave her one of his rare smiles. “You’re perfect.”

Her cheeks turned hot at his compliment, and she was glad he turned away. He introduced her to his driver, Jacob Suarez, a middle-aged Hispanic man with a nice smile. Jacob immediately took and stowed Francesca’s bag while Ian opened the car door for her.

She slid onto one of the sofalike seats, absorbing the luxurious surroundings of the elegant limo. The impressions that struck her the most were the cushy, buttery softness of the seat and the smell—leather mixing with Ian’s spicy, clean male scent. The screen on the built-in television monitor was off, but Ian’s laptop was open on the table between the two leather seats. Classical music resounded sedately from the surround-sound stereo. Bach—the Brandenburg concertos, she recognized after a few seconds. It seemed a perfect choice for Ian—the man and the music were both mathematically precise and intensely soulful. A chilled, newly opened bottle of her preferred brand of club soda sat on the table near his computer.

Ian removed his jacket and slid into the seat across from her.

“Did you sleep much?” he asked her once he was settled and the car began to move smoothly down the street.

“A little,” she lied.

He nodded, his gaze skimming over her face. “You look pretty. I like your hair that way. You don’t usually straighten it, do you?”

Her cheeks warmed again, this time in embarrassment. “It takes a lot of time.”

“You have a lot of hair,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. Perhaps he noticed her blush. “Don’t worry, I’m not complaining. I’m fond of every strand of it. Would you mind very much if I worked?” he asked her with abrupt reluctance. “The more I can get done here and on the plane, the better I can totally focus on you when we get there.”

“Of course,” she assured, set a little off balance by his rapid change of topic.

She didn’t mind his working. She liked being able to watch him while his singularly intense focus was elsewhere. He wears glasses? She watched him don a pair of sleek, stylish lenses. His fingers flew over a keyboard fast enough to make the most proficient administrative assistant envious. Strange . . . to think that those large, masculine hands could move with so much fleet precision.

He would use those hands to make love to her sometime very soon. She couldn’t believe it. Her first lover was going to be Ian Noble.

A heavy, warm sensation settled in her lower belly and sex. She took a swig of her icy club soda and forced herself to stare out the window. A swarm of questions buzzed in her head. By the time they’d passed the Skyway and headed several miles into Indiana, she couldn’t contain one any longer.

“Ian, where are we going?”

He blinked and glanced up, giving her the impression of rising out of a deep trance of concentration. He glanced out the window.

“To a small airport where I keep my plane. We’re nearly there,” he said, hitting a few buttons on his computer and lowering the monitor.

“You own a plane?”

“Yes. I have to travel quite a bit, sometimes on the spur-of-the-moment. A plane is an absolute necessity.”

Of course, she thought. He would never be satisfied waiting for anything.

“I want to show you something tonight in Paris,” he said.

“What?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said, his shapely, firm lips forming a small smile.

“I don’t really like surprises,” she said, unable to look away from his mouth.