A Single Girl's Guide to Paris (Single Girl Series Book 1)

by Raven Gale

  A Single Girl’s Guide to Paris

  Raven Gale

  A Single Girl’s Guide to Paris

  Copyright © 2018 by S. Lawrence.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact :

  sglawrenceauthor@gmail.com

  https://www.slawrencewriter.com/

  Book and Cover design by Wicked Women Designs

  ISBN:

  First Edition: February 2018

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Afterword

  Chapter 1

  "You may now use your portable electronic devices."

  I pry my eyes open, sighing before I reach down and pull my laptop from my bag. I'd like to sleep but I never can, no matter how long the flight is. I pull my legs up into my seat, glad that I paid to upgrade the ticket the company bought. The flight to Paris is long, and it would have sucked being crammed in the back of the plane. I lean my head back and close my eyes as I wait for my computer to finish powering on. I try to figure out how I want the article to start. I'm lucky that I can write my travel blog any way I want. I had started out small, just me writing about my travels, places I stayed, adventures along the way. And then it happened - one viral post - and I suddenly had millions of followers. My blog was popping up on talk shows, and it led to the most amazing trips -- trips sponsored by hotels, companies, or even towns. At first, I couldn't believe my luck, but thanks to that post, here I am. I quit my job, and now I'm paid to travel full time. I can't help the grin that breaks across my face. Paris. I sigh and let my mind wander, daydreaming about the city of love.

  My computer beeps and I open my eyes and focus, pulling up my template. I smile again like I always do when I see my graphics, A Single Girl's Guide... And this time, it will be Paris. I'm giddy. I just start to type when I hear it, deep and gravelly, and goosebumps chase over my body. I discreetly look over at where the voice had come from.

  "Can I have two bottles of your best whiskey and a glass of ice, please?" The voice settles over me, and I my core responds and my face flushes. I'm pretty sure he had the same effect on the flight attendant, if her blush is anything to go by. I can't see his face, but I can tell he is tall; his arm is massive and wrapped in a beautiful suit. The flight attendant has returned very quick and is fawning over him. Shit, I wish he would turn this way a little. I think about standing but decide not to. Focus, Ember! A great voice doesn't mean great anything else. Besides, I'm unlucky at love and not looking for anything or anyone.

  I spend the flight fighting the urge to get a better look at Mr. Mystery. I'm exhausted from the battle when the plane lands. I was right; he is tall. I swear he might need to duck. I suck in a breath when he reaches up to grab his bag and tattoos peek out from around his collar and at his wrists. Sweet baby Jesus, tattoos too. I need to get off this plane. He doesn't turn toward me, just begins moving away while I stand frozen in place. I finally shake my head and grab my stuff. When I pass the attendant, she is grinning at me, so I grin back. Neither of us has any shame. I won't lie. I looked for Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous all through the airport but never caught a glimpse. I might have even dragged my feet, dawdling around baggage claim. Nothing. Sighing, I walk out into the cool air of my first afternoon in Paris and hail a taxi to the hotel, the one who's paying for this trip. A short trip to the Hotel Saint Regis, and my room is ready when I arrive. I'm shown up, being treated a bit like a celebrity, if I do say so myself. It is all I can do to keep my mouth from falling open. Here I am, Ember Lewis, small-town southern girl in a suite with a balcony looking at the Eiffel Tower. John, the bellhop, grins at my barely restrained glee. I hand him a generous tip after he puts my bags away, asking if he would be willing to suggest some not touristy places for me to visit. I like to do what the locals do. He agrees to put a list together for me and leave it at the front desk. I thank him and shut the door quietly behind him. I turn and lean against the door before giggling with excitement. Running across the room and throwing open the french doors, I dance out onto the balcony and my eyes land on the Eiffel tower in all its glory. I think back to every movie I've ever seen that took place in Paris, and I can't wait until tomorrow. For now, I take everything in for a bit longer before going in and heading to the bathroom. A clawfoot tub and I'm officially in heaven. Turning on the water and putting in some of the bubble bath that is sitting next to the edge, I go unpack some of my things as the room fills with the scent of lavender.

  Undressing, I turn on my music and let the sounds of Kings of Leon play over me. I lay there until the water turns cool, then stand and wrap the plushest towel I've ever felt around my body. Walking into the bedroom, I slide under the covers. Just a quick nap before a late dinner.

  I roll over and squint at the clock. Nine p.m., the right time for dinner here in France. Climbing out of bed, I unbraid my hair and shake out the loose waves. I grab my blue wrap dress and tie the belt into place after putting on my matching bra and underwear. Applying my makeup, I keep everything subtle, gloss goes last, and I'm ready. I look pretty tonight, and this dress highlights my best assets. Grabbing my purse, I head out to the elevator to go up to the restaurant and bar.

  Chapter 2

  Picking a stool at the end of the bar which has the best view of the city, I order some food and sit looking out at the lights twinkling in the darkness of the night, sipping my wine. I'm lost in the beauty of the city, mentally planning for tomorrow. I have a list of things to do, art to view, food to eat. Raising my glass to my lips, I inhale swiftly when his dark and sinful voice caresses over me. This can't be. What are the chances of him being here? My body tighten and my heart pounds. I've never felt like this, this immediate need for someone or something. I pivot slowly on my stool, trying to be nonchalant. He is leaning against the bar a few places down from me. Black hair frames a face that is practically primal, full lips surrounded by a dark trimmed beard rest against the edge of his glass, and for a single moment, I wish I was that glass. I'm considering what they might feel like to have them against me when I realize they are curving into a smirk. I look up and meet his bright green eyes.

  My face flushes and I look away, turning back to the city. Well, that was embarrassing, although after seeing him, I'm sure he is used to women's reactions to him. I refuse to look back just in case he catches me again. His deep rumbling laugh almost breaks me. Not interested, remember, Ember? He's talking to someone. Where is my food? I just want to eat. My plate is sat in front of me, well really at my back since I refuse to turn around.

  "Mademoiselle?" The bartender calls to me, thinking I'm not aware. Sighing, I t
urn around smiling, trying and failing not to glance at the mystery man. Figures, the supermodel he's talking to makes me look like a middle-aged frump. I focus on my food.

  The first fork full has me moaning. Sweet baby Jesus, this tastes so good. I love food. I grab my phone and take a picture for the article before diving back in. The waiter is smiling at my obvious enjoyment and brings me a creme brûlée as soon as I'm done.

  "I didn't order this," I smile, reaching for the dish even as I speak.

  "I just want to watch you enjoy some more, Mademoiselle." He winks at me, and I flush. I hear a growl from my left, and my gaze whips that direction. A scowl covers his face, and that look does something to me. I've always loved mean mugs; they make me hot. I might have a problem. The look isn't directed at me but at the waiter, who leaves, forgetting that he wanted to watch me eat. I smile in Mr. Mysterious direction, nodding slightly in thanks.

  His gaze is locked on me, and I can't look away. I realize the supermodel is gone. He raises his glass and drinks down more of his drink, and I notice his throat as he swallows. What is wrong with me? Shaking my head, I focus back on my dessert. Scooping out a small amount, I bring the spoon to my mouth, and my eyes slide shut as I roll the smooth cream on my tongue. A groan has my eyes popping open to meet green eyes heated with lust. My own eyes widen as he stalks toward me. He is stalking too, he reminds me of a great cat. I swallow hard as his heat surrounds me. He stops when his arm is rubbing against mine. He's close enough I can smell the whiskey on his breath as it puffs over my face. His shirt is unbuttoned, and the tiny peek of tattoo I saw on the plane was just the edge of the one that I can see more of now, vibrant colors and an intricate design showing at his collar.

  "I love how much you love food." I shiver when his husky voice whispers over me.

  "Umm, thanks." Wonderful comeback, I'm an idiot.

  "Didn't I see you on the plane?" I glance at his face, and he’s studying me very intently.

  I consider my answer. I could play cool or just tell the truth. "I flew out of Atlanta. Were you on that flight?" Cool, it is. He smiles. Fuck, I thought I liked his mean face, but his smile is delicious, feral-looking with almost just a baring of teeth.

  "Yes, I was. I'm pretty sure you sat just behind me, to the left. Maybe you didn't see me. You did seem to be working." My heart pounds at the thought of him noticing me.

  "I was busy, trying to start my article. I'm a travel writer. That's why I'm here. I write A Single Girl's Guide. You might have heard of it; I went a little viral last year." I grin bigger, proud of my success.

  “I haven't but, I dig the title. So... You're single." He eyes lock onto mine, daring me to lie.

  "Yep. Just the way I like it." I feel good about that answer, just making myself clear I'm not looking for anything. "You?" Never hurts to all the information.

  "Same." He looks down at my hand; I have the spoon filled with the brûlée hanging in the air. "Don't let me interrupt your enjoyment." He looks back at my face, and I decide to be bold. My eyes never leave his as I bring the spoon to my mouth and slide the dessert in, my tongue licking over the creamy goodness. His eyelids droop as he takes a quick drink from his glass. I glance away at the city and smile. I'm not the only one affected. Good.

  Clearing my throat, I look at him and ask, "What brings you to Paris?"

  "Work. I do private security," he states.

  "Interesting. So you travel a lot also." It's a statement, but he answers.

  "Yes, I go where I'm needed."

  We talk long into the night. He drinks more whiskey, and I drink a few more glasses of wine. It is some time before we realize we are the only ones left. The bartender is waiting to close.

  "I'm so sorry. You should have told me," I apologize as I stand to leave, his hand coming out to grip my elbow, steadying me. He throws some money down and then steers me away to the elevator. The door opens, and we both step in as the tension rockets. I'm frozen, and then I decide why not. Turning towards him, I stare at his lips for a second before rising on my toes and kissing him, gently. His lips are soft for a second before they turn demanding, and he walks me back against the wall, pinning me between it and his hard body.

  I freeze, and he stops, his eyes meet mine, and in them, I see that he will stop if I want him to. Do I? I'm still considering when the elevator chimes, I glance up to see my floor number highlighted.

  "I should go." I slide out and turn to the doors, pausing I look back, "What's your name?"

  He chuckles before replying, "Carter Stirling."

  I hold the door open for a second before turning back to him, grabbing his face, I pull him down and kiss him, pouring all my frustration into him. Then I break away and smile as I back out the door. He grins at me as the door slides closed. I'm walking down the hall when the elevator bell dings again, "What's yours?" I glance back to see him standing halfway out of the elevator.

  "Ember." I stop and smile at him.

  "G'night, Ember. I'll see you around." Then he disappears, and the doors slide shut.

  I lean back against the door of my room, my heart pounding. That was crazy, but sweet mother, that kiss was amazing and the solid wall of him pressed against me. I shiver with need. My eyes travel to the phone. I could call the front desk and have them ring his room. And then what? Have him come to my room? Sleep with him? I'm no prude, but I usually get to know a guy before I have sex with him.

  Chapter 3

  I can taste her on my tongue. The wine and the dessert mixed with her. Leaning back against the headboard, I adjust myself, thinking about how the softness of her felt pressed against me. Smiling, I picture her as she turned back to me, crashing her lips into mine. I felt the passion she keeps leashed so tight. She is an interesting mix of sweet and sassy. I fucking love that thick southern drawl of hers also. It's going to be a long night. I pick up the phone and realize she only told me her first name, fuck. Sitting the handset back in the cradle, I stare down at the phone. I consider going and knocking on every door on that floor, but I think I probably would scare her off if I did that. I don't want to scare her off.

  I can't believe the luck of her being at this hotel. What are the chances of that? One in hundreds, for sure. I couldn't believe when I saw her at the bar. Then that waiter said that, and it was all I could do not to flatten his stupid, pervy face. Oh, I understand him. That moan she let out when she took her first bite had my dick hardening in an instant. I want to hear that and see that look of ecstasy on her face while she is naked below me.

  I shake my head at the images running through my brain. Pushing up, I head for the shower, turning the water on hot. I stand staring at myself for a moment. I know how I look, dangerous and deadly, and I am to the right people. Lots of women like that, look for it, crave it. I wonder if she is one. All prim and proper to the world but wild behind closed doors. I step under the water and let the heat loosen my muscles. Images of her wet are now dominating my mind, and I lean my head against the wall, palming myself. I know I will find no relief tonight. Forty-five minutes later, I drag myself to bed.

  I wake at the sound of my alarm and squint at the clock. The bed is a mess where I tossed and turned all night. I hear a knock and sit up, dragging a pair of sweats up over my legs. Opening the door, I see room service with a coffee cart. Thank God I remembered to order breakfast last night. It is going to be a very long day. I drink my coffee while I get ready. Focused on the day, I force her image from my mind and instead run through the information I have on the potential client. I walk out of the hotel to go to my meetings and see her just as she climbs into a taxi. She is wearing a bright red sundress and short heels and looks fucking delectable. Growling, I climb in a taxi to take me to my meeting. It takes years of training to push her out of my mind.

  Forty-five minutes later and I have convinced the client that I will be able to keep him and his family safe. Securing the job, I assure him that I will find out who is targeting them and they will be dealt with. I feel good a
bout the day and lean my head back as the driver makes his way to the hotel. Closing my eyes, I now move on to my next target: a certain southern girl with legs that go on for miles and curves I can't wait to get my hands on.

  I just have to figure out how to get her to act on the urges she obviously has. The image of her climbing into the cab plays through my head, and I wonder what she was doing today. She was dressed like a girl from the old movies I used to watch with my mom. Very vintage and retro, very pin-up.

  A throat clearing pulls me from my thoughts, and I look around and realize we have arrived back at the hotel. Climbing out, I walk inside and head up in the elevator devising my plan. After I shower, I throw on my sweats and grab my computer. Logging in, I send the client information to my assistant and then grab my phone. I scroll through the numbers before I find the one I want. I call a buddy from the military. He had been in intel while we were in and now ran a cybersecurity business, and the man could hack anything, could track anyone. I used him often when some asshole used the internet to threaten a client. I told him the information and forwarded him the last email that threatened the client's kids. There are some fucking lines that shouldn't be crossed, and kids are one of them. We talk for a few minutes more before hanging up. I know he'll get the information to me as soon as he gets it, and until then, I will be with the family anytime they aren't at home with their normal security in place. I had checked the men they had working for them out, and everyone was more than capable of keeping keep them safe in the building.