“Yes, that’s the one for sure,” he stated. “And - let’s see. Ah, these will go nicely with the dress.”

Tessa watched in fascination as he selected shoes, a clutch bag, lingerie, and a pair of dangly drop earrings from the assortment the sales clerk had brought in along with the half dozen or so dresses. He continued to amaze her with his innate fashion sense, always seeming to know the colors and styles that suited her best. She nodded her approval at the pair of high, strappy stilettos, metallic clutch, and gold diamante earrings.

But she couldn’t resist smirking a bit as she picked up the miniscule thong of nude lace. “Really?” she asked, arching a brow. “For as little as this will cover I might as well go commando. Same with the bra. The dress is fully lined and the bodice is structured enough that I don’t really need to wear a bra.”

Ian grinned lasciviously as he gazed at her cleavage. “But it’s not offering much in the way of support, darling. Better wear the bra. The thong, too.” He squeezed her buttock. “Because if I suspected for even a moment that you were naked underneath this dress, it’s all I’d be able to think about all night.”

He ran a finger over the lavish display of her breasts in the low-cut dress before pressing a kiss in the deep valley between them. Tessa felt her nipples harden instantly, her panties become damp, and her body responding as it always did to his nearness, his scent, his overwhelmingly masculinity. She swayed towards him, her breasts pushing against the black cashmere pullover covering his torso, and she clutched his biceps for balance.

Her gaze must have betrayed the instant lust he had stirred up, because he gave a throaty laugh and a brief shake of his head.

“Oh, no, you don’t, you little flirt,” he teased. “You’ve already seduced me once in a dressing room, as I recall. I’m not going to succumb to your wiles in a public place again. Besides, it’s almost time for lunch, and then afterwards perhaps we’ll have time to indulge in our very favorite French pastime.”

Tessa turned around so he could unzip her. “Pastries and café au lait?” she asked hopefully.

“That, too,” murmured Ian as he slid the dress off her body. “But what I was really thinking about was more l’amour dans l’apres-midi.”

She shivered in reaction at his seductively spoken words. “That - that definitely sounds much better than cake and coffee.”

“You’re really sure about this?”

Tessa glanced up anxiously at Ian, clutching his arm tightly against her breast as they stood just inside the private dance club he’d arranged for them to attend tonight.

He rubbed the nape of her neck reassuringly. “I’m very sure, yes. According to what I’ve been told by several of my friends here in Paris, this is the most exclusive club in the city, if not all of Europe. The waiting list to gain membership is years long, and even getting a one night guest pass is all but impossible unless you’re some sort of celebrity.”

She gave him a little eye roll. “Or a member of the Gregson family. Is there anyone you don’t know? Or anyplace you aren’t welcomed with open arms?”

During their stay in Paris, she had continued to be awestruck by how the Gregson name always seemed to snag them the very best table at the very finest restaurants; how every staff member at the hotel knew who they were and went out of their way to make sure their every whim was instantly satisfied; how Ian had managed to arrange the private tour at the Louvre; the personalized attention they had received this morning at what was surely one of the most exclusive boutiques in the city; the front row seats to a sold-out jazz performance.

But she shouldn’t have been surprised, not really, when she’d already been witness to the way Ian commanded attention wherever they went. He had that sort of authoritative air about him that quietly demanded action, and it was very, very obvious from the way he dressed to the dignified, regal way he carried himself and his upper crust British accent that he expected his wishes to be carried out promptly and thoroughly. And he seemed to take all of this in stride, to act as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be waited on and catered to in such a manner.

At the same time, however, Ian was always gracious and well-mannered, never once acting like a privileged snob or arrogant aristocrat, and was always quick to express his thanks. He was the perfect gentleman at all times - except, of course, in the privacy of their bedroom, where he frequently and exuberantly unleashed the wildness inside of him, the wildness that only Tessa knew existed beneath the suave, sophisticated man that the rest of the world saw.

Ian gave her a very satisfied looking smile. “Wealth and power and knowing the right people certainly aren’t the most important things in life, darling. But they do come in handy on frequent occasions. Like tonight, when I wanted to bring my beautiful fiancée dancing at the top club in Paris. Fortunately, Josef knows the owner of this club very well, and getting us in here only took a brief phone call on his part. Something he was more than happy to do, by the way.”

Josef was the Swiss-born manager of the Gregson Hotel here in Paris, and had been more than eager to provide whatever assistance Ian and Tessa had needed during their stay. The two men had known each other for more than a decade, having worked at three different hotels together over the years, including Ian’s stint here in Paris as the hotel manager. That news had surprised Tessa somewhat, though of course she’d known he had worked his way up through the company, with his father and uncle insisting that he and his brothers have a full, working knowledge of how both the hotels and the corporate offices functioned.

They remained poised at the entrance to the crowded dance floor, with Tessa taking in the frenetic scene around them. The only other times she’d been to a club had been that ill-fated evening she and Peter had reluctantly agreed to go out with her former co-workers, and then last summer for Julia’s bachelorette party. But her two brief experiences had been more than enough for her to know that the club scene was definitely not for her, and she wondered anew at Ian’s purpose in bringing her here tonight.

He took her firmly by the hand, and skirted around the edge of the packed dance floor until they reached an empty booth that had a reserved sign planted firmly in the middle of the table. Ian spoke in French to the staff member whose job seemed to be guarding the half dozen or so private booths and tables clustered in this section of the club, and the young man nodded eagerly as he gestured for them to take a seat. Less than a minute later, a smartly uniformed cocktail waitress arrived to take their order, and Tessa didn’t for a second miss the very interested look the sultry, dark-haired woman gave Ian. As usual, though, he ignored the rather blatant smile directed his way and merely gave her their order - a very rare and expensive single malt Scotch for Ian, and a lemon drop - one of Tessa’s favorite drinks. The waitress’s smile faded abruptly at the cool, formal tone of Ian’s voice, as well as the way he wrapped his arm possessively around Tessa’s shoulders and pulled her against his side, close enough for their thighs to be practically glued together.