One Kiss in... Paris. Robyn Grady
very generous,” Bailey murmured, remembering Mama’s final charitable act. She’d as good as saved Bailey’s life. Bailey would never be able to repay her, although she was determined to try.
When a shadow dimmed the light in the doctor’s intelligent dark eyes, fearing she’d said too much, Bailey hurried on.
“She made me promise that when I arrived back in Australia, first thing, I’d drop by and say hello.” She stole another glance at his luggage. “Like I said … not a good time.”
No use delaying her own day, either. Now that she was home, she needed to decide what her next step in life would be. An hour ago she’d suffered a setback. Vicky Jackson, the friend she’d hoped to stay with for a couple of days, was out of town. Now she couldn’t go forward without first finding a place to sleep—and finding a way to pay for it.
Mateo Celeca was still studying her. A pulse in his strong jaw began to beat before his focus lowered to his luggage.
Bailey straightened. Time to go.
Before she could take her leave, however, the doctor interjected. “I’m going overseas myself.”
“To Italy?”
“Among other places.”
Bailey frowned. “Mama didn’t mention it.”
“This time it’ll be a surprise.”
When he absently rotated the platinum band of his wristwatch, Bailey took her cue and slid one foot back.
“Well, give her my love,” she said. “Hope you have a great trip.”
But, turning to leave, a hand on her arm pulled her up, and in more ways than one. His grip wasn’t overly firm, but it was certainly hot and naturally strong. The skin on skin contact was so intense, it didn’t tingle so much as shoot a bright blue flame through her blood. The sensation left her fizzing and curiously warm all over. How potent might Mateo Celeca’s touch be if they kissed?
“I’ve been rude,” he said as his hand dropped away. “Please. Come in. I don’t expect my cab for a few minutes yet.”
“I really shouldn’t—”
“Of course you should.”
Stepping aside, he nodded at the twelve-foot-high door at the same time she caught the scent of his aftershave … subtle, woodsy. Wonderfully male. Every one of her pheromones sat up and took note. But that was only one more reason to decline his invitation. After all she’d been through—given how narrowly she’d escaped—she’d vowed to stay clear of persuasive, good-looking men.
She shook her head. “I really can’t.”
“Mama would have my head if she knew I turned a friend away.” He pretended to frown. “You wouldn’t want her to be upset with me, would you?”
Pressing her lips together, she shifted her feet and, thinking of Mama, reluctantly surrendered. “I guess not.”
“Then it’s settled.”
But then, suddenly doubtful again, he glanced around.
“You just flew in?” He asked and she nodded. He eyed her knapsack. “And this is all your luggage?”
Giving a lame smile, she eased past. “I travel light.”
His questioning look said, very.
Mateo watched his unexpected guest enter his spacious foyer. Sweet, he noted, his gaze sweeping over her long untreated fair hair. Modestly spoken. Even more modestly dressed.
Arching a brow, Mateo closed the door.
He wasn’t convinced.
The seemingly unrehearsed sway of hips in low-waisted jeans, no makeup, few possessions … Bailey Ross had described his grandmother as “very generous,” and it was true. In her later years Mama had become an easy touch. He didn’t doubt she might have fallen for this woman’s lost-kitten look and his gut—as well as past experience—said Miss Ross had taken full advantage of that.
But Mama was also huge on matchmaking. Perhaps Bailey Ross was here simply because his grandmother had thought she and her grandson might hit it off. Given how she tried to set him up with a “nice Italian girl” whenever he visited, it was more than possible.
His first instinct had been to send this woman on her way … but he was curious, and had some time to spare. His cab wasn’t due for ten minutes.
Taking in her surroundings, his visitor was turning a slow three-sixty beneath the authentic French chandelier that hung from the ornately molded second-story ceiling. The crystal beads cast moving prisms of light over her face as she admired the antiques and custom-made furnishings.
“Dr. Celeca, your home is amazing.” She indicated the staircase. “I can imagine Cinderella in her big gown and glass slippers floating down those stairs.”
Built in multicolored marble, the extravagant flight split midway into separate channels, which led to opposite wings of the house. The design mimicked the Paris Opera House, and while the French might lay claim to the Cinderella fable, he smiled and pointed out, “No glass-slippered maidens hiding upstairs, I’m afraid.”
She didn’t seem surprised. “Mama mentioned you were single.”
“Mentioned or repeated often?” He said with a crooked, leading grin.
“Guess it’s no secret she’s proud of you,” Bailey admitted. “And that she’d like a great-grandchild or two.”
Be that as it may, he wouldn’t be tying any matrimonial knots in the foreseeable future. He’d brought enough children into the world. His profession—and France—were enough for him.
She moved to join him. Her smile sunny enough to melt an iceberg, her eyes incredibly blue, Bailey and Mateo descended a half dozen marble steps and entered the main reception room. Standing among the French chateau classic decor, pausing before the twenty-foot-high Jacobean fireplace, his guest looked sorely out of place. But, he had to admit, not in a bad way. She radiated fresh—even as she suppressed a traveler’s weary yawn.
Was there reason to doubt her character? Had she fleeced his grandmother or was he being overly suspicious? Mama could be “very generous” in other ways, after all.
“So, what’s first on the itinerary?” She asked, lowering into a settee.
“West coast of Canada.” Mateo took the single saloon seat. “A group of friends who’ve been skiing at the same resort for years put on an annual reunion.” The numbers had slowly dwindled, however. Most of the guys were married now. Some divorced. The gathering didn’t have the same feel as the old days, sadly. This year he wasn’t looking forward to it. “Then on to New York to catch up with some professional acquaintances,” he went on. “Next it’s France.”
“You have friends in Paris? My parents honeymooned there. It’s supposed to be a gorgeous city.”
“I sponsor a charitable institution in the north.”
Her eyebrows lifted as she sat back. “What kind of charity?”
“Children without homes. Without parents.” To lead into what he really wanted to know—to see if she’d rise to any bait—he added, “I like to give where I can.” When she bowed her head to hide a smile, a ball of unease coiled low in his stomach. With some difficulty, he kept his manner merely interested. “Have I said something funny?”
“Just that Mama always said you were a good man.” Those glittering blue eyes lifted and met his again. “Not that I doubted her.”
Mateo’s chest tightened and he fought the urge to tug an ear or clear his throat. This woman was either a master of flattery or as nice as Mama obviously believed her to be. So which was it? Cute or on the take?
“Mama