Chapter Eight

Flying by private jet was a luxury that could never get old for her, but as Lucien slipped into the seat opposite, Sophie almost wished that they'd flown with a regular carrier. Safety in numbers. Two was definitely not a safe number. They were only due to be in the air for a little over an hour, but that hour suddenly seemed like an awfully long time to be confined in a small space with Lucien. It didn't help that he'd stripped her naked within five minutes of take-off the last time they'd left England together, or that their return flight held such dramatic, unhappy memories. Sophie and this jet had history, and her stomach flipped over as it started to taxi slowly along the runway.

Please let this flight be uneventful.

Lucien watched Sophie fidget with her seatbelt and then pick up and put a magazine down again. She crossed and uncrossed her legs and he forced his eyes away from the movement. The pink flush in her cheeks and the over-bright glow in her eyes told him of her heightened anxiety levels, even though she was masking it well with her professional veneer.

Yes, Mr.Knight, No, Mr.Knight. It was driving him crazy. He wanted to hear her say his name again.

"Would you consider it a breach of your rules if I asked you to go back to calling me Lucien while we're away?"

She looked at him, as wary as a cat on a hot tin roof. Ever since he'd informed her about their trip to Paris she'd retreated behind a mask of over politeness, which included addressing him by his formal name. In the past, this might have seemed flirtatious, but she'd made certain not to allow it to sound that way of late.

"I'd probably prefer not to."

"And I'd prefer it if you did. Or I could always go back to calling you Ms. Black, if you'd prefer?"

He knew perfectly well that she wouldn't prefer that, but she couldn't have it both ways. She eyed him tensely for a second.

"Fine. I'll call you by your first name until we get back to England."

"Go on then."

"Go on then what?"

"Call me by my first name."

She squirmed, and he knew he ought to let her off the hook. Would she do it?

"I'll use your name, but the no flirting rule is not to be broken. Deal?"

"I don't flirt, so no deal. Now say my name. Please."

"You're flirting and you know it."

"Sophie, if I was going to flirt, I'd ask you to say my name because I like how it sounds coming out of your mouth. Or maybe I'd say it reminds me of how you sound when you moan it when you're about to come." Lucien saw her eyes widen a fraction and her jaw stiffen. He wasn't sorry. Her rules were keeping him awake at night. "So, no. I wasn't flirting. You see the difference?"

They regarded each other in silence across the small space between their seats.

"Yes, Lucien. I see the difference." She said his name without emphasis, but his point had been made.

He managed to keep the small smile of triumph from his mouth as he reached for his newspaper. He wouldn't break her rules, but he sure would have fun pushing his luck. Besides. He had the distinct feeling that Sophie might break her own rules. If she did, then all bets were off.

Sophie stepped down onto the tarmac at Paris Le Bourget airport and breathed easily for the first time since they'd left the UK. The exchange in the jet had left her under no illusions. Lucien was barely keeping a lid on his lethal charm and the next few days were going to be a trial for both of them.

Kara's words rang in her ears as she slid into the back of the limousine. Throw your bloody rules out of the window and shag his brains out. She glanced sideways at Lucien, distracted by the fluency of his French as he conversed with the driver.

She wasn't even sure where they were staying. Lucien had a contact in Paris who had arranged their accommodation for them, and given the lifestyle he led, she was pretty sure that it wouldn't be a budget basic with a shared bathroom on the landing. Beyond that she was in the dark, apart from taking pains to clarify the separate sleeping arrangements. He'd rolled his eyes at her questions.

"Even I can see that it would break your no touching rule to share a bed, Sophie."

Nothing further had been said, and Sophie found herself relaxing as she drank in her first glimpses of Paris out of the darkened windows of the sleek car.

It was still early morning, and the rush hour was in full force. Cars queued bumper to bumper, horns beeped, and taxi drivers waved their arms out of their open windows. Everyone seemed to want to go at breakneck speed even though there was nowhere for them to go, and scooters buzzed in and out of the moving lines like flies. To Sophie at least, it was a different sort of chaos from London, like a scene from a movie compared to the dull, everyday reality of England.

The mish-mash of old and new buildings on the commercial outskirts of the city gave way to grander architecture along the tree-lined edges of the Seine as they proceeded into central Paris. To Sophie's eyes, even the pale grey skies overhead didn't detract from the beauty of the bridges that spanned the wide river, and she craned her neck to look up at the buildings, every inch the excited tourist seeing Paris for the first time. She turned to Lucien and found him watching her with an amused expression.

"Will we see the Eiffel Tower?"

She knew she sounded like a ten year-old in a candy store, but she couldn't hold it in. She'd spent so much time worrying about the trip that she hadn't allowed the excitement of seeing Paris to seep in. Now she was here, it hit her square between the eyes.

Lucien leaned forward and spoke to the driver again in fluent French, then slipped back into his place beside her.

"We will now."

Sophie realised he had asked for a detour, and was touched. What she hadn't bargained for was a full circuit of the architectural highlights of the city. She watched, delighted, as the scenery unfolded. There was the Louvre, grand and sprawling along the riverbank. The dramatic spires of Notre Dame soaring into the skies above. The unmistakable white curves and domes of the Sacre Cour. Lucien pointed them all out and offered snippets about each, knowledgeable and at ease with the city. The solid, grey but intricately detailed Arc de Triomphe. The majestic, glittering fountains of the Place de la Concorde, and, central to all of it, the Eiffel Tower. Excitement built in Sophie's gut at her first glimpse of it in the distance, and roared through her veins as they moved close up. It was every bit as spectacular as in movies and magazines, but infinitely larger and more imposing in real life. It wasn't just architecturally impressive. It stood as a symbol of every romantic novel and love song. It was the scene of countless proposals and Valentines. It radiated romance from its every iron nut and bolt, a great big latticed beating heart of the city that made lovers out of even the most stoic visitors. Lovers. Tour over, Sophie turned back to Lucien.