“Calling Lin. Since you want to go to the concert, she’ll be able to procure us last-minute tickets for the seated section.”
“Ian, the seated section has been sold out forever. Trust me, Caden and I tried to get tickets.”
“We’ll get some,” he said, locating Lin’s number.
He paused and looked up when Francesca put her hand on his forearm. The setting sun and the reflection from her hair gave her cheeks and lips an extra-rosy hue. Her dark eyes shone with just the hint of a challenge.
“Let’s just go sit on the lawn.”
“The lawn,” he repeated dryly.
“Yeah, you can’t see much, but you can hear pretty well. And anybody can go,” she said, grabbing his hand and urging him toward the park.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“Oh stop being so British.”
A sharp retort flew to his throat—a knee-jerk reaction. He really wasn’t used to having people speak to him in the way that Francesca did without a blink of an eye. He saw the excited sparkle in those nymph eyes of hers, however, and exhaled his protest. He could get used to being teased and subtly reprimanded—very easily—if it was her doing it.
“I really do spoil you,” he said as they walked toward the writhing mass of youth ahead of them. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else. I want you to know that.”
He came to an abrupt halt when she spun around, went up on her toes, and kissed him on the mouth. He caught her scent and taste, and his surprise faded. Her soft moan when he deepened the kiss was as delicious as the rest of her. Her face struck him as sublime as she looked up at him with a heavy-lidded gaze a moment later.
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she breathed.
Maybe because you’re the sweetest thing that’s ever happened to me.
The flash of regret he experienced as they entered the packed park a minute later surprised him.
He should have said the words out loud.
He wasn’t at all sure that he could have been so unguarded and honest, however, and that truth bothered him more than it ever had in his life.
* * *
“Best. Day. Ever,” she emphasized, brimming over in enthusiasm as they entered Ian’s bedroom suite later. “First my paintings—thank you again for that, Ian. I’m still stunned. Then that motorcycle ride—what an awesome bike—and then Naked Thieves in the park!”
“We could hardly hear anything at the concert. It sounded like someone screaming bloody murder to static,” Ian murmured amusedly as he held up his hands in an expectant gesture. She turned so he could remove her jacket. Despite his dry comment, she’d noticed his small smile and knew he wasn’t as unimpressed by the experience as he let on.
“That’s just because you don’t know the songs,” she said, refusing to be anything but happy.
“Is that what they call that noise?” he asked mildly as he laid her jacket on the back of a chair and Francesca turned to face him.
“You seemed to have a nice enough time.”
He caught her challenging expression and shook his head. She laughed. She referred to the fact that they’d spent a majority of the concert making out, both of them getting so steamy and aroused that Ian had abruptly declared it was time to leave unless they wanted to get arrested for public indecency.
He’d surprised her when they’d first entered the park and found a rare open patch of earth. “Hold on for a few seconds,” he’d said. “Don’t sit yet.”
She’d watched, curious and amazed, as he’d approached a particularly well-stocked group of picnicking young people who were sitting twenty or so feet away. He spoke to them and pointed to a few items. Money had changed hands. A moment later, Ian had walked away, leaving the people looking bemused and very pleased. He obviously hadn’t given them a small amount of money for his prize—two blankets, a couple of bottles of chilled water, and a napkin-covered paper plate that she’d discovered later contained four pieces of delectable fried chicken.
“I’m thinking you liked your first rock concert ever,” she teased, recalling a truth he’d told her as they lay cozily beneath one of the blankets, the wild crowd just feet away seemingly miles from their insulated, private world.
“I liked touching you,” he replied simply, making her cheeks heat in pleasure. His gaze dropped over her. “Why don’t you go and get ready for bed?”
She shivered at the sound of his low voice and the heated gleam in his stare. She headed toward the bathroom.
“And Francesca?”
She turned to face him. Her brows pulled together in puzzlement when he didn’t speak for several seconds.
“It was for me, too,” he finally said.
Her bewilderment deepened.
“The best day ever.”
She stood there watching as he disappeared into his dressing room, her heart throbbing in disbelief and something much more profound at his unexpected honesty. From the dark, fear-shrouded recesses of her brain, a memory rose to taunt her. She hated the dread that tainted the wondrous feeling she’d experienced at Ian’s words.
I offer you pleasure and the experience. Nothing else. I have nothing else to offer.
How long could something so amazing endure given that she shared the experience with a man who so reluctantly shared himself . . .
. . . given that she’d risked her heart to an enigma like Ian Noble?
* * *
The next several weeks passed in a blur, everything cast in the glow of Francesca’s deepening feelings for Ian. She grew used to his moods, understanding that often when he appeared distant, he was in fact processing massive amounts of information, planning for his various companies on multiple levels, making decisions in a startlingly concise and rapid manner. He continued her lessons in the bedroom, Francesca flourishing under his tutelage. Ian was as demanding and intense as ever—perhaps even more so—but as she gained comfort with sexual submission and her trust in him grew, their exchanges altered, somehow becoming sweeter, a true give-and-take of power, caring, and pleasure. She suspected that the deepening level of intimacy in their exchange was responsible for the richer experience, and wondered if Ian felt it, too.