“Those are all good arguments for Paris,” she agreed. She could have let it go there, but she couldn’t help pushing. “But you’re not from here.”
“Nope.”
God, this was like pulling teeth. Why the freedom with his story last night and this brush-off today? “So where are you from?”
“New York, originally. The city.”
“Is that where your family still lives?”
He shot her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. “You know full well my dad’s not living there anymore.”
Yeah, she did know that. Not exactly the most sensitive way she could have phrased it. “Right.” She cleared her throat. Tentatively, she prompted, “And your mom . . .?”
He let out a short bark of a laugh that sounded pained. “Who knows? Could be in New York. Could be in Argentina or Shanghai, for all I know.”
Casting a glance over his shoulder, he sped his pace even more as they passed a clump of slow-moving tourists, and dammit all. This hill was steep, and his legs were a hell of a lot longer than hers. The bastard didn’t even seem out of breath.
“Jesus,” she finally said, giving up. She let her hand slip from his waist as they hit another set of stairs, not even caring that the family they’d just passed would now have to get around them. Her thighs burned, and she grabbed her chest, winded. “What the hell are you running from?”
All at once, he froze. And she almost missed it. The way his eyes widened and his mask of casual flirtatiousness evaporated, leaving this wretched, surprised expression. Betrayal and hurt, and . . . she didn’t even know what. As fast as it had appeared, it retreated, and he blinked a couple of times, brows furrowing. “Excuse me?” he asked.
What the hell? She just wanted to know why he was walking so damn fast, and . . .
And then it struck her all at once. She’d been needling him and needling him, and without even meaning to, she’d tripped right over the truth.
He was here, in Paris, thousands of miles from home, avoiding her questions about his life because he was running away. From what, she couldn’t guess, but from something. Something big.
She swallowed hard, and her voice cracked. “Literally. I meant, literally.”
“Oh.”
The grin she’d been waiting for made a valiant attempt at surfacing on his face but ultimately couldn’t quite seem to manage it. Looking away from him, she put her hands on her knees, hunching over to take a few good deep breaths. Silence hung over them, low and sticky like the air felt after their uphill jog. When she dared glance up at him again, he was leaning against a railing, arms crossed in front of him.
And clearly determined to ignore everything he’d unwittingly revealed in the last few minutes.
“You good?” he asked. And he didn’t sound distant, precisely. Just guarded in a way he hadn’t been. It felt more like the show he’d been putting on that first day, picking her up and buying her coffee and trying to be so debonair.
Trying and succeeding.
She nodded, standing up straight again. “Yeah. I’m fine. So long as you don’t do your Road Runner thing and take off on me again.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself.”
Ignoring the group of people currently passing them, he held out his arm to her, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. He felt warm and solid and dependable.
It was deceiving. How many times had her mother told her—you could never really trust a man. Especially not one that could do better than you. She swallowed hard. It didn’t matter how open Rylan seemed sometimes. This was a man who wasn’t telling her everything.
Arm in arm, and at a much more reasonable pace this time, they set off up the hill again. They talked idly about the things they passed and how far it still looked to the top, but it was superficial, allowing a wide berth around whatever they’d nearly stumbled into a few moments before.
She kind of hated it.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the stairs gave way, and he steered her to the right.
And suddenly her feet didn’t hurt and her lungs didn’t burn. “Wow,” she murmured absently.
“Told you.”
He hadn’t been lying. The basilica itself stood off to the side, but it barely fazed her, because they were on the top of the world, the sky was blue, and all of Paris lay beneath their feet.
“Come on.”
Taking her hand, he wandered through the crowd, somehow managing to find a clear place against the railing to look out over it all. Urging her to stand flush against the fence, he stepped in behind her, hooking his chin over her shoulder, his chest warm against her spine.
“Do you have a camera?” she asked. If she’d known this was going to be so spectacular, she would have insisted on going to her hostel first so she could grab hers.
“Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head and held her closer. “We’ll worry about it later. For now, just enjoy it.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted some images to remember this moment by, but also to use as references for paintings she might do someday. But what was the point of remembering a moment she was too busy recording to be a part of?
She needed to soak this in.
Fact was, she had a lot of things to worry about. Between the progress she’d been hoping to make with her art and the decisions facing her as soon as she got home and all these twisty-turny feelings Rylan was awakening in her . . . her head and heart were more than full with troubles.
But then something happened. He rubbed her hand and stroked his fingers up and down her side, the steady rhythm of his breathing making the noise of her thoughts and the rest of the world die down. Just a little bit. Just enough for a warmth to replace them. For her to give in to being surrounded by so much beauty.
They stood there together a long, quiet time before he squeezed her close and pressed his lips to her temple.
“There are a lot of reasons why I’m here, in Paris.” His voice was gruff, but it was honest. “Not all of them are the best reasons. But what matters—what I prefer to think about—is that I am here. In this moment, in this spot.” He bent to place a soft, more lingering kiss against her cheek, then whispered beside her ear, “With you.”
Just like that, the wariness she’d donned like armor mere minutes ago faded away, his words worming their way past her defenses. She didn’t even care that it was a line. It didn’t sound rehearsed. It sounded true.
And in that instant, that was all that mattered to her, too.
chapter TEN
Rylan was a bastard. First, for misleading Kate about where he came from in the first place. Second, for being so damn evasive all afternoon—for keeping his cards so close to his chest every time she asked him about his past. He’d given enough away already, but the details she seemed so eager to ferret out of him were getting too real. This had become a vacation for him, too, a respite from the tedium he’d settled into. A chance to not have to think about all the things he’d left behind.
Third and finally, he was a kinky motherfucker of a bastard for what he was about to do right now.
“Come on,” he said, guiding her with a hand at the small of her back. They’d reversed their trip up to the top of Sacre Coeur and were down in Montmartre proper again, which she had loved. But she hadn’t seen all of it yet.
“Where are we going?” She laughed, a high, warm sound that he was glad to hear again after everything had gotten so serious there for a bit. She’d better still be laughing when she saw where they were going next.
“You’ll see.”
It was a subtle transition, the way all the kitschy shops and little cafés gave way to the area’s red-light district. The first couple of places they passed with dildos in the window, she didn’t even seem to notice.
But then her steps slowed and her eyes narrowed.
“Rylan,” she said, all warning.
Damn, he was a bastard. And this was going to be way too much fun.
�
��You know what brought Toulouse-Lautrec to Montmartre, right?”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Whores, dancing girls. It’s part of the experience.”
“Rylan!”
“What do you think the Moulin Rouge was? A nursery school?”
“That’s not why I wanted to come here.”
“I know it’s not.” He pulled out the trump card he’d been saving. “But you did ask me—repeatedly, if I might add—what I was getting out of this trip.”
“I’m not going into a—a brothel.”
He put on an expression of mock offense. “Of course you’re not.” They’d started moving forward again in spite of her misgivings, and—perfect. He stopped and put his arm out, gesturing to just the place he’d been planning to bring her. “You’re going into a sex shop. Totally different.”
“I don’t want to—”
“But I do.” He leaned in close, and she might be angry, but she didn’t flinch away. “I want to buy you a present, and then tonight I want to show you how to use it.” He let his arousal at the thought seep into his voice. “I want to find out how many times you can go before you beg me to stop.”
She drew back, and her face bloomed tomato red. But she put her hands on her hips, a defiant set to the angle of her chin. She looked around. Made sure they were alone before she choked out, “I know how to use a—a—” She lowered voice comically. “A vibrator.”
Well, color him surprised. “You do?”
“Of course I do.” She glanced over her shoulder again, looking uncomfortable but in a different way. She leaned closer, still keeping her voice down. “I told you. No guy has ever managed to. You know.”
“Make you come?”
God, he could feel the heat coming off her face from here. But her silence was her agreement. “So . . .”
“So?”
“So a girl has needs.”
“Never doubted it.” He’d been pretty sure she knew what an orgasm felt like, considering the way she’d arched into his touch and bucked against his tongue. Just the idea of her reaching between her legs and sating that ache had him hardening. The image of her doing it with a little mechanical assistance had him ready to pull her into an alley right here and now.
But he had patience. Not much of it, but enough.
He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “What I doubt is that you have any idea how to tell a man what those needs are. Which is why”—he stepped to the side and opened the door to the shop—“we are going to practice.”
She looked from the open door to him and back again, but her feet seemed glued to the ground. After what felt like an eternity of indecision, her flush deepened to the point where he was actually starting to worry she might blow. But just when he was half expecting her to go running for the Metro without him, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”
With that, she stormed into the store, and damn. He liked it when she got all fired up. Chuckling to himself and shaking his head, he followed in after her and let the door fall closed behind them.
Inside, the place was well lit. There were some racy images on the walls, and all the shelves were lined with books and DVDs and toys, but it wasn’t the typical place people imagined perverts in trench coats sneaking into to find material for jerking off. Only a handful of people were browsing, but more of them were women than men. Hopefully, that would set Kate at ease.
He picked up a basket and nodded at the girl behind the counter before wandering over to where Kate was standing, eyeing a display of glass dildos.
“Pretty, aren’t they?” He picked up a bulbous one with red swirls and put his lips close to her ear. “Wonder what this one would feel like inside of you?”
She squirmed. “Sounds cold.”
“It would be.” He set it down. “But that’s half the fun.” Grabbing one still in its packaging, he placed it in his basket.
She put her hand on his arm. He opened his mouth, ready to argue for why this was a good idea, why he’d love to rub this up and down her slit and watch it slip inside. But in the end, all she did was lift it out and replace it with a slimmer, purple one.
He practically swallowed his tongue. “Good choice.”
She hummed, walking past him to keep looking around.
While she was doing her own perusing, he grabbed a bullet that looked interesting and considered picking up some lube, but that seemed a little presumptuous. Maybe next time.
When he caught up with her again, she had the package for a mini-wand-type thing in her hands.
“Find something good?”
She startled but didn’t lose it on him again. She added it to their purchases with a shrug. “Travel-sized version of one I know I like.”
“Smart thinking.” He gestured at the rest of the store. “Anything else that gets your motor running?” Speaking of which, they had to stop for some batteries, too. “Handcuffs? Whips? Porn?”
“No, thank you.”
Fine by him.
Up at the front counter, he paid for everything in cash, keeping his open wallet out of her view. He waved her off when she tried to contribute. “It was my idea,” he insisted.
“Fine. But I’m getting dinner tonight.”
He rearranged his mental list of places he’d been thinking about suggesting for the evening. “Fair enough.” He twirled the box for the wand she’d picked in his hand. “And then, after, dessert is on me.”
Kate stood before the mirror in the hotel room. Their hotel room. She swallowed hard, watching the way her throat moved in the foggy glass.
Except for a towel, she was naked.
After they’d gone into that store of his, they’d had a simple dinner, then swung by her hostel to check her out and grab her things. They’d been banal enough activities, but static had crackled in their air between them with every step, anticipation a hot, heavy thing in the hollow of her abdomen.
The previous night, she’d had a sense of where things might be going, but tonight, the whole way back, she’d known. He would strip her clothes off and put his mouth to her skin. Run those warm, careful fingers of his along the swells of her breasts and hips, dip them into the secret places she rarely showed to anyone. Her whole spine tingled, lit up with an equal mix of nerves and thrill.
He’d probably expect to have sex tonight. After he’d been so patient with her yesterday, how could he not? She still wasn’t so sure how she felt about letting him do that to her, but had been psyching herself up for it as they’d walked through the door.
Before he could start turning her to mush with little kisses up and down her neck, though, she’d broken away, insisting on a shower. Alone. If he was planning to be putting his mouth on her again—especially there, she wanted to be clean for him. And besides, she’d needed time to get her head on straight.
She’d stayed under the spray for as long as she’d dared. It still hadn’t been enough.
Picking up her brush, she focused her attention on the tangles in her hair. Her chest and face were flushed from the steam, and little beads of water still clung to her throat and the tops of her breasts. Setting the brush aside, she pushed the damp strands of her hair behind her shoulder. Grazed the tips of her fingers over her clavicle, letting her own touch linger.
Her anxiety was high, but she couldn’t deny it. She’d never felt so sexual before. She wanted this. And she just had to trust: If she were in Rylan’s hands . . . somehow, she’d be all right.
Before she could change her mind, she opened the door to the bathroom and walked out.
Rylan sat on the bed, elbows braced on his knees. He’d stripped off his jacket and his button-down, leaving him in an undershirt and jeans. Behind him, the covers had been turned back and a handful of pillows had been arranged as a cushion against the headboard.
His head snapped up as she emerged from behind the doorframe, and his gaze raked up and down her body. He licked his lips. “Feel better?”
“Yeah. Much.” She fought to ke
ep her hands at her side. Not to reach up and fidget with her towel or hold it more securely across her breasts.
“Good.” He rose and strode forward to meet her, stopping shy of pulling her into an embrace. With one hand, he traced the edge of her face, then down over her shoulder, to the place where the towel gapped over the center of her chest. He didn’t pull at it, though. Didn’t move to reveal her any further. “You look edible.”
A full-body shudder moved through her. “You look good, too.” He always did.
And there was that smirk. “Go.” He gestured to the bed. “Lie down.”
He stroked her cheek again, then moved toward the chair near the entryway to pick up the bag from the sex store. Her face heated, but she didn’t comment. As he took their purchases with him to the bathroom, she turned to face the bed, ignoring that he was washing them up and probably filling them with batteries.
She still wasn’t exactly sure what he planned to do with those things. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she had some experience with them. Her roommate her junior year of college had spoken about her vibrators rhapsodically and had been shocked when Kate had confessed to not knowing anything about them. At the time, she’d been involved with Aaron, so she hadn’t really thought much of it. He hadn’t ever succeeded in getting her off, but they only spent the night together a few times a week. She’d been able to find time to . . . attend to her needs when he hadn’t been around. But the idea of actually going so far as to procure sex toys had felt a little too much like admitting defeat.
After he’d fessed up to everything—after she’d walked away—defeat had pretty much been the order of the day.
Her first attempt at ordering a vibrator would probably have been comical if it hadn’t been so mortifying. After going back and forth on it a hundred times, though, she’d finally settled on one and clicked “buy” before she could stop herself. The thing had come in a plain brown package a few days later, and when her roommate had been gone, she’d locked the doors and turned on some music. And proceeded to have the best orgasm of her life.
Seven Nights To Surrender Page 11
