Beyond Eden by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online

asked him once, inadvertently, about her mother, and he’d hung up on her.
    The limousine was entering Paris proper now and Lindsay pressed the electric button to lower the passenger window. The air was cool and sweet, the sun bright overhead, and it was, after all, April in Paris, the most romantic city in the world in its most romantic month of the year. Lindsay touched her fingers to her hair. The deep waves were in place, with tendrils wisping around her face. Gayle’s mother had done little with the thick overly curly masses of hair, but she’d told Lindsay not toworry. By the time she was twenty, she’d said, the fashion world would be ready for her. Lindsay pulled out her compact and studied her face. Too pale, but she didn’t have any blusher. All she wore was lip gloss, and that was a soft pink and nearly gone. She was eating it off.
    She was so nervous she felt nausea rising in her throat. She swallowed and breathed in the wonderful Paris air and tried to practice what she would say to him. Her mind was sluggish and she felt like a fool. She felt her spirits plummet and knew she would make an idiot of herself in front of him and in front of Sydney. And Sydney would laugh at her. And then she’d tell their father, and he’d laugh too.
    She was to go to the reception at the George V Hotel and ask to be escorted to the suite of Prince Alessandro di Contini. She wondered if the prince would be there to greet her or if just Sydney would be there waiting. It wouldn’t matter, she told herself, he would be there soon enough and she could look her fill and, she prayed, she would say something witty, something to charm him, something that would make even Sydney look at her with new respect.
    Her luggage was old and battered, and for the first time she was embarrassed. The doorman, however, didn’t seem to notice. She was led inside, allowed with gentle condescension to try out her French, and then escorted across the grand lobby to the correct elevator.
    The bellhop led her down the wide carpeted corridor of the twelfth floor. Lindsay slowed; her palms were wet and she felt stickiness in her armpits. She’d shaved her legs the previous night and cut herself badly in three places. At least thebleeding had stopped so she didn’t have to wear Band-Aids under her panty hose.
    The bellhop knocked lightly on the suite door. There was no sound from within.
    Lindsay felt frozen with such excitement she thought she would throw up.
    The bellhop knocked again. She heard approaching footsteps. Then, slowly, the door was pulled open. He stood there, dressed in dark slacks, white shirt, open at the neck, and he was smiling at her, and he was so beautiful she couldn’t see anyone else. There was a small St. Christopher medal on a gold chain around his neck. He motioned to the bellhop to place the bags just inside the door. He gave him a tip. He closed the door on him. She watched every move he made, listened to his fluent French, saw his charm, extended even to the bellhop, saw the man respond to his natural magnetism.
    He turned to Lindsay and his smile widened. “You’re here,” he said. He held out his arms to her and she was quickly pressed against him, just the way she’d dreamed. She couldn’t believe it. He was holding her and he was glad to see her and his body was warm and inviting, molding to hers. He was touching her hair, her back, his breath was sweet and warm on her face.
    He set her away from him then and looked her up and down, in silence, for a good two minutes. She stood very still and tall, for her grandmother had sworn that if she ever hunched her shoulders to try to minimize her glorious height, Gates would, quite simply, strangle her. Lindsay stood five-foot-ten . . . well, five-foot-ten and two-thirds, truth be told exactly.
    â€œMy God,” Alessandro said.
    She smiled tentatively.
    â€œYou’ve become more than I had believed you