Page 41 of The Paris Trip

‘It wasn’t a compliment. And I’m going to bed.’

‘Five more minutes.’

‘One minute.’

He gave a hoarse laugh under his breath, still sketching her. ‘Three minutes.’

She ground her teeth. ‘You are the most annoying, persistent, infuriating man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.’

‘Misfortune?’

With a jolt, she recalled everything he’d done for her since this nightmare began, and felt horribly guilty again. ‘All right, I take that part back. You and your grandmother have been very kind. But you do seem quite arrogant,’ she added, unable to stop herself, ‘if you must know.’

‘You’re still here though, aren’t you?’

Now she really did stamp her foot. Which made her feel ridiculous, especially when he glanced down at that offending foot with a flick of his dark brow.

‘Only b-because I don’t have much choice,’ she spluttered. ‘You… You’ll probably throw me out on the streets if I don’t say yes.’

‘My grandmother would never allow that, as you know perfectly well. So I must assume you’re here of your own volition, Mademoiselle Eden.’

‘Why, you…’

‘Look at the photograph,’ he suggested pleasantly.

She swallowed the angry words boiling inside her and did indeed look down at the photograph. She’d said it was a miracle. And it was. The thief had not taken her grandmother’s picture. Perhaps they hadn’t even noticed that little zip compartment. Or they looked at the photograph and realised it was of no worth to them, so put it back and threw the bag away.

Whatever the reason, she was deeply grateful not to have lost this piece of her past. She ought to have taken a photo of it, and then it would have been preserved, for her photos were automatically uploaded to an internet folder. But she’d never imagined that she would have her bag stolen. As soon as she was able, she would find a way to make a copy. Just in case…

‘Yes, that’s it,’ he said softly, nodding in approval. ‘The expression on your face… I could paint you for hours.’

‘Oh, you dare!’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was almost two o’clock in the morning before Leo finally put down his sketchpad and allowed her to leave the studio. As she reached the stairs leading up to the attics, she staggered, so tired she could barely stand upright, her joints stiff.

He was there in an instant, an arm about her waist. ‘Careful,’ he murmured. ‘Here, let me help you.’

‘I can manage, thank you,’ she said, but then almost missed the first step and tumbled sideways. Again, he saved her from bashing her face on the wooden banister. ‘Oh, for goodness sake… Alright, maybe I do need your help. But only because you've kept me in that blasted studio for hours, barely moving.’ She stretched, groaning. ‘I think I’ve seized up. And that’s your fault.’

‘Absolutely,’ he agreed, supporting her up the stairs. ‘I’m a bad man.’

‘You think you’re so funny. But you’re not,’ she said bitterly. ‘You are, in fact, a very bad man.’

He chuckled, which made her grind her teeth even harder.

At last, they had almost reached her room. ‘I need the bathroom first,’ she said with dignity.

‘I’ll wait.’

‘Oh no, you won’t. I’ll be fine from here.’ And she stalked into the bathroom, as much as it was possible to stalk with aching legs.

Some ten minutes later, having done the necessary, brushed her teeth and washed her face, she groped her way out into the dimly lit corridor to find him waiting a few feet away.

‘What on earth are you still doing here?’ she hissed. ‘I told you to go away.’

He had been studying his phone and looked up in a distracted way. ‘Did you? Oh yes, you did. Alors, I ignored you.’

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