the brow. "Will you get dressed now, Maggie? Let me give you Paris."
He did. For nearly a week he gave her everything the city had to offer, from the magnificence of Notre Dame to the intimacy of dim cafes. He bought her flowers from the tight-lipped street vendor every morning until the suite smelled like a garden. They strolled along the Seine in the moonlight, Maggie with her shoes in her hand and the river's breeze on her cheeks. They danced in clubs to poorly played American music, and dined on glorious food and wine at Maxim's. She watched him pore over the sidewalk art, searching always for another diamond in the rough. And though he winced when she bought an undoubtedly bad painting of the Eiffel Tower, she only laughed and told him art was in the soul, not always in the execution. The hours she spent in the Paris gallery were just as exciting to her. While Rogan ordered, directed and arranged she saw her work shine under his vigilant eye. A vested interest, he'd said. She couldn't deny that he tended his interests well. He was as passionate and attentive to her art during those afternoons as he was to her body during the nights. When it was done, and the last piece was set to shine under the lights, she thought that the show was every bit as much a result of his efforts as of her own. But partnership didn't always equal harmony.
"Damn it, Maggie, if you keep fussing in there
we'll be late." For the third time in as many minutes, Rogan knocked on the bedroom door she'd locked.
"And if you keep bothering me, we'll be later still," she called out. "Go away. Better yet, go on to the gallery yourself. I can get myself there when I'm ready."
"You can't be trusted," he muttered, but her ears were sharp.
"I don't need a keeper, Rogan Sweeney." She was breathless from struggling to reach the low zipper of her dress. "I've never seen a man so ruled by the hands of a clock."
"And I've never seen a woman more careless of time. Would you unlock this door? It's infuriating to have to shout through it."
"All right, all right." By nearly dislocating her arm, she managed to fasten the dress. She wriggled her feet into ridiculously high bronze heels, cursed herself for being fool enough to take Joseph's advice, then twisted the lock. "I wouldn't have taken so long if they made women's clothes with the same consideration they make men's. Your zippers are within easy reach." She stopped, tugged once on the short hem of the dress. "Well? Is it all right or not?"
He said nothing at all, only twirled his finger to indicate he wanted her to circle. Rolling her eyes to heaven, she complied.
The dress was strapless, nearly backless, with a skirt that halted teasingly at midthigh. It glittered, bronze, copper, gold, sparking fire at every breath. Her hair echoed the tone so that she seemed like a candle flame, slim and bright.
"Maggie. You take my breath away."
'The seamstress wasn't generous with material."
"I admire her parsimony."
When he continued to stare, she lifted her brows. "You said we were in a hurry."
"I've changed my mind."
Her brows lifted higher as he started toward her. "I'm warning you, if you get me out of this dress, it'll be your responsibility to get me back in."
"As attractive as that sounds, it'll have to wait. I've a present for you, and it seems that the fates guided my hand. I believe this will complement your dress nicely."
He reached into the inside pocket of his tux and took out a slim velvet box.
"You've already bought me a present. That huge bottle of scent."
That was for me." He leaned over to sniff her bare shoulder. The smoky perfume might have been created with her in mind. "Very much for me. This is for you."
"Well, since it's too small to be another answering machine, I'll take it." But when she opened the box, the chuckle died in her throat. Rubies, square flames of them, simmered with white-hot diamonds in a three-tiered choker tied together by twists of glinting gold. No delicate bauble, but a bold flash, a lightning flash of color arid heat and gleam.
"Something to remember Paris by," Rogan told her as he slipped it from the box. The necklace ran like blood and water through his fingers.
"It's diamonds. Rogan, I can't wear diamonds."
"Of course you can." He brought it to her throat, his eyes on hers as he fastened the clasp. "Not alone perhaps. They'd be cold and wouldn't suit you. But with the other stones ..." He stepped back to take
in the effect. "Yes, exactly right. You look like a pagan goddess."
She couldn't stop her hand from reaching up, from running across the gems. They felt warm against her skin. "I don't know what to say to you."
"Say thank you, Rogan. It's lovely."
"Thank you, Rogan." Her smile bloomed and spread. "It's a great deal more than lovely. It's dazzling."
"And so are you." He leaned into the kiss, then patted her bottom. "Now get a move on, or we'll be late. Where's your wrap?"
"I haven't got one."
'Typical," he murmured, and pulled her out the door.
Maggie thought she handled her second showing with a great deal more panache than she had the first. Her stomach wasn't nearly as jittery, her temper not nearly as short. If she did, once or twice, think wistfully of escape, she covered it well. And if she pined for something she couldn't have, she reminded herself that success sometimes had to be enough in itself.
"Maggie."
She turned from the heavily accented ramblings of a Frenchman whose eyes had rarely left her cleavage and stared dumbstruck at her sister.
"Brianna?"
"It certainly is." Smiling, Brianna gathered her astonished sister in an embrace. "I would have been here an hour ago, but there was a delay at the airport."
"But how? How are you here at all?"
"Rogan sent his plane for me."
"Rogan?" Baffled, Maggie scanned the room until she found him. He only smiled at her, then at Brianna, before returning his attention to an enormous woman in fuchsia lace. Maggie nudged her sister to a corner of the room. "You came on Rogan's plane?"
"I thought I would have to let you down again, Maggie." More than a little overwhelmed by the sight of Maggie's work glittering in a roomful of exotic strangers, Brianna slipped her hand into her sister's. "I was trying to think of how to manage it. Mother's fine with Lottie, of course, and I knew I could leave Con with Murphy. I even asked Mrs. McGee if she'd look after Blackthorn for a day or two. But then there was the how to get here."
"You wanted to come," Maggie said softly. "You wanted to."
"Of course I did. I wanted nothing more than to be with you. But I never imagined it would be like this." Brie stared at the white-coated waiter who offered her champagne from his silver tray. 'Thank you."
"I didn't think it mattered to you." To clear the emotion from her throat, Maggie drank deeply. "I was, just now, standing here thinking I wished it mattered to you."
"I'm proud of you, Maggie, so proud. I've told you."
"I didn't believe you. Oh God." She felt the tears well up and blinked them furiously away.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, thinking so little of my feelings," Brie scolded.
"You never showed any interest," Maggie fired
back.
"I showed all the interest I could. I don't understand what you do, but that doesn't mean it doesn't make me proud that you do it." Coolly, Brianna tipped back her glass. "Oh," she murmured, staring at the bubbling wine, "but that's lovely. Who'd have thought anything could taste like that?"
With a hoot of laughter, Maggie kissed her sister hard on the mouth. "Jesus save us, Brie, what are we doing here? The two of us, drinking champagne in Paris."
"I for one am going to enjoy it. I have to thank Rogan. Do you think I could interrupt him for a moment?"
"After you've told me the rest. When did you call him?"
"I didn't, he called me. A week ago."
"He called you?"
"Aye, and before I could wish him good morning, he was telling me what I would do and how I would do it."
"That's Rogan."
"He said he'd be sending the plane, and that I was to meet his driver at the airport in Paris. I tried to get a word in, but he rolled right over me. The driver would take me to the hotel. Have you ever seen the like of that place, Maggie? It's like a palace."
"I nearly swallowed my tongue when I walked in. Go on."
"Then, I was to get myself ready, and the driver would bring me here. Which he did, though I thought for certain he'd kill me along the way. And there was this in the hotel room, with a note from him telling me it would please him if I'd wear it." She brushed a hand down the misty blue silk of the evening suit she wore. "I wouldn't have taken it, but he put the request in such a way I'd have felt rude not to."
"He's good at that. And you look wonderful in it."
"I feel wonderful in it. I confess, my head's still spinning from planes and cars and all this. All of this," she said again, staring around the room. These people, Maggie, they're all here for you."
"I'm glad you are. Shall I take you around so you can charm them for me?"
"They're charmed already, just seeing the two of you." Rogan stepped beside them and took Brianna's hand. "It's delightful to see you again."
"I'm grateful to you for arranging it. I can't begin to thank you."
"You just have. You don't mind if I introduce you around? Mr. LeClair — there, the rather flamboyant-looking man by Maggie's Momentum? He's just confessed to me that he's fallen in love with you."
"He certainly falls easily, but I'll be pleased to meet him. I'd like to wander about as well. I've never seen Maggie's work shown like this."