“Mimi, my grandmother, left me a bit of money and it seemed the right time in
my life to do some traveling.”
“But you stopped in Paris?”
“I’ve always dreamed of living here.” She worried her bottom lip delightfully and
Gérard bit his tongue to stifle the urge to lean over and taste her delectable mouth.
“It’s dangerous to travel alone.”
“I didn’t. I mean, I am now. I left … the others in Amsterdam.” She stumbled over
her words and Gérard waited for her to spill her secrets. But Mademoiselle Sommers
merely turned her face to the window as her fingers picked at the hem of her cape.
Others, being her former lover, or her sister, or perhaps both? Maybe they were
all in cahoots to swindle him. Gérard’s intuition told him Nikki was innocent, in more
ways than one, but he’d been fooled too recently to trust his gut this time. He hated that
he was questioning his instincts.
The passing lights lit her face, her lips curved up with pleasure as she studied the
buildings around them. “The city is so beautiful. So full of history.”
“And where is home?”
“You caught me. I don’t have one.” She glanced over at him. “It used to be a little
town in Georgia. Just big enough, Mimi used to say. Enough people so there would be
something interesting going on. But it never seemed interesting enough to me. Not like
Paris.”
“So you create your own interest, non?”
She merely smiled in response.
He suspected Nikki might have been bored, but no one around her could be. That,
she certainly had in common with her sister. They both dragged people into their little
fantasy worlds. Didn’t she know the grueling life of a pastry chef? The long hours, the
physical grind, the constant criticism, and above all the attitude that it was not real
cooking. She’d stood up to his criticism at Madame’s patisserie, but that was nothing
compared to what would happen to her in a professional capacity. And he ought to know.
The tougher he was on a chef, the better the public liked it. He shook his head. Clearly,
she had no idea who he was.
Gérard leaned over, his shoulder touching Nikki’s as he pointed out the window.
“There’s one of my favorite places, Musée Jacquemart. A small museum built by a
couple with a passion for art and each other. The façade is unassuming, but the backside
is beautiful.”
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