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This morning when she’d wakened, he was nowhere to be seen. She had a vague recollection of the hard, warm length of him pressing against her at some point in the night—his arms around her, his mouth moving across the skin between her neck and shoulder in a taut, electric kiss. It was difficult, however, to determine if the stirring memory was a dream or reality.

There had been a note on the bedside table.

Francesca,

I had a breakfast meeting in La Galerie downstairs. Feel free to call room service if you like. We’re due to leave Paris for Chicago at 11:30. Please get packed and ready, and I’ll return to the suite to retrieve you at 9:00.

Ian

She scowled when she read the message. He’d made it sound like she was a package or a suitcase.

At ten minutes past nine, she stood in the living room of the suite, her purse and packed duffel bag on her shoulder, both regretful about leaving the exquisite Parisian suite where Ian had taught her so much about desire, and longing for the normalcy—the mundane sanity—of her everyday life.

She checked her watch and scowled. No Ian.

Screw this.

Feeling restless, she dashed off a quick note to Ian that she’d meet him in the lobby and exited the hotel suite. It’d get her mind off things to sit in the luxurious lobby and watch all the sophisticated, well-heeled patrons while she waited.

Downstairs, she sunk into one of the plush lobby chairs and dug into her purse for her cell phone, meaning to check messages. Something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. When she realized it was Ian’s tall, singular form that had snagged her focus, she leaned back in the chair, peering around the barrier of the upholstered winged back. He was walking out of La Galerie, one of the hotel restaurants, his arm around a well-dressed dark-haired woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. Francesca couldn’t hear their conversation at this distance, but their exchange struck her as intense somehow . . . intimate.

Was that why she’d instinctively ducked back behind the barrier of the chair?

Ian reached into the handsome sport jacket he was wearing and handed the woman an envelope. She accepted it with a smile and went up on her toes, kissing his cheek. Francesca’s heart leapt and then slowed to a sluggish throb as she watched Ian put his hands on the attractive woman’s shoulders and kiss both of her cheeks in return.

They gave each other a smile that struck Francesca as poignant . . . sad. The woman nodded once, as if to silently reassure him everything would be all right, before ducking her head and turning to walk across the shining white marble floor of the lobby, tucking the envelope Ian had given her into the leather briefcase she carried. Ian just stood there for a moment watching the woman depart, an expression she’d never seen before on his bold, masculine features.

He looked a little lost.

Francesca leaned back in the chair, blindly staring at the extravagant fresh flower arrangement on the table before her. Her heart seemed to shrivel in her chest. It felt like she’d just walked in on him in the midst of a very personal act. She didn’t understand completely what she’d just seen, but somehow she just knew it’d been something important to Ian . . . something charged.

Something he wouldn’t have wanted her to see.

When she spied him walking into a jewelry shop housed in the hotel lobby a moment later, she sprang up from the chair and charged toward the elevator bank.

“Hi. I thought I’d wait for you in the lobby,” she said to him a few minutes later with false cheerfulness. They’d met in front of the elevators, Francesca acting as if she’d just arrived on the lobby level.

He blinked at her unexpected appearance. “I thought I’d asked you to meet me in the suite,” he said, looking a little nonplussed . . . and amazingly gorgeous. Would his dark, intense male beauty ever cease to hit her like a physical blow?

“Yes. I saw your note.” She noticed his near-black brows rise in a silent challenge. “I left a note, too, telling you I’d meet you down here.”

His full lips twitched, but she wasn’t sure if it was in irritation or amusement.

“I owe you an apology for my lateness. I had an important appointment with a close family friend who happened to be in town, at a conference. I’ll just go up and get my things and join you in the lobby.”

“Okay,” she said, wondering all the while about the identity of this beautiful, close family friend who had the ability to pierce Ian’s seemingly impenetrable emotional armor.

Had he bought something in the jewelry store for that mysterious woman?

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.