He took her to a place called La Grand Épicerie de Paris and when she saw all of the rows of walnut shelves covered with rare, exotic chocolate brands she actually giggled.
“Choose as many as you like,” he encouraged and gave a little push on her lower back.
After several long minutes, she selected two bars of milk chocolate. One had a beautiful pen-and-ink drawing of Notre Dame on it and the other had a red man and woman silhouette as they leaned in to kiss.
“Why those two?” Wes whispered, his voice right in her ear. She jumped and his hands settled on her hips.
“I, well, I like the art.” She peeped up at him through shyly lowered lashes. She hoped he understood, that when something appealed to an artist, no other explanation was needed.
“Then those two it is. We just have to make one more stop.” He guided her to the basement, which had brilliant white and walnut shelves with thousands of alcoholic beverages, all high end. Wes strode right past the aisles of expensive wine and went to a glass-enclosed room that held what Callie assumed were the most pricey items. He selected one of the cognacs. The little sign read “Cognac Louis XIII—Rare case.” Callie’s mouth dropped open as she saw the tiny price tag on the box. “18,060,20 €.”
“Eighteen thousand euros?” she whispered in shock. Oh my God. That was twenty thousand dollars.
“Only the best. It’s a century old. We’ll taste it tonight, after the Louvre.”
“You’re going to let me taste what has to be the most expensive cognac on the planet?” She heard the squeak in her voice, but she couldn’t stop it.
“Why not? And it is not the most expensive. There are others, but not easily available in Paris.” Wes went off to pay for the chocolate and cognac. Callie just stared at his back.
What was she doing here? This was—hell, she didn’t know what this was, but it was insane, of that she was positive. She’d come from a world where they couldn’t afford cell phones, and now she was going to be drinking a hundred-year-old cognac just because she could, with a man who made his intention to sleep with her very clear. She had been so desperate to escape her breaking heart that she hadn’t cared what the cost of escaping might be. Now she was beginning to see what it was.
Agreeing to go to Paris with Wes made her just one of his many collector items. Did he have some secret little black book with a checklist and her name under “innocent little ranch girls”? That was all she was, the latest conquest, a temporary fascination that he would taste and then move aside for the next fascination. The thought of this made the hollow place created by Fenn’s upcoming marriage seem all the deeper, like an endless cavern with miles of despairing darkness. Would this fall into hopelessness ever stop?
Callie blinked away tears.
I’m such a fool.
Was she ever going to stop making mistakes?
Chapter 6
What’s the matter?” Wes asked as he came back to her, the cognac and chocolate in a pink-and-black bag.
“Nothing.” She flashed him a falsely bright smile.
He pursed his lips, thunderclouds gathering in his eyes. “When we return home, you will tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Sure,” she lied and looked away, but not before she saw the dark retribution his gaze promised.
Neither of them spoke as they waited for Michel to drive them back to the hotel. She was grateful for Michel’s timely arrival. Even after years of ranch labor, she was not used to five straight hours of shopping and walking around Paris. Concrete hurt her feet a lot more than the soft cushion of Colorado soil. There was so much she’d taken for granted. And she was overwhelmed. Drastically so. She missed the Broken Spur, missed the birds and the distant sounds of cattle. And missing that made her feel small and pitiful. All she’d ever wanted was to get away, to leave the ranch. She’d been gone three days and now she felt stranded and abandoned.
“Est-ce que la jeune dame se sent bien?” Michel queried. Wes, in the seat beside her, looked at Michel in the driver’s seat.
“Oui. Je pense qu’elle a eu le mal du pays,” Wes replied, telling Michel that Callie was probably homesick. He hoped Callie was only homesick and not regretting coming with him.
“Ahh, bien sûr. Je comprend.” Michel turned in his seat while they paused at the red light and caught Callie’s eye. “Do not be sad, mademoiselle. Embrace Paris,” he encouraged.
Callie smiled but her heart wasn’t in it.
When they arrived at the apartment she saw that all of the shopping had been delivered already. The endless site of bags and boxes made her run for her room. Wes was quick and just as she reached the curling stairs, he grabbed her waist from behind and dragged her back against him. She kicked out, trying to escape his hold.
“Stop,” he growled in her ear.
She sagged, too weary to fight. When she went limp, he loosened his hold and turned her in his arms. He was a few steps lower on the stairs and they were face to face.
“Talk to me. I can’t fix whatever it is if you don’t talk to me.”
Talk? He wanted her to talk? An unexpected streak of anger fueled her enough to respond.
“This is too much, Wes. I’m not the kind of girl you need, and I miss the ranch and…” She bit her lip. “And I know what you want. You made it clear with that whole bet in the barn. But I can’t hide the truth. You terrify me. I’ve never been with a man before and—”
“What?” This time Wes was the one who looked dumbfounded. “You’re a virgin?” The way he said “virgin,” with a mixture of shock and dread were the final nails in her coffin. She burst into tears and fled up the stairs to her room. He didn’t stop her this time. Collapsing onto her bed, she buried her face in one of the pillows and cried. She’d never felt more stupid in her life. What had she been thinking coming here with him? They were the least likely two people to be together in the history of the world. They had nothing in common. Nothing except art.
A few seconds later she heard footsteps and the bed sank as Wes sat down beside her. A hand touched her back, smoothing her hair and rubbing her tense shoulders.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have mattered?” she asked, her voice muffled, but she refused to look at him.
“Darling,” he murmured so tenderly that she wanted to cry harder. How could he do that? Be so dark and intense one minute and sweet the next?
“It matters. I would have done everything so differently.” He rolled her onto her back and wiped tears from her cheeks.
“How?” she managed to ask.
He leaned down and kissed her. Slow, deep, that playful teasing. Before she could stop herself, her hands were in his hair, lightly tugging on the strands.
Stop fighting, a voice in her head whispered. He’s a gorgeous man and he wants you, and you want him. The voice in her head was right. She was overthinking this for sure, but she wasn’t ready to go all the way.
He did nothing else except kiss her. But the kiss was hot, wet, full of wicked desire that made her forget the world around her. It was a kiss full of promise and she knew she was accepting whatever would follow, even though it wouldn’t be tonight.
When he stopped the kiss and drew back, he stroked her cheek. “Tonight you will sleep with me in my bed.” He nuzzled her nose with his. “I know you miss home. Allow me to hold you and you won’t be alone.” He paused. “Tonight won’t be about the bet. It’s about comfort. All right?”