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Frenchman or let you apologize for me. For two cents, I’d still like to knock the guy’s lights out, and I will if he doesn’t stop leering at you.”
    “For once, Peter, I agree with you. He is an egotistical Frenchman,” Liza quipped.
    Peter ignored her. Enraged, he balled his hands into fists. He moved within inches of Jacques and leaned closer, making sure the Frenchman saw the anger and violence in his eyes. “In fact, if you and that little blond she-devil don’t get out of here within the next two minutes and let me talk to Aimee alone, I may do just that.”
    Without waiting for a reply, Peter grabbed Aimee by the arm and marched her into the living room, where he pulled open the door to the apartment and waited.
    “Come along, Liza.” Jacques took the she-devil by the arm and propelled her toward the door. “Why don’t you show me where Mademoiselle Simone’s apartment is, and I’ll take a look at that door for her?”
    “Thank you, Jacques,” Aimee said softly. “Tell Simone I’ll be up to check on it later.”
    Aimee closed the door behind them. Peter reached over her and turned the lock. Aimee spun around, but before she could walk away, Peter planted both of his hands firmly against the door, trapping her within the circle of his arms.
    Her hands came up defensively; she splayed them against his chest. He could feel Aimee’s entire body, stiff and unyielding, against his. No doubt she was furious with him. He didn’t blame her. He deserved her anger. He had acted like a caveman, and he knew it. But he had been unable to help himself. Bracing himself, Peter waited for her to push him away.
    When she didn’t, he slanted a look at her face. He had seldom seen Aimee speechless, but apparently she was now. Either that, or she decided he wasn’t even worth a tonguelashing.
    She was right. He probably wasn’t. There was no excuse for his outrageous behavior. For an astute businessman known for his coolness and levelheadedness even at the most tense and competitive auctions, he had acted like the greenest of art dealers, overreacting and overbidding.
    Only Aimee wasn’t some coveted piece of art. She was a flesh-and-blood woman. His woman. And he had been blind with jealousy when he saw her with another man.
    Peter studied her face. Her cheeks had colored to a bright shade of pink. Her ghost-blue eyes were wide and filled with some unreadable emotion. The cap of dark hair on her head was tousled, as though she had just crawled from bed after a night of lovemaking—his lovemaking, Peter thought possessively.
    He could feel his groin stir at the erotic images of Aimee in his bed, and he closed his eyes for a moment, battlingwith the need to take her here…now. Heaven help him. He had lusted after a woman before, but no woman had ever affected him like this. This constant need, this constant want. She was like an addictive drug…one he couldn’t get enough of.
    “Peter.”
    He opened his eyes at the sound of his name and stared at her Cupid’s-bow mouth, bare except for a slight sheen, as though she had just licked it with her tongue. Drawing in a breath, Peter clamped down the urge to run his own tongue over those lips.
    “Peter.” She whispered his name a second time, and touched his jaw, her eyes questioning.
    Her gentle touch was his undoing. He covered her mouth with his own. Reining in the fierce hunger inside him, slowly Peter traced the shape of her lips, savored the feel of their softness. When she parted them and eased her arms around his neck, Peter moaned and deepened the kiss.
    With her back still pressed against the door, he dropped one of the hands that had imprisoned her and cupped her breast. He filled his palm with her fullness, then circled the nipple with his thumb.
    Aimee moaned and thrust her body closer. Peter shifted, the ache inside him growing painful. Cupping her buttocks with both hands, Peter lifted her, pressing his hardness into the soft warmth of her