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He kissed her neck while she quieted, occasionally lapping at the sweet taste on her skin. Her soft moan vibrated into his lips.

“The laws are a bit more lenient in Paris regarding birth control. I know a pharmacist who can get us several months’ worth. You could get started right away,” he murmured.

He paused in his ravishment of her neck when he felt her stiffen.

“I wouldn’t have to see a doctor?”

“Eventually, when you return stateside, yes. But the sooner you get started, the better. I could have Jacob pick up the delivery, and you could start on the pill this very day. I spoke with the pharmacist. You don’t have any health risks, do you? High blood pressure, history of stroke?”

“No, I’m perfectly healthy. I just had a physical last month.” She was turned in profile to him. She tilted her chin and regarded him with dark, soft eyes. “Of course I’ll start on the pill. I know how important it is to you, Ian.”

“Thank you,” he said, dropping a kiss on her mouth, thinking all the while that she didn’t know the half of how important it was.

* * *

Francesca snuggled in bed as Ian got up to get ready for his meeting, lazy and content in the aftermath of kisses and climax. She dozed, opening her eyes sleepily a while later to see Ian standing at the edge of the bed looking down at her, looking awesomely gorgeous in a dark suit, starched white shirt, and pale blue silk necktie, his spicy aftershave tickling her nose.

“Would you like me to order breakfast for you?” he asked, his hushed, deep voice striking her like a caress in the luxury-draped, still room. “You could have it out on the terrace? It’s a beautiful day.”

“I’ll order it. You don’t have to,” she said, her voice rough from drowsiness.

He merely nodded and stepped back as if to go. He hesitated, and suddenly swooped down, kissing her hard on the mouth.

There was no doubt about it. Ian’s kisses were just more . . . sexual than anyone else’s. Not that she had much experience, but still. How could that swift kiss immediately make her recall what it’d been like to have his mouth on her nether lips, worshipful . . . demanding?

She watched him walk away a moment later, looking so tall and commanding in his dark suit, feeling a strange mixture of joy and regret. After he was gone, she showered and washed her hair, letting it dry as she sat out on the sunny terrace that overlooked the Paris skyline and the famous art deco fountain of the Three Graces. She ordered room service and ate her breakfast outside, as Ian had suggested, the whole experience in the lap of luxury striking her again as incredible.

Afterward, she contacted Davie. Mostly, she tried to assure her friend that she was safe and happy to be in Paris with Ian. Davie seemed less than thrilled by her little adventure. In fact, his concern highlighted some of the things that’d been easy for her to forget when Ian was next to her, making love to her, making her forget everything but her desire for him.

She remembered how Ian had paid her in full for the painting, knowing full well she’d never refuse to finish it. She recalled in detail how he’d shut down the bar and said he wanted to possess her sexually in order to get her out of his system.

She thought of how he’d persuaded her to start taking the pill later that day.

Wait . . . when had she made a coherent decision about such an important choice about her body? It’d just happened, somehow, while Ian had been kissing her and coaxing her and making her scream in pleasure.

A lead weight sank in her belly.

No. It hadn’t been like that.

Had it?

Fortunately, she had the excuse of the long-distance price tag to cut her call short with Davie. Toward the end of their conversation, she began to worry her friend would start to hear the anxiety seeping into her voice.

Feeling restless, she pulled out her jogging clothes, pausing when she realized Ian hadn’t given her a key to the suite. She called down to the front desk, relieved to find an attendant that spoke English. The woman assured her that her name was down as a guest and she may pick up a card key at the front desk if she showed her identification.

She changed and took to the streets of Paris, running the narrow back roads for miles and then along the tourist – and shopper-crowded Champs-Élysées, past the Arc de Triomphe. By the time she returned to the hotel, she’d pounded out a lot of her anxiety and worries on the pavement. Jogging always did calm her.

Of course Ian hadn’t been manipulating her about the birth control. She wanted to be risk free in regard to pregnancy as much as he did. Why had she thought otherwise?

She was feeling easygoing and peaceful until she opened the door to the suite and saw Ian pacing tensely in front of the marble fireplace, the energy pouring off him reminding her of a caged tiger. He had his phone pressed to his ear. He paused and looked back at her.

“Never mind,” he said, his mouth pressed into a hard line as his gaze ran over her. “She just walked in.” He tapped his finger on the phone panel and set it on the mantel.

“Where have you been?” he asked. Her spine stiffened at his accusatory tone. He walked toward her, his eyes gleaming like banked flames.

“Jogging,” she said, glancing down at her shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes as if to say, Hello, isn’t it obvious?

“I was worried. You didn’t even leave a note.”

Her mouth fell open. “I didn’t think you’d be back before I was,” she exclaimed, stunned by his restrained fury. “What’s wrong with you?”

His facial muscles tightened. “I’m the one who brought you to Paris. I’m responsible for you. I’d prefer it if you didn’t just run off like that,” he snapped, turning and stalking away from her.