Read Because You Are Mine Part III: Because You Haunt Me for Free Online Page B

mousse, hazelnuts, and caramel ice cream blended on her tongue. He smiled, and she smiled back impishly, forking another portion with more enthusiasm.
    “You speak French very well,” she commented before she slid the fork between her lips.
    “There’s no reason I shouldn’t. I’m a French citizen, as well as one of the United Kingdom. It’s a tie-up as to whether my native tongue is French or English. The townspeople spoke French where I grew up; my mother English.”
    She paused in her chewing, recalling what Mrs. Hanson had told her about Ian’s grandparents finally finding their daughter in northern France and discovering a grandson as well. She longed to ask him more about his past.
    “You never speak of your parents,” she said cautiously, taking another bite.
    “You never speak of yours, either. Aren’t you close with them?”
    “Not really,” she said, hiding her scowl at the realization he’d changed the topic away from himself. “My whole life I thought they disapproved of me because I was overweight, or so I thought. Now that I’m not overweight anymore, I’ve had to come to the conclusion that they just don’t get me. Period.”
    “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