by Ava Miles
When he realized it was just past one o’clock and Margie would be heading out to the bakery soon, he grabbed a shower and changed into fresh clothes. He headed out into the quiet streets and detoured close to some of the more popular cafés on Boulevard Saint Germain, hoping to find one of the vendors who sold single red roses there. Luckily he did, and while the man only had three wilted roses left, Evan felt like he’d discovered a special treasure. Margie deserved better flowers than this trio, but as a simple gesture, they would do.
When he turned onto the street where the bakery was located, he spotted Margie two blocks away. She was the only other person out. He would recognize that determined stride and hourglass figure anywhere. Since he was behind her, he didn’t want to freak her out. She would probably think he was a certified stalker as it was.
“Margie,” he called.
She looked over her shoulder, and he waved and picked up his pace to join her. It took him no time at all to reach her because she’d stopped walking completely. In the warm glow of the lamplight, he could see the shock on her face before her mouth twisted.
He hadn’t misread the situation. She had stepped back from him. He felt his heart break like a machine dropped on the floor.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I just…wanted to make sure you were okay.”
She said nothing.
“These are for you,” he said, thrusting out the roses.
Her hands were shaking when she took them. A petal fell, but neither of them reached down to catch it.
“I’m pretty good at reading you,” he made himself say as she clutched the roses in front of her stomach. “I know a brush-off when I feel it. Did you…what…oh hell…did I do something wrong last night? I thought…we…shit…I thought it was special to both of us. What happened? Did you change your mind? About me? About…this thing between us? Just be straight with me. I’d rather know the truth.”
His heart was already broken. How much worse could it get?
Tears filled her eyes, which had his insides grinding like machine gears. He braced himself as she took a long breath and blew it out.
“Evan…”
Before he even realized what he was doing, he cupped her face softly and stared into her eyes. “Don’t step back from me, Margie. Don’t. Not after last night. What I feel when I’m with you…” He wrapped his arms around her. “Please. Don’t give up on me. On us. Whatever scared you, we’ll fix it.” He was making a complete ass of himself, he realized, but he didn’t care. Some things were worth the risk of lost dignity. “I’m good at fixing things, remember?”
She was rigid in his arms for only a moment, and then she softened into him like butter on warm bread.
“I’ve come alive with you,” he whispered. “It’s not just that you’ve given my creative fire back to me. You’ve given myself back to me.”
Her head lay on his chest, and he felt her fingers begin to trace something on his back. It was the heart she’d traced on his body before. His own heart sped up in response.
She released a deep breath. “I believe you, Evan.”
He pushed back so he could see her face. “Did you have doubts after you left me? Margie, I’m pretty much falling more in love with you every minute we’re together…and…oh shit…I’m scared too.”
She pressed her lips together like she was fending off tears. Then she said, “What are you afraid of?”
Of her going back to Dare Valley and leaving him here in the city he feared would no longer speak to him the same way. Of her learning he hadn’t been too different from her parents and the people in their circle. Of her believing he hadn’t changed.
And then the light bulb went on, and he knew what he needed to do. He needed to win her love. He needed to show her he was different. That he wasn’t the Evan Michaels in the tabloids. Because it was true. One thing was clear now. He would never go back to that lifestyle—however things ended up between them.
“There are pieces of my past I’m not proud of, and I’m afraid you’ll turn away from me when you find out about them,” he decided to admit.
A lone car rumbled down the street, illuminating their shadows on the sidewalk. Even though he towered over her in the momentary street painting, he didn’t feel that large. He felt small and human as he watched her rub her hand over her forehead like she had a punishing headache.
“You weren’t happy when you came to Dare Valley, were you?” she asked softly.
He undid his suit jacket, suddenly feeling like it was squeezing him to death. “No, I wasn’t.”
She looked up, and her eyes were as mysterious as the watery depths of the Seine after midnight. “What are you afraid I’ll find out, Evan? Tell me.”
An arrow found its way straight into the center of his heart. Was it time to tell her everything? He’d hoped she would tell him she loved him first, but maybe he needed to take a risk and lay it all on the line. He couldn’t keep any more secrets from her, not after what they’d shared.
“Margie, I’ve been playing it safe, but I’m done with that now.” His hands cupped her face, and even the wind seemed to fall away on the quiet street. “I love you,” he told her in a strong, steady voice. “I’ve loved you since my last weeks in Dare Valley, and being with you in Paris has only made my feelings stronger.”
“Oh, Evan,” she said, placing her free hand over his. “I love you too.”
He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. She loved him. She really loved him. He braced himself to tell her the rest. “There’s something else you need to know. I…wasn’t completely honest with you about my inventions and what I do for a living.”
She gazed at him without a trace of fear in her eyes, which gave him the courage to continue.
“I planned to tell you the day you took me to the airport in Denver, but then you made that comment about rich people. And when you told me about your upbringing and your parents…well, I’ve been afraid to tell you. I thought I’d lose you once you knew. But tonight I feared I already had.”
His diaphragm was so tight from the tension inside him, he felt like he’d explode. She seemed to know because she lowered her hand and traced a heart right in the middle of his chest with her index finger.
The breath he blew out was agonized. “I love it when you do that. Margie…I’m not just an inventor, although that’s really my main function. I came up with some important stuff for the defense industry when I was at MIT, where I went to school, and then I formed a company with Chase’s help. We’ve done well. Really well.”
She nodded, her gaze unwavering.
It gave him the courage to say the words.
“Margie, I’m…a billionaire, and my real name is Evan Michaels.”
***
Tears filled Margie’s eyes. She couldn’t help it. Evan had told her he loved her, and now he was telling her the secret he’d been so afraid to share.
“I lost a side bet to Jane when I played poker against her and Rhett here in Paris,” he continued. “She…ah…”
She gave him a tentative smile to encourage him to tell her the rest. Once he was finished, he stared into her eyes and said, “I’m sorry for keeping this from you. I hope you’ll forgive me because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I love you. I needed to say that again.”
She felt tears slip down her face at the fierce emotion in his voice. “I know who you are, Evan.”
His heart darted back, and he dropped his hands from her face. “What do you mean you know? How could you know?” Then something dark flashed across his face. “Did Rhett and Jane tell you? Dammit! All this time I’ve been twisted up inside, and you knew?”
She grabbed his hand and laid it against her chest to keep them connected. “I only found out last night. There was a picture of you in one of Belle’s fashion magazines.”
His mouth parted. “That’s why you stepped back.”
“Yes.”
He looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry I hurt you,
Margie. I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” she admitted. “We’d just made love, and it—”
“Hurt you to think I could keep something like that from you after we’d been so intimate,” he finished for her.
She shook her head. “But then you chased after me tonight and poured your heart out. It made me realize I knew who you were—who you really were—all along.”
The corners of his mouth tipped up. “Yeah, more than anyone besides Chase, you really do.”
This time she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek because they both needed it.
“I’m so sorry, Margie. I was stupid and…when Chase and I got to talking about it, I thought it would be better to tell you once you said you loved me.”
She arched a brow. “Why did I have to be the first one to say it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe because you have more courage than I do.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” she said, laying her head against his chest. “I understand why it was so hard for you to tell me the truth.”
“It wasn’t just because of what you told me about your family. There are so many exaggerated media reports about me being a playboy. I didn’t want you to think—”
“Evan, I know you’re not a playboy.” This time her mouth curved.
“What? How could you know that?”
She gave him a look. “Give me some credit. A playboy wouldn’t try to win a girl over by talking about being a geeky inventor. He certainly wouldn’t have bared his soul to me.”
His wince was downright endearing. “No, probably not.”
“I don’t want a playboy, Evan,” she said. “I just want you.” And she did. Even though he was a billionaire, the thought of which still made her tremble with nerves.
He stared into her again and traced her brow gently. “And I just want you, Margie Lancaster, in all your cinnamony awesomeness.”
She let her fingers trace the fullness of his bottom lip. “Then kiss me, Evan Michaels, because I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.”
And he did. His mouth seemed to press her back a few inches with his urgency, but she was there to meet him. Her mouth opened under his, and it all began again. Just like the previous night, her body fell away until she was pure sensation. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she was aware of nothing but the feel of him—of his mouth on hers, of their bodies pressed together, of their joined light. Tonight, his seemed to be a warm orange, the kind of glow a campfire emitted after the first hot blast of wood and fire. Hers was a bubbly effervescent pink, and when he pulled her tighter to him, their life forces merged in a way she’d never experienced with another soul.
Off in the distance, the sound of a car intruded, and she came back into the present moment. She raised her hand to his chest, the one still holding the roses. Even though she wanted to stay this way forever, she pressed away ever so slowly.
“Evan, I’m so glad you told me. I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.”
“I was so afraid you would turn away from me after you found out,” he whispered.
“Evan,” she said, her voice infused with all the love she had for him. “I know what’s important. What’s inside you. Just like you know with me.”
“So I can shower you with presents now, right?” he asked eagerly, pulling back so they could look at each other. “I can have my chauffeur take you to and from work. You can move out of the hobbit flat—”
His words squeezed her heart. This, this she had feared. That he would want to lavish her with gifts and take her back to that life she’d left behind, the one that had smothered her.
“No, you can’t do any of that,” she said in as gentle a voice as she could muster. “I love strolling to the bakery on the quiet streets at night. And I love my place, hobbit door and all. And I love you.” It felt important to add that last part.
He frowned, and she could practically see the wheels of his mind turning. “Okay. I heard everything you said. And I’m going to listen. Mostly. Just…don’t stop me from giving to you. You told me on our first night together that you needed to give to me. Well, I need to do that too. I need to show you what you mean to me, Margie.”
But could she trust him to find a balance? Or would he forget how to do normal people things with her? She couldn’t bear that.
“All right,” she agreed because she understood the need to give. “But in moderation.”
“You’re talking to a billionaire, Margie. Moderation is defined differently in my world.”
Memories rose up like a black cloud. The pony her parents had bought her when she was eight before leaving for the Costa del Sol for three months. The single diamond necklace her dad had purchased her at Tiffany’s before buying his current mistress something lavish, thinking Margie was too young to notice. No, Evan’s world would not mix with the world she had built for herself. But she was only going to be in Paris for a short time, and while it cracked her heart in two to think about leaving, there was no need to worry about their future together when she knew there wouldn’t be one.
“You only need to be you,” she told him. “You know I like things simple. Lavish stuff is lost on me.”
The study he made of her might have taken seconds, minutes.
“But there are so many fun things we could do. Like a helicopter ride over the city. It’s impossible to arrange, but—”
“Evan.” She laughed, but this time it sounded more like cut glass than tinkling crystal. “I don’t want you to go crazy. I’m only in Paris for another week.”
“Then let me court you,” he said, reaching for the hand holding the roses and pressing it to his chest. “Let me court you like you’ve never imagined anyone ever could. Let me share everything I love about Paris with you.”
“I’ll still have to leave at the end,” she reiterated as sadness bubbled up inside her.
The grooves around his mouth deepened, almost as though he was feeling the pain of their separation like she had moments ago.
“I know. We’ll have to make every second count.”
Her other hand wrapped around his, and they stood that way, with their hands pressed against the beat of his heart.
“It’s going to be hard to leave here,” she said, biting her lip. “To leave you.”
“It’s going to be hard regardless.”
She raised her free hand to his face and traced the hard line of his jaw. “I need to go to work. Andre will be worried I’m late.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m not.” Andre would understand.
“Can I walk you the rest of the way?”
She shook her head. “No. I need to clear my mind before I get there so it won’t affect the bread.”
“And you think the Paint Prep Mistress is weird,” he said, his tone teasing.
“But you can send me off to work with another kiss,” she said softly.
Taking her face in his hands, he rubbed her cheekbones with his thumbs and lowered his mouth to hers. When Evan’s lips touched her own, seeking and somehow also sustaining, all of the nerves still dancing from their confrontation on the empty street quieted in her body.
She poured everything she felt for him into that one kiss.
When they finally separated, they stared into each other. Suddenly his brow knit, and his hands gripped her arms.
“Please don’t step back from me again while you’re here,” he whispered in a ragged voice. “I…don’t think I could take it.”
“I won’t,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll call you the minute I leave work.”
A flash of vulnerability lit up his eyes.
“I promise, Evan.”
He nodded. “Okay. Have a great day at work.”
She jogged a little in place, as much to reconnect with the world outside the bubble she shared with Evan as to prepare to dash off. “See you later.”
As she’d taken a couple steps away, Evan called her name. She looked over her
shoulder. He was less tense than when she’d first seen him, but there was still a rigidity to his body.
“Thank you, Margie.”
Even though she kind of knew what he meant, she still found herself asking, “For what, Evan?”
This time he was the one who released an agonized breath. “For not pushing me away after learning the truth about me. For not thinking I’m crazy for bringing you roses in the middle of the night. For everything.”
Her heart bled a little for him, for the unhappy, lonely billionaire she now knew him to be. “Thank you, Evan. For the roses. For everything.” Because she thought it would soothe him, she finally raised the trio of roses to her nose and inhaled their sweet, fading scent.
His mouth tipped up.
She walked off, picking up speed as she approached the bakery. Now that she knew he loved her, she felt more at peace with the situation. They would simply have to find a balance between his life and the way she wanted to live hers while she was in Paris. While she didn’t understand Evan Michaels, the billionaire, she did understand Evan Murray, the inventor.
Perhaps during her final days in Paris, she would finally come to understand both of the men who’d captured her soul.
Chapter 2
When Evan returned home, he felt as if he were walking in a daydream. Telling Margie he loved her and hearing her return that profession had changed everything, particularly now that there were no big secrets between them.
Her concern about his money had carried through in the way she’d warned him not to go overboard. Somehow he was going to find a way to honor that, even though he wanted to give her everything she could ever want in the world. Like she’d given him.
He pulled out his computer to research the most romantic things to do in Paris. While romance shimmered on every block in Paris if one knew where to look for it, Evan wanted to give Margie the home run, the Halley’s—a once-in-a-lifetime trip. After reading over fifteen different articles, he finally found a suggestion that struck him as perfect for her last night in town: tango in Trocadero Square above the fountains facing the Eiffel Tower.
