Veronique took one last look at the hotel before stepping into the cab. She knew it, even if he didn't. What they'd shared had been so much more than passion. There'd been something permanent, something possessive about the way he'd looked at her and the way he'd touched her. Veronique leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The last time they made love—she shivered as she remembered—he'd handled her tenderly, as if she were made of the finest porcelain. And lovingly, as if she were the most important person in the world. He loved her, she thought again, smiling to herself. Now all he had to do was realize it. Shaking her head, Veronique glanced out the window of the cab. It went against everything she'd learned growing up, but she actually thought there was a chance for them. It seemed too much to hope for, and yet... and yet she couldn't help believing their relationship would work. She laughed out loud and saw the cabbie look at her in the mirror. She didn't care if he thought she was a lunatic; she felt wonderful, felt for the first time in her life as if everything was going her way.
