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Davide Gagnon detached himself from the group he was standing with and came toward them, his sun-lined, handsome, younger-looking-than-he-was face breaking into a wide smile as he took Bailey’s hand and brought it to his mouth. “My pilot told me you were lovely,” he murmured gallantly. “I think he erred on the conservative side.”
Bailey gave their host a warm smile and returned his greeting. In French. In perfectly accented, lilting Parisian French that sounded so sexy Jared’s jaw dropped open.
“I think I’m in love,” Davide murmured, hanging on to her hand. “What are you doing with the most controversial man in the room, ma chère?”
“And the most brilliant,” Bailey returned smoothly as she drew back, an amused sparkle lighting her blue eyes. “I’m with him for his brain.”
Jared’s gaze tangled with hers. She appreciated a lot more than his brain, he was sure of it. And he suddenly had the burning urge to make her admit it. Maybe it was the look of pure male appreciation on Davide’s face. Maybe it had been the scene with the shoes. Regardless, it was out of the question. He had to be a good boy. He was on a very short leash with no room for error.
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