Paris Was The Place I Met My Billionaire Lover (My Sweet Billionaire Love Story Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Caitlyn was more than willing to let slide.
    “You’re quite a bit more worldly than you appear, Caitlyn, even among the most advanced young women here in Paris.  You’re an art lover, that is clear.”  He took her hand and raised it gently to his face, his eyes combing over its gentle curves, her long fingers trembling.  “You paint as well, no?”
    “I... I do,” Caitlyn managed to say, suddenly struggling to find her breath.  “I... how did you know?”
    “I can feel the energy pulsing within you, Caitlyn.  I can hear the hearts of the masters beating in your delicate pulse.  I can sense you love of color, of shape, of texture.  These are fingers that know what cannot be seen but which must be shown; the invisible vibrations of the eons, the chords that vibrate down to the very centers of our being, our very human core.”
    Oh, go on, Caitlyn wanted to say, what complete bullshit.  I’ll bet you pull this on all the young women you try to seduce.
    But in the lingering silence, Caitlyn’s unheard inner voice added, No, don’t stop; I mean, go on, go on!
    Caitlyn eased her hand out of Julien’s.  “I wouldn’t dream of calling myself a painter in here.”
    Julien smiled as they stepped forward, deeper into the museum.  “On the contrary, mademoiselle , this is Paris; here, you must dream!  To dream is to live, and to live is to dream.”
    Caitlyn smiled to recall her first thoughts on the cab into Paris.  She really had stepped into another world.  And she’d found what, and who, she was looking for.
    After several more hours at the Louvre , Julien shared a cab with her back to her rented condo.
    “I will pick you up at eight,” he said.
    Caitlyn’s first instinct was to be offended.  I beg your pardon?  You dare to presume that I’ll accept a dinner invitation from you?  You may be handsome and somewhat erudite, but that doesn’t mean I’ll just fall down at your feet.  You Frenchman really are arrogant and pompous, aren’t you?  You make me sick.
    Instead, Caitlyn could only nod and offer a half-smile worthy of the Mona Lisa herself.  “See you then.”

Chapter Three: Champagne d’Eiffel
    Julien arrived precisely on time, wearing a black-on-black Louis Vuitton suit with a lavender shirt and black tie.  He looked beyond dignified, so sharp that he almost seemed dangerous.
    Caitlyn put on the best thing she had; an Orient blue lace yoke crepe gown, with delicate lace trimmed in fringed scallops to fashion the short sleeves and sheer, paneled back of a subtly textured back and two leg-baring slits.  The rich blue material hugged her slender hips, her narrow waist, her perfectly rounded breasts resting in its gentle confines. 
    Caitlyn anticipated at least one fancy night out, and she was glad she’d come prepared.
    She put her hair up, alluring ringlets               hanging down in front of her ears and tracing the curves of her long, creamy neck; drawing the eye, the mouth.
    “Caitlyn, how beautiful you are tonight,” Julien said, “gorgeous.”
    “You’re very kind,” she said with a polite nod.
    “I am not merely being polite.”  Julien’s French accent coating his grainy but perfect English.  “Surely, you realize.”
    “It is still very kind of you to say so.”
    “How crude your American men must be, for you not even to expect the compliment.  Mon Dieu , I’d say it to you morning, noon and night if I were given the chance.”
    Caitlyn smiled.  “It might not be so true morning, noon and night.”
    Stepping out of the condo and into the back of a waiting limousine, Caitlyn took another look at Julien’s black suit, the smiling chauffeur and wondered, Just how rich is this guy?
    Well, she recalled, I’ve seen boys pay more than this for prom night, it’s not really a huge deal.  What’s a limo for the night, a few hundred bucks?
    The Haliwells weren’t fabulously wealthy, but Harrison did well enough so that a ride in a limousine