Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(64)

“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 . . .