Chapter Three
Trey’s hand automatically flexed around Mia’s grasp, not too hard, but enough to hold firm as they walked through her door and up the dim, narrow steps to the main apartment exit.
As they stepped onto the sidewalk into the midday sunshine, the warmth of it felt like summer but trees had dropped leaves that sprinkled the sidewalk. They flurried on the updraft of their moving feet. She glanced up at him. “You must be hungry too.”
He nodded. “I could eat.” More words were not available to him, a hell of a shock, because he’d never been at a loss like this. But the truth was, his focus couldn’t expand beyond the sensation of her slim hand in his, a light weight that still sent a distinct buzz through his blood.
“‘I could eat,’ you say?” Her smile teased, and he felt that, too, another visceral jolt to his system. “This is Paris, sir. You don’t eat, you enjoy.”
Apparently enjoyment was a mere half-block away, at a café on the corner with a dim interior and doors that opened to small tables and chairs spilling on the sidewalk. Patio heaters hovered above them, but on a day like this one, people didn’t even need jackets to enjoy their meals outside.
When she paused, he pulled out the nearest chair. “Here?” he asked.
“Here.” She slipped free of his hand and settled, smiling again as he took a seat. “Do you speak French? Read it?” she asked, indicating the menu.
He shook his head, and leaned back in his chair. “A word here and there, like anyone else. When I come to the company offices here, they assign me a full-time aide who shames my lack with his linguistic skills. I think English is his fourth language.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. “So I’m not introducing you to Paris cafés. I should have guessed.”
“But you are.” He realized it was true. “When I’ve visited before, a business dinner or two is arranged. I’m in and out as fast as possible.”
“You don’t like travel?”
“No, I…” While children, they’d spent vacations in a variety of locales, their mother planning trips which blended history, culture, and outdoor activities enough to keep restless boys entertained. Their father had joined them for a few days here and there, but business had never allowed the CEO to fully enjoy their excursions.
And Trey, as had always been expected of him, had walked through the doors of the Blackthorne Enterprises headquarters in Boston at twenty-four and in the ensuing ten years had never taken the time for real vacations or “travel” in the way Mia meant. There’d been no leisure.
The arrival of the server saved him from having to expand on his answer. At Mia’s offer, he agreed to her ordering for him, and discovered he was starving once his plate of steak frites arrived. An omelet appeared in front of Mia and then followed long minutes when they both ate in an appreciative silence.
Hunger sated, an expresso in front of him, he sat back in his chair and let his gaze rest on his companion. With her lips curved, she had her eyes closed, clearly relishing the moment. His own tension, tension he’d held for—years?—seeped away as he studied her, her peach skin and the skeins of her amazing hair. Then he thought of what else he knew of her…not much.
“Your school’s in session this time of year, right?” he asked idly. “What’s your purpose for being here in Paris instead of the classroom?”
Her lashes lifted. The sun lightened her eyes to hazel green. A beat of silence passed and then she glanced around her, calling for the waiter. “We each need a crêpe,” she said, as he handed over his credit card to the arriving server. The bill was handled in mere moments and she was already out of her chair as he slipped the plastic into his wallet.
“I don’t think I have room for anything else,” he told her, as she took off down the sidewalk.
Her step hitched. “A walk along the Seine first then,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I arrived.”
He lifted a brow. What had the woman been doing besides passing time at the corner café where they clearly knew her? But instead of pressing, he silently let her set the pace. It wasn’t far to the wide, busy river that defined the city as much as its famous landmarks. The pavement above the bank was busy with Parisians out for a stroll as well.
Again, he let his other concerns drift away as he watched the people. And their dogs. Lots and lots of dogs, and he amused himself by looking for similarities between them and their owners. A simple pastime, one he remembered from simpler days.
He realized he was smiling, and glanced at Mia to see that she was as well. Their gazes met.
“Crêpes,” she declared, and turned back in the direction of their building.
They knew her at this little hole-in-the wall too, and he wasn’t surprised once he realized how close it was to the apartment building. But they lingered on the sidewalk outside it to enjoy their treats and damn, he felt like a kid again, with sweetness in his mouth and warmth on his shoulders.
He chewed the last bite of the crêpe and threw the wrapper in a nearby trash can. “I decided to open a T-shirt shop in the town of Hanalei on Kauai,” he said.
Her gaze swung to him. “What?”
“I was nine. I decided school was overrated, but not Hawaii and I was decent at making change. So I’d sell T-shirts at a store called Blackthorne’s on the Beach in the mornings and hit the surf every afternoon.”
“You didn’t just think…hey, beach bum, and not worry about how to make a buck?”
He laughed. “I’m a Blackthorne. I was envisioning a business as much as a lifestyle.”
“So…what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“You could be selling T-shirts right this minute…well, if it was morning in Hawaii.”
“Can you see me in a straw hat and a shell necklace?” he scoffed. “Barefoot and shaggy-haired?”
“Give me a minute.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over. “Yes.”
Trey blinked. “That’s a first. Most people think I’m born-and-bred for the boardroom.”
She shrugged and half-turned away. “Maybe because I saw you in just a towel and nothing else.”
He stilled, struck by…something. “Hey…” he said, and with a hand on her shoulder, turned her toward him again. They were standing close enough to the apartment building that he could feel a warmth emanating from the stone exterior. It was nothing to what he felt under his hand, though, her flesh beneath her clothes heating at his touch.
“Hey,” he said, again, his voice softer. He liked that his touch affected her, just as he liked her hair, her eyes, and the way she seemed to see him differently than everyone else.
One glimpse of him in a towel and now she could imagine him out from behind his desk. In a straw hat, for God’s sake. The idea of it made him want to laugh.
And that made him feel…not nine, but nineteen maybe, or older, but certainly before he had a corner office and he realized his future looked just like his father’s present. His hand moved from her shoulder to cup her cheek. Maybe this sudden sense of well-being, of being seen, or found or whatever you’d call it, was the legendary magic of Paris.
And then she confirmed it by boosting onto tiptoe and kissing him.
Warm lips, sweet taste. His other hand reached for her waist and he drew her closer, deepening the kiss by sweeping her mouth with his tongue. She didn’t object, but instead edged closer, her breasts brushing his chest. His brief concern about their very public venue was shoved aside when her hand slid into his hair at the back of his head and he sank into the kiss until he was out of air.
His head lifted an inch and he looked into her eyes, deciding he was charmed by the impromptu meeting of lips. Enchanted, even. “Why’d you do that?” he asked.
Her smile only dazzled him more. “Didn’t you want to? Everybody should share a kiss in Paris. Now we can both mark it off our bucket lists.”
He didn’t want to mark off anything. He just wanted more. “You owe me,” he said, smiling back. Two cou
ld play the teasing game. “For subjecting me to, uh, such public exposure.”
“Hmm.” Another smile. “Your price?”
His forehead touched hers. “How about your secrets?” he asked, because now he was only more curious as to her presence here. He was curious about everything that made up Mia Thomas. “Ready to share?”
She took a breath. “Trey—”
“I can’t believe my eyes,” a new voice said. A familiar voice. Claire Blackthorne’s voice, his mother. “You’re in Paris, honey, without a tie and without your phone glued to your hand. Not to mention with your arms around a beautiful woman.”
Mia, flushed and flustered to be caught kissing her friend’s son on the sidewalk, had found herself following Trey’s lead and taking on the older woman’s burdens. After a quick embrace, Trey had Claire’s suitcase and toiletries bag in hand while Mia now carried the expansive tote used for drawing and painting supplies.
“You two spoil me,” Claire declared as she let them into her apartment. “I’m not elderly, you know, I can manage my own things.”
She didn’t look elderly in the least, Mia acknowledged. Like her son, she had an unforgettable face, with amazing bone structure that sixty years didn’t diminish. Her silver-streaked dark hair was pulled back and coiled in a knot held in place by a silver comb. She wore a knee-length black tunic, its neckline embellished with an elegant design in metallic thread, over paisley black-and-white fitted pants and a pair of black ballet flats. Her right wrist was wrapped in several distinctive bracelets and on the ring finger of her left hand was a platinum wedding band and an engagement ring with an impressive diamond solitaire.
Mia noted Trey’s gaze had landed on it, and she supposed him relieved that his mother hadn’t divested herself of that symbol of her marriage. “Mom,” he said now, setting down the items he’d carted in, “we need to talk.”
Eager to give them privacy, Mia placed the artist’s portfolio on the small table beside the front door. “I should leave you two to catch up.”
Which would leave her alone to process that impulsive kiss she’d laid on the man. Her lips continued to tingle and her insides still felt weightless. What had she been thinking?
“Nonsense, Mia,” Claire said, “there’s no reason for you to go.” She disappeared into the kitchen and at the sound of running water it was a good guess she was filling the teakettle. “I can predict everything my son is going to tell me.”
Trey’s expression turned stony as his mother’s words floated from the other room. “Let’s see. The Blackthorne Enterprises acquisition of the McKinney brothers’ company is on track. This year’s corn harvest also means good things for the whisky side of the business. Surely an order or two has come in to keep the boatworks busy. A new investment opportunity waits on the table and your father has taken it upon himself to be the sole investigator and judge of its potential. You boys—”
“Have had a very busy summer, Mom. Each of the other six has found a love interest and in every case it looks to be permanent.”
A silence filled the apartment, then Claire emerged into the living area again, her expression signaling regret. “I know. They’ve shared via text. I’ve told them how pleased I am for their happiness.”
Mia’s heart ached for the other woman. She moved forward, not sure what to do, but willing to offer support and comfort—as Claire had provided her more than once.
But the other woman seemed to gather herself and her tone turned brisk. “So maybe it’s well and good I left the country. Perhaps everyone in the family needed a little shake-up.”
“Mom…” Trey sounded tired again. He crossed to a chair, dropped into it, and scrubbed his face with his hands. “These last few months have been more than a little shake-up.”
Claire’s face softened and she walked to her oldest son to put her hand on his shoulder. “You look worn-out. Have you been taking care of yourself? Getting out of your desk chair at least once every eighteen hours?”
“He was sick when he arrived here,” Mia put in without remorse.
Trey glared at her. “I’m never ill.”
“Of course,” his mother said, patting him. “Blackthornes defy all germs and viruses.”
“Exactly.”
Claire glanced over her shoulder at Mia to share a look. They both shrugged.
“Enough about me,” Trey said, taking his mother’s hand in his. “What have you been doing all this time? Let me amend that. What the hell have you been doing?”
Her mouth pursed and her eyebrows drew together. “You sound more like your father every day.”
He sighed. “Mom, you walked out without a word of where you were going.”
“And I was found.”
“As I’m sure you expected would happen. But we don’t know anything about this…this art teacher or this art group you’ve joined.”
The whistle of the teakettle had her bustling away. “I don’t have much time. I’m only here for a few hours to repack for our next field trip.”
Trey closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mom,” he called out. “I can’t go home without more information. You left after dropping a big bombshell with that talk of a secret.”
Claire came back into the living area, a napkin in one hand and dismay written all over her. “I…I shouldn’t have done that. I was upset.”
“We got that, Mom. But don’t you think you now owe us some kind of explanation?”
“You,” she murmured, tears glinting in her eyes.
“Me?” Trey rose to his feet, his expression confused. “What are you talking about now, Mom? What about me?”
Biting her lip, Claire Blackthorne stood silent for a moment. “I’m not ready to do this,” she finally said, balling the fabric she held. “I must pack. We’re traveling to Provence today and I have to meet my group at the train station.”
“I’ll go with you,” Trey said quickly. “We can talk on the trip.”
“No!” Claire brought the napkin to her eyes for a brief moment before she dropped her hand. “I need a few more days. Please. Now that you’re here, I…I’ll gather my thoughts. I’ll find a way to explain. Then we’ll have a conversation.”
He lifted his arms to his sides, clearly frustrated. “What am I supposed to do until then?”
Claire’s gaze shifted to Mia.
Uh-oh, she thought, and began backpedaling toward the exit.
“You two can take the time to explore Paris,” Claire suggested. At the idea, her whole demeanor seemed to brighten, her mouth curving and all sign of tears dissipating. “Mia has been meaning to do some real sightseeing and you might be just the incentive she needs to make that happen.”
Uh-oh, Mia thought again, reluctant to get involved in the mother-son discussion but also unwilling to get dragged into their problems. “Claire,” she ventured. “I don’t think Trey has sightseeing on his mind.”
“Sweet girl,” the older woman said, and her eyes were so kind that all Mia’s protests died. “Leave this to me.”
Her son was made of sterner stuff. “Look, Mom, I can’t be away from the office like you’re sug—”
“Trey, take it from the person who’s known you from the day you were born. You’re thirty-four years old and you need to unwind before you find you’re sixty-five years old like your father and still chained to your desk at Blackthorne Enterprises. Go about the city with Mia and I promise I’ll sit down with you when I get back.”
He frowned. “What you’re asking for—”
“Is only three more days.”
“Mom—”
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. Three days. I’m not wrong about this and my proposal is a good one for you. The most relaxed and happy I’ve seen you in years was thirty minutes ago when you were locked in an embrace with my beautiful young friend over there.” With a nod at Mia, she disappeared into the kitchen again.
Trey looked over. Mia tried not to blush. It was merely a kiss, wasn’t it, despite the fact
his mother had caught them at it? There was no need to feel guilty or ashamed.
There was no reason to want to kiss him all over again.
“It’s Paris,” she said, as much of an excuse for herself as it was for him.
“Why have you been putting off your sightseeing?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “What exactly has brought you here?”
Way to cut to the heart of the matter.
“Oh, well.” She looked away. “It’s pretty personal.”
“I’ve told you about the Blackthorne imbroglio. You just witnessed what I’m up against.”
“Right.” She nodded. “Doesn’t that mean you have more important things on your mind?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Call me a multitasker.”
“Men aren’t multitaskers,” she scoffed. “Everyone—”
“Mia.” His voice softened and in a blink he was standing in front of her, his dark eyes boring into hers. “Stop trying to sidetrack the conversation. Talk to me about why you’re here and what’s going on.”
The weird thing was, she wanted to. Just as much as she’d wanted to kiss him.
“Maybe I can help,” he offered now.
He couldn’t, not really, this was her assignment to complete.
But with him alongside it might be easier, Nic’s voice whispered in her head.
“You won’t want to help, once I tell you,” Mia said, addressing Trey. Then she corrected herself. “If I tell you.”
“Try me.” He took her hand in a light but firm grip.
She stared down at their joined fingers. What was happening here? Kisses, confidences, one man’s simple touch filling her with so much…comfort and…joy. Like a Christmas song, she thought, giddy with it.
“Mia.”
She tried one last time to draw away but he held fast. “It’s a sad story,” she warned him.
He just continued to look at her, and her need to confess every failing rose with each passing moment. I say I forgot my father’s birthday but actually I intentionally send him a belated card every year. I tossed in the trash the family Christmas ornaments my mother boxed up for me after my parents’ divorce. And in case that was all too one-note, last summer I got so frustrated with the faulty scanner at the grocery store’s self checkout that I put the ice cream in my bag without paying.
Trey Page 4
