Those long, tapering legs, her tiny waist, shapely breasts—he was driving himself nuts imagining her naked. It was desire, though, not lust. Hugh was torn with curiosity. All that femininity, and a loveless marriage. She had poured it into her son. He could tell—practiced with women, as he was—how she’d been in Pierre’s bed: nervous, cold, almost certainly a virgin, and one that had never warmed to sex.

He wanted, badly, to try. Not try, in fact—do. There was no doubt in Montfort’s mind that in his arms, Sophie would be different. Utterly, spectactularly different. He didn’t think she’d ever been turned on, not really—never wanted to let go. If he could make her his, he would teach her, in the full flower of her womanhood, what that was like. And sex was so much better, so infinitely better, when you knew that after you’d come you wouldn’t be full of disgust, of self-loathing.

Hugh had wanted the hookers, sure. But he’d hated himself for the physical need, the mechanical, ugly nature of it. And he’d wanted Georgie; that had been different, a good thing, one that made him feel alive.

Wanting Sophie, wanting to feel the taste of her lips, her belly, her hair in his hands, that was the same way. He wanted her to be his. To be with her. Forever. The problem was going to be talking her into it.

They’d only gone on one date. The damned business with her son meant he hadn’t seen her since. And now, after the call earlier that evening, Hugh wasn’t sure he’d see her again.

He set his tumbler of whisky aside, distracted, laid down his novel. Damn it, he wouldn’t just accept it. He’d swim back to bloody Paris if necessary. Whatever it took to win her. To get his ring on her finger, and her body into his bed—

And then the phone rang.

“Montfort.”

“It’s me.”

So it was, and he felt as though he were suspended in glass, waiting for her to give him a decision.

“I’m glad to hear from you. Are you coming?”

“I’d like to. There’s a flight that lands at Shannon at ten tomorrow.”

A rush of gladness swept through him. “Just in time for lunch. I can have the cook make you something. Or would you prefer to go to the village pub?”

“The pub. Much rather,” Sophie answered, and laughed. “I haven’t eaten in a pub for years.”

“I hope you can stay a good long time,” he said, seriously.

“Let’s take things as they come.”

Yes, let’s, Hugh thought. He was immensely cheered. “I’ll be there to pick you up. Do you have a lot of luggage?”

“One suitcase; I’m going to buy it tomorrow and get some new clothes.”