Because You Are Mine Part III: Because You Haunt Me (5 page)

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, toying with her fork. “We get along all right. We’re not feuding or anything dramatic. It’s just . . . painful to be around them.”

“Painful?” he asked, pausing as he raised his cup to his mouth.

“Not
painful
, I guess. Just . . . awkward,” she said, lifting her fork.

“Don’t they appreciate what a gifted artist you are?”

She closed her eyes briefly in gustatory bliss as the flavors melted on her tongue. “My artwork just annoys them. My father more than my mother,” she said after she’d squeezed every last bit of sweet succulence out of the confection and swallowed. She slicked her thumb along her lips, capturing a dollop of milk-chocolate mousse with the tip of her tongue. God, it was delicious.

She glanced up when Ian tossed his napkin on the table.

“That’s it. Time to go,” he said, pushing his chair back.

“What?” she asked, startled by his abruptness.

He came around to help her with her chair. “Never mind,” he said grimly, taking her hand. “Just remind me the next time I’m grasping for restraint not to order you chocolate.”

Pleasure flooded through her at his comment, the potency of it far greater than even that conferred by the delectable
palet aux noisettes.

***

“Where are we staying?” Francesca asked him several minutes later as Jacob zoomed down a darkened, nearly deserted rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Unlike their trip from the airport to the restaurant, when he’d sat next to her in the limo, her hand fast in his, Ian now sat across from her, his manner distant as he stared broodingly out the window.

“At the Hotel George V. But we’re not going there yet.”

“Then where—”

The car slowed. He nodded significantly out the window. Her eyes widened as she recognized the shape and ornate architecture of the Second Empire building that overtook the entire city block.

“
The Musee de St. Germain
?” she asked, joking. She was familiar with the museum of Greek and Italian antiquities from her undergraduate days of study in Paris. The museum was housed in one of the few remaining privately held palaces left in the city.

“Yes.”

The laughter died on her lips. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” he said calmly.

“Ian, it’s past midnight in Paris. The museum is closed.” Jacob halted the limo. A moment later, the driver rapped once on the back door before he opened it. Ian got out and took her hand as she alighted on the tree-lined, dimly lit street. He smiled when she stared dubiously up at him, and then took her hand.

“Don’t worry. We won’t stay long. I’m as eager to get back to the hotel as you are. More so,” he added under his breath. He guided her onto the sidewalk and to a door couched within a deep stone arch. Much to her surprise, an elegant man with salt-and-pepper hair immediately answered when Ian knocked on the thick wooden door.

“Mr. Noble,” he greeted with what appeared to be a mixture of pleasure and respect. They entered, and the man closed the door behind them before tapping his fingers over a keypad. Francesca heard a lock click loudly. A green light began to blink on what appeared to be an elaborate security system.

“Alaine. I can’t thank you enough for this special favor,” Ian greeted warmly when the other man turned. The two men shook hands within a dimly lit, white marble entryway as Francesca glanced around, confused but curious. This was
not
an entrance on the public tour.

“Nonsense. It is nothing,” the man said in a hushed tone, as if this were some kind of clandestine nighttime mission.

“How is your family? Monsieur Garrond is well, I trust?” Ian asked.

“Very well, although we are both like displaced cats at the present moment as we have major renovations done on our apartment. We’re getting too old to have our routines disrupted, I’m afraid. How is Lord Stratham fairing?”

“Grandmother says he’s a bear following his knee surgery, but his stubbornness is an asset in this case. He’s recovering well.”

Alaine chuckled. “Please give both of them my regards the next time you see them.”

“I shall, but you will likely see them before I do. Grandmother plans to attend the opening of the Polygnotus exhibit next week.”

“We are fortunate,” Alaine said, beaming, and Francesca couldn’t help but feel he meant it entirely. His gaze landed on Francesca with polite interest. She clearly sensed his intelligence and curiosity.

“Francesca Arno, I’d like you to meet Alaine Laurent. He’s the director of the St. Germain.”

“Ms. Arno, welcome,” he said, taking her hand. “Mr. Noble tells me you are quite a talented artist.”

Warmth rushed through her at the knowledge Ian had complimented her behind her back. “Thank you. My work is nothing to what you come into contact with every day in your work here. I loved coming to the St. Germain when I was an undergraduate studying in Paris.”

“It’s a place of inspiration as well as art and history, no?” he said, smiling. “I hope the piece that Ian shows you tonight will provide its own special inspiration. We are quite proud to have her here at the St. Germain,” he said mysteriously. “I will leave you to your own devices then. I have everything arranged for you. Please be assured that you won’t be disturbed. I have shut off surveillance of the Fontainebleau salon for your short visit to afford you some privacy. I’m working in the east wing, if you should need me,” Monsieur Laurent said.

“We won’t. And I want to thank you again for this consideration. I know it was an unusual request,” Ian said.

“I have complete faith that you wouldn’t make it without excellent reason,” Monsieur Laurent said smoothly.

“I will call you when we are finished with the viewing. It won’t be long,” Ian assured.

Monsieur Laurent gave a slight bow that seemed completely natural and graceful and walked away.

“Ian, what are we doing?” Francesca whispered heatedly as he started to lead her down a dim, arched passage in the opposite direction from which Monsieur Laurent had departed.

He didn’t immediately reply. It was difficult to keep up with his long-legged stride in her stiletto heels. They quickly started to penetrate the passages into the bowels of the huge, venerable building, eventually entering museum areas that she recognized. It was a salon-style museum versus a gallery. The St. Germain’s interior as a palace residence had been preserved. Walking through the rooms gave the impression of going back in time to a posh, elegant, lived-in seventeenth-century palace showcasing priceless furnishings and incredible pieces of Grecian and Roman art.

“Do you want me to paint something else for you, and the inspiration is here at the St. Germain?” she prodded.

“No,” he said, not looking at her as he pulled her along, the sound of her heels on the marble floor echoing off the high ceiling and sweeping marble arches.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” she asked incredulously.

“Because I told myself I wanted to give you this experience, but I’m also eager to get you alone at the hotel.” He’d said it so matter-of-factly that she was rendered speechless as they passed salons to her right and left, the images of frozen statuary only increasing her sense of unreality. She’d thought things had been surreal all day, but walking through a mostly deserted, hushed palace’s halls at Ian’s side had her truly disoriented. He marched into a familiar long, narrow salon and suddenly came to a halt.

He’d stopped so suddenly, she nearly spilled forward in her high heels, her hair falling into her face. She noticed where Ian was staring and glanced up, dazed. Her mouth fell open in awe.

“Aphrodite of Argos,” she gasped.

“Yes. The Italian government has sent her on loan to us for six months.”

“
Us?
” she whispered in a hushed tone as she stared at the priceless statue of Aphrodite. Moonlight shown through the arched column of skylights built into the ceiling, bathing the salon and statue with soft luminescence. The gracefully twisted torso and sublime expression worked into the cold white marble was breathtaking as it glowed from the draped shadows.

“The St. Germain Palace belongs to my grandfather’s family. James Noble is the patron of the museum. His collection is one of his many contributions to the public—an offering to those who share in his love of antiquities. I sit on the board for the St. Germain, as does my grandmother.”

She stared up at him, his open admiration and reverence as he studied the statue taking her by surprise.
Pleasant
surprise. He was typically so stoic. There were depths to Ian Noble she couldn’t fathom.

“You adore this piece,” she stated more than asked, recalling the miniature of it in his Chicago penthouse.

“I would own it if I could,” he admitted. His smile struck her as a little sad. “But you can’t own Aphrodite, can you? Or so they tell me.”

She swallowed. A strange, light-headed feeling came over her as she stood there with this compelling, enigmatic man.

“Why do you love this particular piece so much?” she asked.

He glanced down at her, moonlight making his bold features as compelling as Aphrodite’s.

“Aside from the artistry and beauty? Maybe because of what she’s doing,” he said.

Her brows knitted together as she looked again at the statue. “She’s bathing, isn’t she?”

He nodded. She sensed his gaze on her face. “She’s partaking of her daily ritual of purity. Every day, Aphrodite washes herself clean and arises anew. It’s a nice fantasy, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she looked up at him, ensnared by his shadowed visage and the moonlit gleam in his eyes. He reached up. His fingertips were warm on her cheek, but she shivered nonetheless.

“That we could wash away our sins. I just keep compounding mine, Francesca,” he said quietly.

“Ian—” she began, compassion going through her at his tone. Why was he so convinced he was tainted?

“Never mind,” he said, interrupting her. He turned to fully face her, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her against his body. Her eyes widened. With her heels on, she was aligned higher on his body than usual. She could feel his firm testicles pressing against the top of her mons and the dense ridge of his cock riding along his left thigh.
How could he possibly be so hard when they’d barely been touching? Was this Aphrodite’s work?
She wondered in a flight of fancy.

His hand opened along the side of her jaw, lifting her face to the moonlight. Her heart started to drum out a primal beat against her breastbone. He thrust his hips, making the air pop out of her lungs at the evidence of his full arousal. His fingers flexed into her hip. His head dipped, and he brushed his lips against hers, as if he tried to inhale her gasp.

“God I want you,” he said almost angrily, before he captured her mouth with his, his tongue parting her lips. Coming into full contact with him was like suddenly being submerged in a fire. The sheer force of him, his taste, inundated her. She staggered slightly in the heels, and he caught her tighter against him, her body molding against stark, unrelenting muscle and rigid male arousal. She’d never experienced so much concentrated male desire. Had this inferno been building in him all day? All week?

She moaned into his mouth, her female flesh melting against his hard male heat. His hands shifted to the belt of her wrap dress. When he sealed their kiss roughly a moment later, Francesca felt dizzy with excitement. He stepped back. The sides of her dress gaped open, exposing her bare skin to moonlight. He pushed the material aside, exposing her near-nude body. His gaze ran over her. Her breath stuck in her lungs when she saw the reverence in his rigid features mingling with blazing lust. His nostrils flared slightly.

“I want you to remember this for the rest of your life,” he said abruptly.

“I will,” she replied without hesitance—who could possibly
forget
such a charged experience?—although she was bewildered by the meaning behind his words.

“Sit here,” he said, putting his hands on her hips.

She opened her mouth to express her confusion, but he was guiding her to the marble pedestal surrounding Aphrodite. She sat and felt the cold, hard marble beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Ian put his hands on her knees and spread them. He knelt before her.

“Ian?” she asked confusedly.

Were his hands shaking as he slid her panties down her thighs and over her knees? Her sex clenched tight in rising anticipation.

“I thought I could wait. I can’t,” he muttered, and she heard the harsh regret in his tone. He looked into her face as his hands caressed her thighs and hips, and she felt herself heating the cool marble. “If I don’t taste you now, I think I’ll die. And I if taste you, I won’t be able to stop. I’m going to have to fuck you here and now.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned shakily. She felt the increasingly familiar surge of liquid heat between her thighs. His dark head lowered to her lap. His hands parted her farther for his ravishment. Her eyes sprang wide at the sensation of the tip of his warm, sleek tongue burrowing between her labia, rubbing and stabbing at her clit.

She grasped at his thick, crisp hair and whimpered. Her head fell back. In the hazy midst of her voluptuous ecstasy, she glimpsed Aphrodite watching her initiation with calm, supreme satisfaction.

Read more of Francesca and Ian’s electrifying romance in
Part Four of BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE

BECAUSE YOU MUST LEARN

Available from Headline on 21 August 2012