Free Pride After Her Fall by Lucy Ellis

mother.’
    ‘But she approved of you?’
    ‘ Ah, oui, in her way. Cream? Sugar?’
    ‘Black.’
    ‘Raymond, my father, did not meet with her approval, either.’
    ‘You call your dad by his given name?’
    Lorelei gave a little Gallic shrug. ‘He’s that sort of father. What do you call your papa? ’
    ‘Not much. He’s dead.’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    He watched her pour. ‘Don’t be.’
    ‘Do you have siblings?’
    ‘An older brother.’
    ‘That must be nice. I’m an only child. Are you close?’
    He looked down at her. ‘Want to trade family horror stories, Lorelei?’
    She froze. For a moment she thought... But, no, he didn’t know. He would have said something. Lorelei lowered her gaze. She didn’t have anything to be ashamed of. She hadn’t broken the law. She was a good person....
    ‘I don’t have any.’ She spoke too quickly.
    Nash watched a tide of faint pink colour move across the surface of her high tilting cheekbones. She suddenly looked a whole lot less certain of herself.
    He wondered wryly when his decision to come inside and see where this led had turned into a download of family stories over coffee. Probably about the time she’d climbed out of the car outside and looked up at him with those uncertain eyes. For some reason what had flashed through his head was not an image of her naked on a bed upstairs in this shambles of a house, but a vision of her stepping in front of those two lanes of traffic and the two minutes it had taken off his life.
    There was something about this girl that told him she didn’t have much of a clue about looking after herself.
    He suspected the little stunt in the street today was the tip of the iceberg. It should be sending him in the opposite direction. With the media circus about to start up around him, his every move monitored, he’d be insane to bring something like this into his life, even for a night.
    ‘Nash, is this your usual modus operandi with women?’ she enquired, tipping up her chin, all signs of uncertainty gone. ‘Rescue them, drive them home and get them drunk on coffee?’
    She’d read his mind.
    He’d be a busy boy for the next eight months and he wasn’t looking for a long-term lover. He was looking for what most men wanted but didn’t own up to: a hot blonde who disappeared in the morning. He remembered that over that restaurant table he’d seriously considered Lorelei might be that woman.
    He considered it again.
    She could make arrangements, pack an overnight bag. He’d sort the plane, show her the nightlife of Paris, acquaint himself with the sweet, sensual weight of what he’d held in his arms momentarily inside the restaurant...
    He watched her sashay over to the kitchen table, prop that pert little ass of hers up on the distressed oak surface and dangle a long, lithe leg.
    Caution be damned—why the hell not?
    He’d suggest dinner, mention the restaurant, wait for her to pack a little bag.
    She was sipping her coffee, twining a glossy curl around a finger, amber eyes busy on him. It might have been his imagination but she seemed to sit a little straighter, and those eyes grew a little warier the closer he came. Yeah, those eyes did all the speaking for her, and if he sensed a raft-load of secrets was lurking behind them it didn’t concern him. He wasn’t interested in uncovering her secrets. He just wanted to know what she was doing tonight.
    He stopped in front of her.
    ‘I’ve been giving tonight some thought.’
    ‘Ah, oui.’
    He’d actually been thinking about some fine dining at a famous first arrondissement hotel, but something a little more cutting edge might be a better setting for Lorelei.
    ‘If you’re not engaged?’
    Lorelei put down her coffee. ‘Mais, non.’
    He reached for her hands, turned them over in his. She let him.
    ‘Dinner?’
    ‘Oui.’
    To his surprise her lashes swept down and for a moment she looked almost demure, rather old-fashioned.
    ‘Paris?’ He cleared his suddenly husky