Who cared if you could trust a man when you were only going to sleep with him once?
A partner like him—it was something she’d never had, never been sure she even wanted. But maybe it was something she deserved the chance to try.
At that very moment, he looked up at her, and it was like the room shifted. He had no idea that her whole conception of how things might progress between them had changed. He must have sensed that something was different, though. His lips parted and he gave her a lopsided smile. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Shaking his head, he rubbed the cloth over the creases of her knuckles one more time before balling it up and putting it aside. “There we go. All clean.”
“They weren’t all that dirty before.”
“But now they’re cleaner.” He kissed the back of her hand before letting her go.
And just in time. Their waitress cleared the towels and the basket from their table, exchanging them for a circular platter big enough to hold a pizza. As promised, it was lined with some sort of bread, with more rolls of the stuff laid out along the edges. Topping it were servings of things she couldn’t begin to identify. They were colorful and different, and filled the air around their table with a hundred scents she’d never encountered in her life.
A dark hand appeared above the tray, pointing at each little area in turn. “Chicken, beef, potatoes, vegetables, lentils, greens.” The waitress looked between them for approval.
Rylan nodded, grinning at her, and said something too quickly in French. Her reply was equally incomprehensible, and he laughed, shaking his head.
As the waitress walked away, Kate looked at him with curiosity. “What were you two talking about?”
He unrolled a napkin and placed it over his lap. “I told her it looked wonderful, and she told me to let her know if you chickened out and wanted a sandwich.”
“Hmm.” Kate grabbed her own napkin, then glanced toward the waitress. “She forgot our silverware.”
“No, she didn’t.” He chose a piece of bread and tore a section off, using it to pick up some of what looked to be the chicken. “See?”
Oh. Suddenly, cleaning their hands made a lot more sense. It was awkward, but she ripped a bit of the bread and tried to follow his example. It wasn’t as messy as it looked, but it wasn’t particularly neat, either. “You know,” she said, “my mother always told me never to order French onion soup on a date because you’d make too much of a mess. Turn the guy off.”
Rylan looked as dapper licking lentils from his fingers as he ever could have in a fancy restaurant sipping champagne from crystal. He laughed. “Well, you officially have my permission to order whatever kind of soup you want to in the future. No need to impress me.” He popped his handful into his mouth, then swabbed the corner of his lips with his napkin. Shrugging, he said, “I like a girl who has an appetite. I like things that taste good. I don’t think enjoying things is a turn-off. Much the opposite.”
He looked at her expectantly. The whole time he’d been talking, she’d still been sitting there, gripping her sauce-soaked bread between her fingers and her thumb. Oh, well. Nothing for it. She took a bite and widened her eyes. The bread was spongy and just a little bit sour, the meat tender and flavorful. It was like nothing she’d ever had before, rich and sweet and delicately spiced.
“So?”
“It’s good,” she said, and it shouldn’t have been such a surprise.
“Here.” His smile had deepened into something unaffected as he tore off more bread and scooped up some of the vegetables. He brought it up to her mouth in offering. “Try this.”
It was so like what he’d done with the crepe the night before. Except instead of in the open air of the city, they were in a cozy little restaurant, no prying eyes but for the other patrons and the waitress, and Kate had nothing to hide. Not from any of them. She dipped her head and took the morsel from his hand. His eyes flashed dark, and a little thrill ran through her as he let his fingertips linger, stroking a slow curve along the bottom of her lip.
She swallowed, holding his gaze.
“I like that, too.” The way he touched her and looked at her and gave her exotic, foreign delicacies to taste.
His throat bobbed as she licked her lips. “Aren’t you glad you trusted me?”
And wasn’t that the question of the evening? Of the trip, even?
She hesitated. But she couldn’t deny the truth. “Yeah. I am.”
“Well, then.” He prepared another bite for her and brought it to her mouth. “Here’s to trying something new.”
chapter SIX
It was such a cliché—the ennui that settled in on a person when there wasn’t anything he wanted. Rylan had resigned himself to being a certain number of clichés. The jaded expat, the casual skirt-chaser. The lone wolf, hiding from the people who reminded him of who he’d been and what he’d walked away from.
Apparently, it was time to add another to the list.
How long had it been since he had wanted something—someone—so badly? Women fell into his bed. They amused him and pleasured him, and he made them feel good in return. But they left the next morning, if not the moment they were done. They didn’t get into his head. Not like this.
As he and Kate spilled out onto the alley, though, her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and her eyes were bright, the long, pale column of her throat so smooth. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen her look so beautiful, and he wanted her. Desired her with a power that hadn’t possessed him in this long and lonely year—and that was what got him. His time in Paris had never struck him as lonely before. He’d never felt bored. But here, with this woman, on this night, all his diversions seemed to crumble beneath his feet.
And he couldn’t help himself. Before they could turn the corner onto the main street, he grabbed her shoulder, feeling high on good food and good company and the warmth of a beautiful girl. Emboldened, he turned her and pressed her up against the stonework of the outside of the restaurant. His heart surged behind his ribs as he closed his hand around her shoulder and crowded her up against the wall, chest to chest and mouth to mouth. It’d be so easy to sweep in and claim her the way he’d been longing to—
Alarms went off inside his head, and he stopped himself cold. This was too much, was the complete opposite of how he’d been working so carefully to coax her along. He darted his gaze up to her face, prepared for fear.
But no.
She put her hands on his chest, and her eyes were big and dark. She skimmed her tongue between her lips as her fingers latched on to his shirt. Ready for it.
Relief flooded him, washing away the final traces of his restraint. He tipped forward, pulse thundering as she opened to his kiss. Fuck. She tasted of sex and spice, and he wanted to taste her all over—the ripe swells of her breasts and the slickness between her legs.
He dared to let his hand drift up her rib cage, right to the point where his thumb brushed the outer curve of her breast. When she pulled away to gasp for air, he kissed his way across her cheek, burying his face against the sweet scent of her hair. He fairly growled, “You’re not going back to that hostel alone tonight.”
Laughing, she dropped her head against the stone, lifting one of her hands to run her fingers through his hair. “My roommates had sex last night.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She pulled him to her lips and kissed him even more deeply.
It made him burn hotter, imagining her there, alone in a narrow, rented bad, listening to the noises other people made as they came. He edged his hand up higher on her ribs, asking between kisses, “Did it turn you on?”
She squirmed, but her hand on the back of his neck didn’t relax its grip at all. “It was embarrassing.”
“Not answering my question.”
“Maybe. A little.”
All his plans receded in his mind, making way for a whole new set of dirty fantasies. He pulled back enough to see her face. “Did you want to put on a s
how? While we watch them put on theirs? Is someone a little bit of a voyeur?”
“No.” But her cheeks were flushing. “No, but I’m not afraid to. If they don’t care, then I—I won’t care, either.”
And he could read it in her eyes and in her breath. She was simply waiting for him to ask.
The words were on his tongue, right on the cusp of spilling out. If he kissed her throat and sucked her ear. If he pressed his hardness against her hip and told her to take him home, she would. He could lay her out on those borrowed sheets in the dark and take her apart. In muffled moans and whispered instructions, he’d touch her and find out how she arched and what she’d shout. Press inside and take what he wanted, no matter who was listening, lying in their own beds on the other side of the room.
It would be so. Fucking. Hot.
But after, they’d be sleeping on a single bed, and the shame of it all would stay at bay only so long. She’d squirm, or maybe outright ask him to go, and no. He’d just awoken from his haze. This thing was temporary, but he wouldn’t doom it to a single night.
No. His plan was better.
He gripped the hem of her shirt in his fist and squeezed his eyes closed against the arousal that was growing too sharp, making it almost hard to think. “What if I had a better idea?”
“Hmm?”
She was lost in it, too, and he had to separate them. It took too much of his will to pull a half step back and put some air between their bodies. He did it, though. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye.
“Neither of us likes where we’re staying, right?”
“No.” Her brows furrowed. “But—”
“So what if we pooled our resources?”
“I don’t understand.”
And he had to be careful how he worded this. “Money for two bunks at hostels. Add it together, and it pays for a real hotel.” He slid his hand lower to stroke the hollow of her throat with his thumb. “A private room. Private bath.” He dipped in closer so he was speaking in her ear. “I’d make love to you on a big fluffy bed, and then in the shower. Put my face between your legs against the counter. And you could scream as loud as you wanted to. No one to hear. No one to see how many times I make you come.”
The moan that poured out of her at that sent sparks skittering down his spine.
She was shaking her head, but her eyes were glazed, and she parted her thighs to let him slide a knee between them. “Already paid for tonight.”
“So this first one’s on me.” He drew a line up her cheek with his nose. “If you don’t have the best night of your life, you can go back to your tiny bed and your roommates tomorrow. But you won’t.” Nipping at her jaw, he let his voice go rumbly and dark. “I’m very, very patient. I don’t let up until everyone is . . . satisfied.”
Her resolve was faltering. “You have a place picked out?”
“Reserved and everything. Five stops on the Metro.” A perfect place on a quiet street, nice enough for his tastes but not so fancy as to make her uncomfortable or put the lie to all his not-quite truths. “Clean white sheets and a little balcony and a bakery down the street. I’ll buy you a chocolate croissant in the morning and eat it off your hip.”
Her laugh was like bells, her hands gripping him in a way that told him she wouldn’t let go. “Well, if there’s chocolate involved . . .”
“Anything you want.” And God, he really meant that.
She shifted, nudging him back so she could look him in the eye. “And if I do have the best night of my life?”
“Then I’ll give you more of them.” He swallowed hard, surprised by the fervency in his own voice. By how much he wanted this. “As many as you can stay for. They’re all yours.”
For what felt like centuries, indecision colored her features, bright white teeth flashing as they dug into the corner of her lip. It was all spread out before him—her hesitation and her need. Her body was coiled so tightly, and he wanted nothing more than to give it what it clearly craved.
Say yes, he chanted in his mind. I’ll be so good to you.
But there was so much uncertainty there, too. Inhibitions he’d do his best to peel away, but it would take time. Time and a leap of faith.
He held his breath.
Finally, finally, she pushed off the wall and lifted up onto her toes, dragging him down for a softer, briefer kiss. His heart did the strangest things inside his chest; he had no idea how much he’d been counting on her to say yes. This kiss didn’t taste like yes. He didn’t know what it tasted like, and the uncertainty set him on edge. People didn’t say no to him, not about things like this.
She dropped down and released his lips, but before his worry could take over, before he could pull her back in and state his case more ardently, she threaded her hand through his.
“All right,” she said.
The clouds parted in his mind. That was it. What he’d been waiting for.
Kate wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when Rylan had told her he’d gotten them a room for the night. Really, nothing would have surprised her, and as long as they hadn’t been sharing with any patchouli-scented backpackers, she would have been content.
She was more than content.
The room wasn’t overdone, but it was nice. Tasteful. Crisp, clean white sheets, just like he had promised, and red draperies framing the doorway that opened out onto a tiny little balcony. Cream-colored walls decorated with a big mirror and classic-looking paintings. A little desk with a chair and a rose-colored settee.
Rylan had excused himself to the restroom, so she was left standing there alone, taking it all in. Trying to calm her nerves. She ran her hand over the headboard, and then the corner of the nightstand. What looked like an intercom was set into the wall to one side of the bed, and she stooped to examine it more closely. When she pressed one of the buttons in the center of it, static crackled, followed by faint strains of music. Édith Piaf. A radio. A radio with five stations, and she moved through them, smiling as the old chanteuse gave way to quiet jazz, then an American power ballad from the eighties. And then a . . . polka? Shaking her head, she turned the thing off and faced the room again.
But all she kept coming back to was the bed.
She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest and working to force her anxiety down. Neither of them had made any pretense about why they were here. When he was with her, though—when he was kissing her mouth or smoothing his hands down her hips, it all made sense. When she was alone, all she could think was that she had no idea what she was doing. The entire venture was a terrible mistake.
The air in the room suddenly felt too warm, and she crossed to the opposite wall. It took a little bit of fiddling, but she got the doors out onto the balcony to open. Fresh air poured across her face, bringing with it the sounds of the city below, and she closed her eyes as she stepped out onto the landing. She set her hands on the railing and bowed her head.
She was going to do this. She wasn’t going to freeze up, the way Aaron always accused her of doing. It was going to be fine.
She opened her eyes, and they stung. Why had Rylan left her alone with nothing to do but think for so long?
The sound of running water from within had her fighting for her composure, but she hadn’t quite found it yet by the time Rylan’s footsteps announced his presence. She stiffened without meaning to, unable to stop the way she flinched at a warm hand on her arm.
Rylan was silent for a moment, and it gave her time to breathe. Without crowding her, he stepped out onto the balcony, his chest not quite touching her back, his palm shifting to settle at her waist.
“Nice view,” he said, lips close to her ear.
“Yeah.” She hadn’t really taken it in yet, too busy letting her nervousness get the best of her. Eager for the distraction, she refocused her gaze on the world beyond their little room.
Sure enough, it was pretty. Much prettier than what she’d been able to glimpse through the tiny alley-facing window in her r
oom at the hostel. They were only a few stories up, but that was high enough in a city like this. She looked out over the quiet street, at the shop fronts and stones and pavement, and then higher, toward the skyline in the distance, twinkling with lights against the gathering dusk.
He chuckled softly, sweeping her hair to the side. Pressing a kiss to the quivering skin of her throat. “I didn’t mean the city.”
And somehow, it was so like their first conversation in the coffee shop. Part of her was still adrift as her mind raced ahead to what would come next, but a different part sighed in relief as she got a little of her footing back. Relaxing her grip on the railing, she tipped her head to the side. “That line work on most girls?”
“It’s not a line.”
“Uh-huh.”
She could hear and feel his smile. He sidled up a little closer to her, moving slowly, as if to give her time to tell him no. When his body made contact with hers, something in her melted by a fraction, and then another, and then all at once she remembered why this had felt so easy before. With warm lips and just the barest hint of teeth, he took a nip at the lobe of her ear.
“It’s not a line if it’s true.”
How many times had she fallen for a man insisting he was telling the truth?
Taking a chance, she released her hold on the railing, and he wrapped her up in his arms. Kissing down to where her neck met her shoulder, he let his hips meet her backside. A whole other kind of tremor made its way through her body, a heat so intense it seared. He was hard. On instinct, she shifted her hips away, but he didn’t let her go.
As if he could sense the root of her anxiety, he murmured, “We don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
She laughed and curled her hand around his forearm where it draped beneath her breasts. “It’s not a matter of want.”
“You want me to touch you?” His fingertips played with the hem of her top, and there was so much promise there.
Her breath stuttered. “Yes.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight again. “Only—”
Seven Nights To Surrender Page 7
