One Night in Paris
REBECCA HUNTER
Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Hunter
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9964556-8-8
Cover Design: The Killion Group
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to all the readers of Alice and Jonas’s story in all of its phases, including Alice Gaines, Julia Mills, Jane George, K.D. Hazzard, Tess Rider, Amanda Clay, Ella Swift, and my sister Leah. This story was a lot more complicated to write than I thought it would be. Thanks for being there along the way.
Thank you to my husband, whose knowledge for the Swedish penal system helped make Jonas possible. He would probably like me to clarify that he was not, in fact, an inmate. Some things are best explored through fiction.
And lastly, thank you to the vibrant cities of Stockholm, Paris and New York, where these stories take place. I love every one of you.
ALICE SCANNED THE arrivals hall of Charles De Gaulle Airport for the hundredth time. The monitor told her that his plane arrived forty-five minutes ago. Or, rather, the plane he was supposed to take. Because clearly he hadn’t gotten on it. The baggage carousel was empty. All the other passengers had left.
No message. He just hadn’t shown up.
She dialed his number for the third time. For the third time, the call went straight to voicemail. Alice didn’t leave a third message. No more telling herself he just hadn’t turned on his phone yet. There was no way around it. He had stood her up.
She looked around the empty carousel once more. Everyone from the Stockholm flight was long gone. How stupid could she be? Up all night, wondering how to ask Jonas for the things she wanted to try. Things she’d always been curious about. Never once considering he might not come.
Alice sat down on her suitcase and closed her eyes. Of course Jonas was too good to be true. How many guys did she know exactly like him? Just because he said something in bed didn’t mean he’d actually follow through. Even if that something involved a trip to a foreign country.
Now she was in Paris, the vacation spot of her dreams, and that wasn’t enough. She wanted Jonas, too.
Alice gritted her teeth and stood up. Just get over it and move on. So what if it was Jonas who was supposed to arrange the hotel room? So what if she couldn’t speak a word of French? She could walk out to the curb and say the words Eiffel Tower to the taxi driver. And forget about all the things she wanted to do with Jonas.
Alice took a deep breath, straightened up and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Why was she surprised? This was nothing new. How many times did her mother fall apart when her father didn’t show up? And how many times did she blame her mother, who should have known better? Now Alice waited alone in the arrivals hall, stood up by her own ex-con. But she wasn’t going to fall apart, not here. She yanked her suitcase toward the doorway.
“Alice?” A voice echoed across the hall.
She drew in a shaky breath. Don’t get your hopes up. She turned around and braced herself.
Jonas. He pushed his way through the crowd on the escalator and jogged across the arrivals hall. His hair was sticking out in all directions, as if he had run his hand through it too many times. The thick muscles of his arm flexed under the weight of his duffle bag, and his intense blue eyes shone. He was here. He hadn’t stood her up. Her heart flipped and fluttered and raced with relief, damn it.
He came in fast and crushed her in a clumsy embrace. “You’re still here.”
“Just barely.”
He held her against his chest until she softened into him. She should be mad, but the frustration was slipping away, and in its place, her body awakened. She was way too into this guy.
Jonas pulled her closer. “I’m sorry. I got on an earlier flight. It was supposed to be a surprise, but then the flight got diverted, and… shit, so much went wrong.” He released her and mumbled something incomprehensible. “But you’re still here.”
She nodded, trying to wipe the relief off her face. Of course he had an excuse, a good one. Enough to keep her hoping. That was how this worked.
He kissed her softly. “I hope that means I haven’t messed this up too badly.”
Alice closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Not yet, at least.” He sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”
THE TAXI TURNED from a maze of backstreets into a large cobblestone courtyard with trees and old-fashioned street lamps. Restaurants spilled out into the square on every side, some empty, some with a few lingering guests.
Jonas said something incomprehensible to the driver. That was three languages and counting for him. Not what she expected from a man marked with tattoos and scars. But nothing about Jonas was what she expected.
Cool off, Alice. This was the guy who almost stood her up. Even if he hadn’t meant to, she had a taste of just how much she wanted day together in Paris. And how quickly she’d forgive him at the promise of one more night. Every time that deep, sexy mix of Swedish and Irish accents came out of his mouth, all reason disappeared.
How many times did she consider backing out yesterday? Umm, zero. Her first taste of him blew every other experience out of the water. Give up an opportunity to see where one more night would take them? Not a chance.
They pulled up in front of an old stone building at the far corner of the plaza. She slipped out of the cab onto the sidewalk, and Jonas followed. The driver, an older man in a vest and a white collared shirt, carried her suitcase and Jonas’s small duffle bag to the curb.
“Thank you,” she said.
The old man ignored her and headed back to his open door.
Jonas’s deep laugh rumbled. “Welcome to Paris.”
“And its well-known friendliness?”
“Exactly.”
He held her gaze, and his smile turned into something else. His hands slid down her neck to her shoulders. She reached up and traced the thin scar along his jaw. Maybe she’d find a way to ask about that. And more.
Alice rose on her toes and pulled herself closer to his full lips. Jonas let out a deep sigh. He leaned down and pressed his mouth softly against hers, lingering for an extra breath. Just being this close was intoxicating. She slipped her other hand under the hem of his shirt, grabbing onto the warm, hard muscles beneath.
He slid his hands down her arms and over her hips. He bent down again and parted his mouth, and she tasted his warm, sweet breath. His tongue moved in soft strokes over hers, and she moaned. The strokes grew longer, deeper until he bit down on her lip, hard enough to startle her. She gasped as a ripple of pleasure traveled through her.
He froze and let her go. “Sorry.”
“No. Don’t be,” she whispered.
Jonas studied her for a moment, his gaze heating up. His muscles tightened and twitched under her hand. Darker want, simmering need shone in his eye. And then it was gone. He straightened up and looked away. He picked up his duffle bag and rubbed the back of his neck. She tucked a wisp of stray curls behind her ear and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. Neither of them spoke. She met his gaze again. The hard lines of his jaw had softened, but his dark blue eyes were guarded now.
Alice bit her lip, searching for something to say. “So, here we are in P
aris.”
Jonas’s eyes stayed on her for an extra beat. Then the corners of his mouth turned up. “What do you want to do first?”
“I’m aching for a nap, but it feels like a waste of Paris,” she said.
“Start the day in bed?” The corners of Jonas’s mouth turned up. “Definitely not a waste of Paris.”
Good point. She had stayed awake all night in Copenhagen, wondering what one more night with him would be like. If she got a quick nap, she could make it all night again. She had the rest of her life in New York to sleep. Though probably none of the things running through his head right had to do with sleep.
Jonas pulled open the glass door, and they walked into the hotel’s little lobby. Not at all ostentatious. Which hopefully translated to affordable.
“Give me a minute,” he said. “I just want to work something out with the receptionist.”
Jonas headed for the pixie-like woman behind front desk. The low cadence of his voice traveled through the cramped lobby. She couldn’t understand a word of what he said, but she didn’t miss the woman’s look as Jonas leaned over the counter.
Even on a good day, Alice couldn’t fake the effortless style of this cute little bombshell with a sleek black bob. And today? She was so far from effortless style she was surprised the French fashion police let her off the airplane. Alice reached for the halo of frizz that had escaped from her bun.
She pulled out the hair fastener to corral the escaped curls. But wait. She had the rest of her life to be that Alice. The Alice that blew her hair straight every morning and kept it pinned back so she looked more serious. One more day to be a different version of herself. She took out her bun and shook her hair free. It was still damp from the shower, and she combed through it a few times with her fingers, coaxing flyaway curls back in line.
Jonas’s deep voice came again. The receptionist’s eyes darted to Jonas’s bare muscular forearms, then back up to his eyes. Alice couldn’t blame her. But what did Jonas think about the look on the woman’s face? This wasn’t the first woman she had caught checking him out. Maybe he noticed the lingering glances, the flush creeping up the woman’s neck, but he wasn’t reacting.
If Jonas were her boyfriend, it would drive her crazy to watch the way women ogled him. But he wasn’t her boyfriend. Not even close.
Jonas and the woman were silent now, but the conversation clearly wasn’t over. The receptionist blinked her doe-like eyes and bit her lip. She sighed. Her voice was soft and musical. Of course it was. She was conceding something. She reached behind her, grabbed a key, and placed it in Jonas’s hand.
“Merci.”
Jonas turned around. His eyes met hers, and his face opened up into a smile. Alice’s heart thumped in her chest.
“Ready?” He grabbed both their bags and signaling toward the hallway.
Alice nodded and followed after him.
The tiny elevator was either charming or run-down, depending on the perspective. Alice wasn’t sure where she stood on the matter. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jonas watching her.
“I love your hair like this,” he said. He wove his hand into her curls. “It was straight the first time I saw you at the Expo.”
Alice smiled. “Thanks. And I love to see you turn on your charm. You had that receptionist’s attention.”
“Mmmm,” he said kissing her again. “But I’m not so good with women.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got to be kidding.” She brushed her hand over the muscles across his chest. “You’re the definition of eye candy.”
Jonas chuckled. “I mean beyond that. I can be a little intense, if you hadn’t noticed.” He gave her a wry smile.
Yes, he was intense. So far, she had only seen the upsides. But she had caught a couple glimpses of that hard, cold look on his face in Stockholm. He had that side, too, but if she knew anything about a man like Jonas, the bad parts would come later. And there was no later. How many times was she going to remind herself of that?
The elevator jolted to a stop, and she stepped out. Jonas gestured down the hallway. Toward the bedroom. Where she was going to ask for the things she’d never ask for in real life.
“In Stockholm everyone spoke English,” she said, stalling. “Why do I get the feeling that isn’t going to work here?”
Jonas shrugged. “People are a lot friendlier if you attempt a little French.”
“I took Spanish in college,” said Alice. “Much more useful in New York.”
Jonas set down his bag in front of a doorway and crossed his arms. “Let’s do something about that. Ready for your crash course in French?”
“Now? Here?” she asked, glancing down the hallway.
“Just three phrases.”
Well, that didn’t sound impossible. Alice put her hands on her hips. “I’m ready.”
Jonas’s gaze drifted down her body and snapped back up. He smiled. “Right. Number one: If you bump into someone, say pardon.”
“Pardon,” she repeated. “Got it.”
“Good.” Jonas’s smile grew. “Number two: If you need someone’s attention, say excusez-moi.”
“Excusez-moi. Okay,” she said. “But if I get anyone’s attention, I’m at the end of my French. So I doubt I’ll use that.”
Jonas shook his head. “That’s where number three comes in. If you want something, you just say please—s’il vous plait—and then point at whatever you need.”
Alice snorted. “That’s all the French I need?”
“Mmm. You can have extra credit lessons on bedroom talk later.” He gave her ass a squeeze.
Alice rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed. Bedroom talk. Something to look forward to in any language.
“Are you ready for our Paris room?” He moved closer, his lips almost touching hers. He licked his lips and leaned in for a soft, almost chaste kiss. His hand glided up her arm, leaving a trail of heat. He kissed her again, long and slow. This was right. This feeling, right now, was the reason she had changed her travel plans.
Alice tangled her fingers in his soft, thick hair and pulled him closer. She pressed against his big, solid body, but it wasn’t enough. His tongue found hers for a few, luscious strokes before he broke off the kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers.
“We should probably make it into the room before we start with that,” he said, his voice husky and low. “My plan was to resist this kind of temptation until you had a chance to see the view. But I’m losing my resolve.”
He ran his hand over her frizzy hair.
“Beautiful,” he said and brought a springy lock to his lips. He let her go and opened the door.
The room was charming, just short of shabby, with enough old sconces and flourishes on the walls to compensate for its size. The wrought-iron bed took up most of the space, with barely enough room to walk around its sides. Jonas set their bags down and tested the bounce of the mattress with his hands.
He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Hope this holds up tonight.”
Alice rolled her eyes.
“And now for the best part,” he said, holding out his hand for Alice to join him at the French doors in the corner of the room. He opened the doors, and they stepped out into the warm, humid breeze together.
“Wow,” she whispered. She couldn’t have dreamed up a better view if she tried. Old, elegant buildings rose up all around them, but their particular balcony faced a lower rooftop, which opened up their line of sight directly to the Seine and the Eiffel Tower.
“Quite a view, right?” said Jonas, squeezing her hand. “I promised you it would be amazing, and affordable. I hope it meets all other expectations as well.”
“I’m sure it will,” she said softly.
Alice looked over at the next balcony down from theirs. They could probably see the Eiffel Tower as well, but the view wouldn’t be nearly as good. This was all too good to be true—the perfect view from their balcony, the feel of hi
s body so close to hers, and Jonas himself.
“This must be the best room in the hotel,” she whispered.
“That’s what I was negotiating with that receptionist.”
“How did you—” An unwanted thought broke through the magic. “Have you been here before?”
Jonas’s eyes widened for a moment, and then his brow furrowed. “Yes.”
“With another woman?”
His whole body tensed. “Yes.”
“Is it in your book?”
“Yes.” Something flashed across his face. Anger? Frustration? It disappeared before she fully registered it.
Alice closed her eyes. She knew better than to hope for their own private romance from a guy like this, yet somehow she still had. But he had done this with other women, blindsided them with his Viking warrior body and his intense stare. He even had a special room for Paris trysts. Which anyone could read about in his book.
Alice turned and looked straight into Jonas’s stormy blue eyes. Too many questions were reeling through her mind. She blurted one out. “Are you married?”
Both of his eyebrows shot up. “Married? No, not at all.” He ran his hand through his hair, and his eyes searched hers. “You think I’d be here with you if I were married?”
“I guess not,” she said quietly. “I just thought this was...”
Jonas nodded slowly. He walked back into the room and sat on the bed, gesturing for her to follow. She couldn’t unsay the question, and now they were stuck in a hotel room together with it. But the last thing she wanted to talk about was his past exploits.
She forced her expression to business neutral and sat down, not letting herself touch him. She smoothed the white bedspread with her hand.
He rested his forearms on his knees and looked over at her. “Ask whatever you want.” His voice was colder, detached. Wary.
“So you’re not married. But you’ve brought another woman to this room to have sex on this bed. And you wrote about it.”
One Night in Paris: Short, Steamy Romance - Episode #2 of 4 (Stockholm Diaries, Alice) Page 1
