by Noree Kahika
In contrast, Courtney’s brows rose in a knowing glare as she crossed her arms across her chest. “You may have fun with me and Jake but when was the last time you let loose and had some fun with a guy? I can’t even remember the last time you went on a date.”
She waited and tapped her foot for my reply while I mulled over her words. When was the last time I went on an actual date? Sometime during the last year of college I think, but that was at least fourteen months ago. Oh God. It was official: I’d become a boring spinster hermit at the age of twenty-five.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Charli—you’re in Paris, France! And don’t even bother denying you like the man…and I will repeat…You. Are. In. Freaking. Paris!” She huffed, losing patience when I hadn’t answered her. She huffed again…then I huffed.
Fuck it!
Courtney was right. I was in one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful city, in the world—a city I had always wanted to visit since I was a child, a city I didn’t know when I would come back again to visit—and despite my colossal attempt to deny it, I was sort of a little attracted to the man…well, maybe more than just a little…oh hell, I was totally attracted to the guy.
The memory of those full, firm sexy lips moving over mine, the explosive heat that emanated from his strong, masculine hands as they glided over the exposed skin of my back, and the way those intense, captivating midnight-blue eyes of his swept over my body with such unconcealed hunger sent a new series of shivers down my spine. Roman Knight was without a doubt the most gorgeous man I had ever met in my life.
He was also the most infuriating man I had ever met. He was overtly suggestive, arrogant, egotistical, bossy, and manipulative. He was the type of man who wielded incredible power and commanded utter respect like it was his God-given birthright.
Nevertheless, his poised confidence, effortless charisma, and sweet attentiveness was an enticing turn-on. It wouldn’t hurt to have a meal with him—surely?
“Oh, all right.” I humphed.
“All righty then.” Courtney grinned. “Now that’s sorted, come to my room. You can shower there and I’ll do your hair and make-up. I also have the perfect dress and shoes you can borrow, seeing as the only thing you apparently packed for this trip were jeans.”
“No shock there, Court! You brought like, two whopping suitcases with you.” I ignored her dig at the lack of my luggage. Inwardly, I was grateful she’d overpacked for the trip.
“Oh yeah…and I bet you’re happy I did now, huh?” Her green eyes twinkled in amusement, as if she read my thoughts.
Forty-five minutes later, I stood, wearing only a white fluffy hotel robe, and gathered the pair of black linen, low-cut dress pants, a tangerine jersey-knit, figure-hugging, off-the-shoulder blouse, and a pair of four-inch, pointy sling back patent leather black Jimmy Choo heels—all belonging to Courtney—and headed back to my room to change for my date with Roman.
Lucky for me, Courtney and I shared the same size in clothes and shoes, and once more I was more than a little appreciative Court had brought so many clothes on this trip despite my teasing her. I had to give it to my gorgeous friend: the outfit Courtney lent me was seriously chic, sophisticated, and totally sexy. When I asked how on earth she’d planned on wearing the form-fitting pants with a very pregnant tummy, she produced a square swatch of elastic she called the belly extender.
Courtney also did my make-up all sultry and curled my hair in big, soft, spiraling curls down my back. Now all I had to do was dig out my sexiest bra and panties set—not that I expected to show them to Roman anytime soon—throw on the outfit and I was ready to go.
As I swiped my hotel keycard through the electronic mechanism to my room, I pushed the door open, and took one step forward, only to abruptly stop. A small gasp left my mouth as I stood frozen in shock at the sight of my room. It looked like a freaking bomb had gone off: My suitcase, which had previously been lying neatly on the floor by the French balcony doors when I’d left this morning, was now up ended and all my clothes were haphazardly scattered over the floor. The room’s queen-sized bed was completely stripped, and all the sheets and pillows crumbled and strewn all over the place and the door to the closet was ajar… Oh fuck!
My heartbeat came to a halting stop before jarringly beating again. I took three steps forward and peered around the closet door and into the closet. The in-room safe’s door was flung wide open and it was…empty. I’d placed my passport in the safe before we left yesterday morning as security while we were out touring the city.
I ran to the bathroom. Relief flooded my veins as I saw the antique gold charm bracelet my mother had left me safe and sound next to my cosmetic bag. It appeared the thief wasn’t after jewelry, make-up, or clothes—just my fucking passport. The one thing I needed to get back home with.
As I walked back into the room, I scanned the room again. My plane ticket and travel documents were still safe on the bedside table—apparently they weren’t of any value either. The passport was the only thing stolen.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Chapter Seven
“This clutch would go perfectly with… Holy shit! What happened in here?” Courtney exclaimed. Her eyes darted around at the chaos that presently was my hotel room.
“I’ve been robbed.” My voice came out choked and my chin wobbled. “Someone’s broken into my room. It must have happened sometime while we were out shopping today and…this...” Speechless, my gaze forlornly swept the ransacked space, my possessions strewn all over the floor.
Shit!
“Has anything been taken?” Courtney reached out and stroked her palm soothingly down my back.
“Yes, my passport’s missing.” I pointed to the opened safe.
“Oh shit!” She cursed. “Anything else?”
“No. Nothing else appears to be taken. Whoever stole my passport threw all my clothes around the room and messed up the bedding, but all my stuff appears to be still here, including Mom’s gold charm bracelet and my travel documents.”
We both stood in silence for several long moments, trying to process the meaning, until a terrifying thought pressed into my consciousness. I turned to Courtney, panic-stricken. “Court, my passport is gone. How the fuck will I be able to get on the plane home tomorrow morning without my passport?”
“Oh fuck, you’re right!”
I could feel the sting of tears well in my eyes and when they began to fall, she quickly engulfed me into a hug. The clothes and shoes she’d lent me were still in my arms as she gently swayed our bodies from side to side. “Oh hon, it’s going to be okay. I promise, Charli. We’ll work something out.”
She released me and dabbed at the fallen tears on my cheeks. “I know—we’ll call the US Embassy and maybe they can issue you with an emergency passport.”
Breathing deeply in an attempt to stay the tears, I thought about what she’d said. Of course—a temporary passport—I think I’d read somewhere the embassy could do something like that, and a bud of hope unfurled in the pit of my stomach. But just as quickly as it bloomed, hope withered when I realized my flight departed at eight in the morning and it was now seven in the evening. That was only thirteen hours before I was due to board my flight home. I didn’t know exactly what the embassy opening hours were but I seriously doubted they were open at this time of night and the likelihood of having a temporary passport issued to me by six a.m. in the morning was absolutely zero.
The shrill ringing from the hotel room’s phone caused both Courtney and I to jump, startled by the piercing noise.
“Shit! That will be Roman.” Panic made my voice almost as shrill as the ringing phone.
“You go get dressed and I’ll get the phone,” Courtney ordered calmly.
“I can’t go out to dinner now!” I shrieked back at her. My head frantically moved in jerky movements from her to the phone to the door and back to Courtney again.
“Well, you can’t very well greet him in a hotel bathrobe, now can you?” she fired ba
ck and yelled. “Go!”
With the pile of clothes and heels still in my arms, I quickly scooped up some of my underwear from the floor and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door in my haste. As I dressed, I could hear Courtney’s muted voice on the phone but she spoke low and I couldn’t make out her words.
With a deep, calming breath, I smoothed down the material of my pants and opened the bathroom door, only to grimace at the sight of Roman Knight in the middle of my hotel room, surveying the chaos with a detached expression.
He was dressed in black tailored pants and a soft gray turtleneck sweater, and he looked even more unbelievably handsome in casual attire than the formal suits I’d seen him wear. As if sensing my thoughts, Roman turned in my direction; his appraising gaze swept me from head to toe and back up again. Forcing myself to inhale another calming breath, I tentatively stepped out and joined him in the room, momentarily forgetting the trauma of being robbed, and stared at the unbelievably gorgeous man scrutinizing me.
“Charlotte,” he said softly, frowning with concern. “Are you alright?”
“No, she’s not!” snapped Courtney. Frustration clipped her words. “Some asshole has broken into her room while we were out today.”
Courtney walked over and reached for my hand, giving it a reassuring touch. “I just called Jake. He’ll be here in ten, babe.” Then she turned her attention back to Roman. “Charli’s room was broken into while we were out today. All her clothes, jewelry, and travel documents are still here but the asshole stole her fucking passport.”
“Right,” clipped Roman. He pulled the cell phone from his pants pocket. “Have either of you called the hotel manager or the police?”
Courtney and I both looked at each other, momentarily speechless. Obviously, the thought to call either hadn’t occurred to either of us. “Er…no, we haven’t called either of them yet.” I wondered why in the hell I hadn’t thought to do that first.
“We only just discovered the room five minutes ago,” added Courtney.
Roman just stared at Court and me as though we’d lost our ever-loving minds and were utterly insane.
I bit my lip as the panic rose in me again and I couldn’t hold back the tear that spilled from the corner of one eye. “My flight’s at eight tomorrow morning. They’re not going to let me board without my passport, Roman.”
Inscrutably, he watched the lone tear fall down my cheek and then tore his gaze away and pressed a button on the cell, bringing it to his ear. “Seth,” he said brusquely.
“What are you doing?” I asked hesitantly as I took a cautious step toward him.
“Call the police and report Miss Gilmore’s hotel room has been broken into. Her passport is missing; however, all her other personal property appears to still be here. Have the hotel manager come up to Miss Gilmore’s room immediately.” He ended the call and then started to press other buttons on his cell.
“Roman,” I called again but he held one finger up to silence me. My eyes swung to Courtney for understanding but she just shrugged at me.
“Maggie…yes, I know what time it is but I need you to get a hold of Matt Donavan at the American Embassy here in Paris. Yes, tonight—tell him I’m calling in that favor he owes me and I need an appointment for first thing tomorrow morning. Make it for around nine and text me back when it’s done. Good…thank you.” Disconnecting, he smoothly pocketed his phone and stalked toward me. “Pack up your things, Charli. After the police get here and you’ve filed a report, you’re coming with me.”
“Would you stop fucking arguing with me about this,” growled Roman as he ushered me through the entrance doors that Seth held for us. I peered up to Seth’s stony features and rolled my eyes in frustration. Roman’s driver/bodyguard appeared to ignore us but I knew he heard every single word of our heated argument all the way from my hotel to the restaurant.
“Maybe if you would stop manipulating me,” I snapped back and glared at Roman, “I wouldn’t feel the need to argue with you.”
It was almost two hours later, and a lot—and I mean a lot—happened in those two hours.
The hotel manager materialized in my room within minutes of Roman’s phoning Seth. Needless to say, the hotel manager was equally shocked and outraged that my room had been broken into. He went on to apologize profusely, waving his hands wildly around in the air as only the French can so animatedly do.
Next, the police arrived and recorded both mine and Courtney’s statement, which I grudgingly admitted would have been significantly more difficult with their limited English and my nonexistent French if not for Roman, who surprisingly spoke fluent French and thus made the whole process relatively straightforward. After taking both Roman’s contact details and mine, they reluctantly informed me that the chance of recovering my passport or catching the thief was not very good.
At some point during the interview with the police, Jake showed up, almost out of breath and panting. Apparently he’d been several blocks away, enjoying a beer and watching a football game on the television in some local Parisian sports bar.
Courtney escorted the police out of my room, while Jake loudly berated the hotel manager with regard to the lack of security in the hotel, which in turn, had the distraught manager franticly and somewhat indignantly insisting to all who would listen to him that this crime was not a normal occurrence at his fine establishment. The whole thing was a freaking circus and I pressed my fingers to my temples in an attempt to soothe away the beginnings of a headache.
Roman remained mostly silent after the police left and stepped outside of the room to answer a phone call. A few minutes later, he returned and announced to the room in general he’d received confirmation of an appointment for me at the US Embassy in the morning to sort out a new passport.
A sweet rush of relief flooded every fiber of my being. I sagged against the wall for approximately two point five seconds, until Roman went on to say that it would take the embassy up to twenty-four to forty-eight hours for a temporary emergency passport to be issued. Before my brain could even begin to process that news, Roman then declared I would be coming with him. Apparently, he had a two-bedroom suite, one of the rooms unoccupied, and seeing as he was in Paris for two more days—coincidently the exact amount of time it would take for a new passport to be issued—it made perfect sense that I’d stay with him. Generously, he further offered a lift (yes, you guessed it!) in his private plane back to the US, which coincidently was scheduled to stop in LA for a fuel stop before flying on to Roman’s final destination, New York.
This announcement was met with a chorus of:
“I don’t fucking think so!” —Jake.
“Ohmigod, you’re a lifesaver. I think I’m in love with you!” —Courtney
And lastly, a firm if not rather loud, “I don’t think so!” —me.
Roman, completely unfazed by either Jake’s or my vehement protests, patiently explained with an air of authority—not to mention annoying calmness—that his proposal was in fact the perfect solution to my current dilemma.
Courtney chose this exact time to chime in. “You know, Charli, it does sound like the perfect solution. The plane tickets we bought have a non-refundable and no-change policy, so you’d have to buy another ticket, not to mention the additional costs of a hotel. And you can’t stay here in this hotel by yourself—it’s not safe. And both Jake and I wouldn’t feel right about leaving you alone in Paris.”
“Speak for yourself,” grumbled Jake.
“But…” Courtney threw Jake a scowl before she continued. “If you’re with Roman, at least I know you’ll be safe.” Her eyes flickered to the silent, imposing figure of Roman’s driver/bodyguard, Seth, who stood eerily at the entrance to my room.
“You’ve got to be shitting me, Court,” hissed Jake as he hitched his thumb toward Roman. “We don’t even know this guy and you want to leave Charli alone with him? No fucking way. We’ll have to stay with her.”
“What do you mean we don’t know him? We’ve stay
ed in his home, for heaven’s sake, Jake. He’s not some serial killer. And where do you suppose we’ll get the money for new plane tickets, huh?” Her hands fisted on her hips.
“Okay, that’s enough.” I sighed wearily. “Please let me just…think for a moment.”
My gaze drifted from Jake to Courtney and back again. Neither of them was in the financial position to afford new airline tickets, let alone two more nights’ accommodation in Paris. Besides, Jake had to get back to the troupe; they were due to perform again in San Diego by the end of the week and money was tight enough as it was with a new baby on the way. The last thing they needed was to throw away money staying here with me while I sorted this mess out.
My gaze sought out Roman’s next. He stood in a casual pose: his shoulder leaned against the wall and his legs crossed at the ankles. Unconcealed mirth twinkled in the depths of his deep blue eyes as he studied me. Instinctively, I knew Roman would never harm me—physically I’d be completely safe with him. But would I be emotionally safe?
His offer was exceedingly generous and despite not trusting him as far as I could throw him, I had no other choice—I had to accept his gracious offer.
I squared my shoulders, stood a little taller, cleared my throat and felt mildly calmer now that I had a plan.
“Thank you, Roman. I appreciate your help and I accept.” I extended my hand to his but he just looked at my proffered hand, grinned mischievously and brought my hand up to his lips for a soft, lingering kiss.
Courtney visibly sighed in relief and Jake threw a withering glare in Roman’s direction but when Jake opened his mouth to protest, Roman cut him off. “I’ll take good care of her and this is my personal cell number. Feel free to check in on Charlotte daily.” He handed Jake a small white card from the pocket of his pants. “Seth, would you mind taking Miss Gilmore’s things down to the car when she’s finished packing them.”
Courtney promptly packed up my scattered clothing while I headed to the bathroom to collect my cosmetics. My stomach rolled with nerves and swarming butterflies.
