Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(31)

“When will that be? After one night? Two?”

His smile was grim. “I think it might take longer than that to purge you from my mind. A good deal longer. But again, I can’t say for certain. Do you understand me?”

Her heart now threatened to burst out of her rib cage, as if it were on the front line of the war that raged inside her. It was a mistake, and she knew this. And yet . . .

“Yes,” she said. The tension coiled tighter with every erratic beat of her heart.

“And do you agree to this?”

“Yes.” What the hell was she doing?

“Look at me, Francesca.”

She looked up, her chin tilted at a defiant angle. His gaze ran over her, searching. “I told you once before that you shouldn’t let your anger make you foolish,” he said softly.

This, more than anything, infuriated her.

“If you think I’m too much of a child to make a wise decision, then you shouldn’t have asked the question,” she grated out. “I’m giving you my answer. It’s up to you whether you accept it or not. Yes,” she repeated.

He closed his eyes briefly.

“All right,” he said after a moment, calmly, and it was as if she’d imagined all the conflict in him. “That’s settled then. I have an important meeting in Paris on Monday morning that I can’t delay. I’d like to leave first thing in the morning.”

“Okay,” she said dubiously, thrown off by his abrupt change of topic. “So . . . I’ll see you when you get back.”

“No,” he said, standing. “Now that things have been decided, I can’t wait much longer. I want you to come with me. Can you get away for a few days?”

Was he serious?

“I . . . I think so. I don’t have class on Mondays, but I have one on Tuesday. I suppose I could miss one class, though.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up at your house at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“What should I bring?”

“Your passport. You have one, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I studied for a few months in Paris during my senior year. It’s current.”

“Just your passport and yourself then. I’ll supply everything else you need.”

She countered her breathlessness at his reply with practicality. “Can’t we leave later? It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning already.”

“No, seven o’clock. I have a timetable. You can sleep on the plane. I have work I need to do on the flight, anyway.” His gaze flickered over her face as he stood. His hard expression softened slightly. “You will sleep on the plane. You look exhausted.”

She started to say that he looked tired as well, but realized he no longer did. All the fatigue she’d sensed in him at the beginning of their conversation seemed to have vanished . . .

Now that he’d gotten his way.

“Come here, please.”

Something about his quiet, authoritative tone made her breath freeze in her lungs. She’d just agreed to stop running from him, and he knew it. Did he want to prove his power over her?

She stood up and approached him slowly. He opened his hand at the side of her skull, his fingers furrowing through her upswept hair. His gaze traveled over her face, those dark-angel eyes glittering with an emotion she couldn’t understand.

He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. He bit at her lower lip and she opened, gasping. His tongue sank into her mouth. Heat rushed through her sex. Ah, God. This, she could understand. Wisdom shriveled in the heat of this kind of desire. She moaned, the freshness, the immediacy of her need stinging her like a slap against tense muscle.

By the time he lifted his head a moment later, things were damp and warm between her thighs.

“I want you to know,” he said next to her quivering, sensitized lips, “that I would have stopped it if I could. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

She stood there, unable to take a full breath until after the front door of the bar had slammed shut behind him.

Chapter Six

Francesca got into bed that night, but she never dropped off into sleep. Her mounting excitement wouldn’t let her. She got up before her alarm went off, made and drank coffee, ate some cereal, and showered. Staring into her closet, she felt a sinking sensation. What did she have to wear that was suited to a getaway with Ian Noble?

Since absolutely nothing she owned was probably appropriate, she ended up picking her favorite pair of jeans, boots, a tank top and a sage-green tunic that did good things for her complexion. If she couldn’t be sophisticated, she might as well be comfortable. She took time styling and straightening her long hair—which was rare for her to do—and applied some mascara and lip gloss. She studied herself in the mirror when she was done, shrugged, and left the bathroom.

It would have to do.

Despite the fact that he’d told her she wouldn’t need anything, she did pack a duffel bag with underwear, a few changes of clothing, jogging apparel, some toiletries, and her passport. She set her bag and her purse by the door and walked into the kitchen, where Davie and Caden sat at the kitchen table. Davie was always an early riser, even on a Sunday, but Caden was not. Francesca recalled that he was burning the midnight oil this weekend to get a project done for work.

“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.