One Week With The French Tycoon. Christy McKellen

desk you’d checked out. I didn’t expect to see you on this circuit today.’

      She stiffened, wondering why on earth he seemed so irritated about her walking the same route as him.

      ‘I have another hotel in town booked for tonight. A better organised one, I hope,’ she said, shrugging off her discomfort and forcing a smile on to her face.

      ‘Okay. Bon.’ He took a deliberate step backwards, then froze as her words seemed to sink in. ‘Do you mean you’re staying in Amalfi again tonight?’

      Another wave of warmth began to creep up her neck. ‘Yup.’

      His brow crinkled in confusion. ‘Then why are you moving hotels after only one night?’

      She shifted uncomfortably. ‘I like to change things up. It keeps me on my toes.’

      And I can’t afford to stay in that hotel again, not that I’m admitting that to you, Monsieur Moneybags.

      He nodded slowly, his gaze searching hers as if he was trying to rootle out a lie.

      She just raised both eyebrows at him, determined not to give in and blurt out the truth, trying to ignore the way her pulse had sped up.

      Letting out a sharp huff of a laugh, Julien broke eye contact and glanced behind him as if looking for an excuse to leave. Not that she could blame him; the conversation wasn’t exactly flowing well and she was tempted to slink away herself. But she wasn’t going to; she was going to see this through to the bitter end, as a matter of personal fulfilment.

      ‘So, are you going to try one of those trattorias for your lunch?’ she pressed, nodding in the direction he’d been heading.

      He closed his eyes for a second and pulled in a sharp breath, then smiled politely. ‘Oui. I didn’t have the forethought to bring any food with me.’ He gestured towards the remains of her sandwich, which was still clutched in her hand. ‘Where did you get your lunch today?’ The dry irony in his tone suggested there was more to his question than a simple polite query.

      He must have seen her take the food from the buffet. The realisation sent a prickle up her spine. Normally she would never have done such a thing, hating the idea of stealing anything from anyone, but with the limited funds she had available until her bag turned up, it was necessary to bend her rules a little.

      ‘I purloined it from the breakfast buffet,’ she admitted, forcing herself to keep her chin up and her gaze locked with his. ‘I thought the least the hotel could do was gift me a lunch after their mess-up with the room last night. Anyway, a place like that always puts out more than is consumed. I was helping with their wastage problem,’ she finished, aware that her tone was edged with defensiveness.

      His eyes crinkled at the corners as his wry smile deepened. ‘Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me,’ he murmured, leaning closer and enveloping her in his delicious scent.

      It was all she could do not to take a great gulping breath of it through her nose. What was it that made his smell so enticing to her? Was this what people called the pheromone effect? She’d never experienced it before.

      ‘Thanks,’ she deadpanned.

      He gave her a curt nod. ‘Well, I’m going to go and eat.’

      ‘Okay, enjoy,’ she said, disappointed that he was leaving now. Despite his standoffishness, she’d enjoyed chatting with him after spending her morning alone. All the other English-speaking walkers she’d encountered on the route seemed to be part of a group, which she hadn’t had the courage to try and break into yet.

      She watched him stride away, trying not to stare at the way he moved his large, fit body with such powerful grace.

      Judging by his troubled mood, she guessed he must be struggling with some serious emotional turmoil, which she knew from personal experience could make for a pretty lonely existence. She hated to see people in pain, especially if she thought she could do something to help.

      Well, she’d just have to keep an eye out for him, just in case he fancied some no-strings company later.

       CHAPTER THREE

      Back in Amalfi. Make sure you take advantage of the wonderful selection of restaurants and eateries after visiting the imposing cathedral in the centre of the town...

      AFTER THOROUGHLY ENJOYING the solitude of his walk earlier in the day, Julien had been looking forward to finding a place to grab a peaceful lunch when Indigo had run over and accosted him.

      It had taken everything he’d had not to be rude and pretend he hadn’t heard her calling out to him, then continue with their stilted conversation when it became clear she wasn’t going to let him get away without extracting some kind of information out of him.

      He wasn’t sure why she’d been so keen to chat. Perhaps she was lonely and hadn’t found any other English speakers to buddy up with. He hoped she’d got the message that he preferred to holiday on his own now though, and wouldn’t bother coming over to talk to him should their paths cross again.

      A niggle of shame twisted in his gut. He felt bad about being so unfriendly, but she’d picked the wrong time to try and get to know him.

      If that had been her objective.

      Perhaps she was looking for something more. If that was the case, she was bang out of luck. After the train wreck of his marriage, he wanted nothing to do with women and relationships again for a very long time.

      Even spirited ones with legs that went on for miles and eyes you could get lost in.

      When he got back to the hotel, he took a long cooling shower then a refreshing nap before striking out for dinner, strolling through the centre of Amalfi on the way to the restaurants on the marina that the hotel receptionist had recommended he try.

      Diverted by the magnificence of the Duomo in the town centre, he climbed the wide steps and walked through the Arabic style Cloister of Paradise, looking out through the grand archways at the panoramic view of the town, with its pastel-coloured stone buildings wrapped with iron balconies.

      He knew what he was looking at should have blown him away, but ever since his life had fallen to pieces he’d had trouble finding pleasure in things. He felt desensitised to beauty, as if he was viewing it from inside a plastic bubble. Nothing seemed to touch him any more.

      Shaking off the building tension at the base of his skull, he was just about to turn and walk back to the steps when a bright flash of red caught his eye.

      Was that Indigo again?

      Craning his neck, he tried to see past a crowd of tourists blocking his view and catch another glimpse of her so he could make sure to walk in the opposite direction, but she seemed to have disappeared. Was his brain playing tricks on him? No, it must have been her. That hair colour was so unusual it couldn’t be someone else with the exact same shade—and he knew for a fact she was staying in Amalfi tonight.

      Walking slowly down the steps, he forced himself to take a deep breath and relax, telling himself it was unlikely they’d cross each other’s paths when it was so busy.

      Reaching the Popolo fountain in the middle of the piazza, he sat down on the stone edge of it and ran his fingers through the water, enjoying the cooling effect on his skin. What was wrong with him today? His heart seemed to be racing and his palms felt sweaty.

      The heat must be getting to him.

      Someone sat down next to him and on impulse he glanced round to see who it was.

      ‘Fancy seeing you here,’ Indigo said, with a mischievous lift of her eyebrow.

      He snorted and shook his head at his terrible luck. What was it about this woman that kept drawing them together?

      ‘It’s a small town centre; I guess we were bound to bump into each other at some point,’