26 Hours in Paris

by Demi Alex

  “Then it’s a good thing you don’t need to,” he replied, halting in front of an elegant accessory store and considering the window display. “You do need gloves and a hat, though.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, then stopped with the argument when he looked at her. They had a deal. He decided. She accepted. “Okay. Thank you.”

  He smiled and butterflies fluttered in her tummy. Marko had a devastating smile. If he’d simply smiled his request from the start, she wouldn’t have thought of objecting.

  The store didn’t have red cashmere. He selected a pair of exquisite gloves and a generous-shaped beret, all black cashmere, to match her coat. Marko insisted on keeping every bit of her covered and warm. Well, almost every bit. As they exited the boutique, the chill crept beneath her coat and up her legs to her center. The cold caress reminded her exactly where her panties were, and moisture spread over the top of her thighs.

  Kat let out a long breath, butterfly sensations filling her once again. Did he know? Had she mentioned the commando fantasy during one of those long, platonic nights?

  “Come here.” His voice snapped her from her thoughts and she turned to look at him. Marko once again arranged the wrap tight and close to her neck. He dropped a soft kiss to her forehead, his warm lips lingering on her skin past the end of the kiss. “It’s about time you’re here.”

  Kat closed her eyes, envisioning Marko’s scent gliding over her body and cocooning her in pure bliss. Nothing ever smelled as satisfying. Nothing ever touched her the same way. Damn, it was Marko. The only man she’d ever truly wanted.

  “It feels wonderful to be here.” Wonderful to be with you. She lifted her chin and looked into his dark eyes, sinking into a sea of possibilities and feeling the silly smile form on her lips. She couldn’t help it. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to sidestep reality and just live in the moment. What was that saying about not dwelling in the past?

  “Where is my beautiful dreamer off to now?”

  “France,” she replied, no longer bothering to hide her smile. “Living in the moment.”

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucked her against his side, and walked. They cleared a small row of attached stone-faced homes, and all her preconceived images of the beauty of the old city unfolded before her feet. They stepped onto a wide street beside the Seine, the edges littered with the green book stands. Gorgeous views, endless river, quaint and imposing buildings, and tons of books. Perfect.

  Numerous bridges, varied in architecture and design, crossed the water. The elegant and classic manicured gardens of the Tuileries, beautiful even with the harsh winter conditions, sat directly across the width of the river. The long expanse of the one-time palace, now the wondrous Louvre, stretched to the right of the gardens, with the beautiful Gothic architecture of the Notre Dame as the crown jewel in the middle of the water.

  “More beautiful than I ever imagined,” Kat breathed, swallowing the wonder swelling in her throat. She turned to take in the Musee d’Orsay, directly beside them and on the same bank, and then spotted the Eiffel Tower over Marko’s shoulder. She walked around him, linking her fingers with his and holding his hand as she crossed the street for a view without vehicles or pedestrians. “How am I going to see it all in a day?”

  “You’re not,” he replied. “You’re going to focus on the article and the message it’s supposed to reveal to your readers.”

  She looked up into his eyes. Finding love . . . but that wasn’t due to Paris.

  Chapter Eight

  Marko snaked his arm across her middle and pulled her to settle against him. With her back to his chest, he held her close and fit his chin over her head. He loved they way she fit so perfectly. Loved the way it felt to have her so close. He couldn’t get enough of her and he knew he was doomed when all he could think of was standing with her before him and beneath him just like that.

  Kat loved him. He knew that much. He simply had a day to make her need him completely.

  “The sights aren’t going anywhere, sweetheart. You’ll see and experience them all in time.” He closed his eyes and inhaled her sweet scent. “Let’s stroll over the Passerelle. Much like the Pont des Arts, it’s famous for lovers’ padlocks and honeymooners, but it also has some of the prettiest views of the city. We can sit and people watch, as well.”

  “I can’t move away from this very spot. It’s too gorgeous,” she murmured.

  Truth was, he had no desire to people watch. He wanted to watch one person . . . Kat. However, he’d do anything to give her what she wanted and what she needed.

  Marko slipped his hand inside her coat, silently thanking the designer for placing the buttons far apart enough to allow the fit. Her warmth flooded his fingertips and filled his palm as he settled it beneath her chest. His cock grew hard against her, as he recalled whispered words from a long time before and erotic images filled his mind. His Kat had an exhibitionist streak. He ached to fulfill any fantasy she had of public sex, but he also knew that building anticipation would work best for Kat.

  A soft moan left her lips as he brushed the underside of her breast, and she arched her back and gave him more access. Needing no further invitation, his thumb feathered her nipple and he lowered his lips to her neck. His tongue licked up the intoxicating skin, and he loved the tiny squirm of her ass against his groin as he suckled the softness of a creamy earlobe.

  “I like your coat,” he said, cupping her heavy breast over her dress and tracing the pebbled peak. “I like the material of your dress, too.”

  “It’s silk,” she breathed.

  “You’re sinfully tempting against the softness.” Much like his erection strained against his trousers, her heat strained through the material. He moved his hand down her body, bunching the skirt in his fingers along the way. He didn’t care if the dress was made from a potato sack or silk. It was on her. “Even more,” he rasped, sounding much more in control than he was, “I love the feel of you beneath my fingers.”

  She dropped her head to his shoulder as he feathered a touch over the top of her mound.

  “Behind us, and to the right, is the Musée d’Orsay. It briefly served as a railway station, which is very appropriate considering the foot traffic on the Left Bank.”

  She turned her head and looked past him at the pedestrians behind them, her shiver evident under his touch. His body shielded her small form from the people hurrying to their respective destinations, but they were there. She clearly liked that.

  He kissed her flushed cheek. “Today, the museum houses masterpieces from Monet, Renoir, Degas, and Van Gogh, to name a few of the artists. Think of Monet’s seascapes and how the sand would feel on your naked backside as I sink into you for sleepy sex at sunrise.”

  “It would feel wonderful,” she said dreamily.

  “Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He nudged her head up, and grinned at the obvious effort it took for her to lift those beautiful lashes. He smoothed his palm over her belly, letting the dress cascade down her thighs and fighting the urge to keep it bunched high and run a finger through her swollen sex. “Look at the expanse of the Louvre, built originally as a palace. Today, it’s one of the largest museums in the world.”

  What he wouldn’t give to feel her melt against him. Beneath his touch. On his command. He’d circle the tiny bud of nerves and welcome the feel of her weight against his chest as he brought her pleasure. Later.

  “The Louvre has exhibits from prehistoric times to the present. We won’t be visiting the museum today, so enjoy it from afar, bella. We have different plans. I’m going to take you home and ravage the world’s most delectable piece of art—your body.”

  Her moan played in his ears, and he felt her tremble. Satisfaction thrummed through him, confirming original thoughts on her basic needs. The quickest way to her heart, or her mind, was through her body.

  “That’s it, sweetheart.” He grinned, then kissed behind the silver dangles framing her elegant neck. The earrings were the only jewelry
she wore, and the only hint of the hippie style he so admired. “Let me hear your breath catch as you take in the Paris landmarks.” He moved his hand up her tummy and over her ribs, reveling in the heat of her skin beneath his fingers.

  “The Jardin des Tuileries is the perfect place for an afternoon stroll. There are two pretty ponds inside the gardens, and with the addition of a nice blanket and a picnic basket, they’re the perfect place for making love to you.”

  “Marko, you’re not playing fair,” Kat groaned as she swayed rhythmically to a silent song.

  “Why’s that, sweetheart?”

  “You’re driving me crazy. Your touch is so distracting. I can’t concentrate on my Paris research. All I can think of is you.” Her eyes closed, dark lashes rested on her cheeks, and her head fit softly on his shoulder. “All I want is you.”

  Marko beamed with fulfillment and dropped a kiss over her temple. “Très bien.”

  “No. It’s not good,” she said, opening her eyes and turning in his embrace. She tapped a soft finger against his jaw and met his gaze. “How am I going to manage to write this article on Paris if all I think about is you?”

  “Kat, what is the premise for your article?” Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from inside her coat and turned her to face him. He cupped her face. “What are you going to write about?”

  He could see her thinking and reaching for a logical answer. Kat’s rational mind was one of her greatest assets, but her conservative choices had also held her back from her true self.

  “The premise is rather simple,” she said. “I’m writing on why Paris is the perfect place to find love.”

  “Specifics, Kat. Narrow it down.” He moved his thumb over her lips, parting them slightly. “Verb and noun.”

  “Finding love?” Her voice trembled and her pupils dilated. “The article is about finding love,” she reiterated.

  “Then why are you denying what you want and feel?”

  She pushed against his chest and stepped out of his embrace. Turning to look out over the river, she folded her arms beneath her breasts and stood in a very defensive stance. “Because, sometimes we need to accept the circumstances for what they are. Because, one day is not going to be enough.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, refusing to let her set the terms of their relationship. He knew what she wanted, even if she wouldn’t admit it . . . yet.

  Marko wrapped his arms over her and held her close, waiting for her breathing to calm and her mind to settle. Words wouldn’t work in his favor, so he dismissed the idea of arguing with her. He’d show her. He’d act.

  “We are going to enjoy today, and you’re going to get enough material to write that feature,” he said. “Stop thinking so hard. The driver is waiting for us on the other bank. Let’s walk over the Passerelle. Now.” Or I’ll take you into the subterranean passage, claim you against the cold wall, and show you exactly how wrong you are—regardless of the consequences, he thought. “Next destination is the Eiffel Tower.” Then my bed. “You’ll write an amazing article and have your byline.” I’m taking you.

  “Thank you,” Kat said, a mix of disappointment and relief in the simple expression of gratitude.

  Yes, Marko knew what she needed.

  * * *

  Kat squared her shoulders and stuffed both gloved hands in her pockets, pulling into herself and rebuilding the wall of protection she’d sworn to leave in the States. A sense of loss and sadness knotted in her chest, and she blinked back the sting in her eyes. Marko pulled on her right hand and took it in his, intertwining their fingers and holding her close. She let out a long breath as his body brushed hers and she realized he wasn’t accepting her lame cop-out and moving away from her. He wasn’t letting her go. Even if only for the day, she wouldn’t deny herself. She wanted him as close as possible.

  “How are your feet holding up?”

  “My feet?” The question had her wrinkling her forehead. “Okay. Why?”

  “Those boots,” he said, smiling casually. “They’re killer on the eyes, but they look hard on the feet.”

  “No.” She chuckled at his concern. “They’re actually rather comfortable.”

  “Too bad you’re not prepared for a bike ride around Paris,” he goaded, lifting a teasing brow and pointing to the area of bicycle rentals. He sidestepped the collection of bikes and made of show of tapping one of the wide seats. “We could have enjoyed a ride through the gardens and had Jean-Luc meet us with the car a little further downstream.”

  “I can handle it. A ride through the Tuileries sounds great,” she insisted, tugging on his arm. “You forget that I’m a city girl now. Urban cycling is in my blood.”

  “I was referring to your dress, not your cycling abilities.” His gaze traveled down her body to her toes, an appreciative smile emerging on his lips. “Not that I’m complaining, sweetheart, but I’m not sure how comfortable you’d be in that outfit.”

  “Or lack of,” she replied, glancing at the pocket that housed her panties. “However, my coat is long enough to compensate for the missing underwear. Let’s rent some bikes.”

  “I’ll think about it once we get to the other side,” he said, laughing and snaking an arm around her waist. He’d been teasing her the whole time. “Now, tell me about the island girl turning city girl. How do you like it?”

  “I love it,” she said, letting the bicycle option rest for a moment. “The apartment is tiny, but Charlie is the perfect roomie. We have so much in common, and we manage to be there for each other and compensate for what the other may lack. It’s like one’s weakness is the other’s strength. Plus, we have tons of fun together.”

  “Charlie sounds great. Can’t wait to meet her.”

  She stumbled on his words, her feet tripping over the uneven ground, but she didn’t point out that there was an ocean between them. After she was on the plane back to New York, she probably wouldn’t see Marko again for years.

  “And your mother? How is she adjusting to you living in the city?”

  “Mom is happily remarried and making plans to move to Florida. Three years ago, she met Ralph. It took him a full month of convincing her to go out with him, but since that first official dinner date, they’ve been inseparable. He’s good people and good for her. I’m so happy she gave them a chance. They’re so much in love.” Kat looked at an older couple strolling hand in hand beside them. “I can imagine my mother and Ralph enjoying a walk over this bridge and snuggling on one of the benches, sharing a bottle of wine and a picnic.”

  “In that case, you need to invite them to join us next time. Even better, we can arrange for the trip to happen in June, and also invite them to join us for my parents’ thirty-fifth anniversary celebration in Santorini.”

  She glanced over at Marko, who was watching the older couple beside them, and wondered what exactly had motivated him to make such a suggestion. After all, it wasn’t as if she was a Paris resident, and she’d certainly never been introduced to his family.

  “I’ve never met your parents.”

  “That’s easy to rectify.”

  He guided her to a bench and sat on the edge. Patting his knee, he asked her to sit. She moved between his legs, wrapped her arm over his shoulders and lowered herself gently into his embrace.

  “We’ll change your flight, head down to the Côte d’Azur tomorrow before we go home for ma mère’s Sunday bouillabaisse. You’ll love it. My mother is an extraordinary cook, and her bouillabaisse is phenomenal. One of her best meals.”

  Kat studied the dark eyes of the man she loved, hesitant to ask why he suddenly wanted to take her to his home and introduce her to his parents. His parents were larger than life in her mind. Successful vineyard owners, with generations of a powerful legacy behind them, she imagined them as too good for the likes of blue-collar company.

  “Do you miss Provence?”

  “What’s not to miss?” His aristocratic features filled with pride. No, not pride—arrogance. There was the Ma
rko she knew. He never bothered with humility, and he always trumpeted the virtues and glory of his land.

  The defined line of his jaw, the fiery gleam in his dark eyes, and even the tilt of this chin, with that chiseled dimple in the middle, all confirmed that there was nothing better in the world than his Provence.

  She could see Marko, the lord of Château de M Winery, standing on the highest peak of his mountains, atop his land and his vineyards, his large muscular arm directing the plebeians below. Unfortunately, she didn’t belong in the fertile fields she envisioned. They weren’t her birthright. She couldn’t stand beside the man who held her heart.

  Kat rounded her shoulders and drew into her center, shielding herself from useless dreams. She’d never be more than a mere plebe.

  “Soon, the residents will wake to that sweet scent in the mornings.” The brush of his fingers at her nape, beneath the wrap and her coat, sent a physical awakening down her spine and brought her back to the conversation.

  “What scent?” Kat crossed her legs at the ankles and let her feet dangle. She’d decided on a day, a single day when she wouldn’t think and analyze, and she wouldn’t give up any more time. Her hand skimmed over his shoulder and played at his neck. She tangled her fingers in the dark hair curling above his collar, holding tight to the moment.

  “Where did that beautiful mind of yours drift off to?” Marko shook his head, his gaze searching her eyes. “You’ve been nodding about the impending almond blossoms and the end of winter, but you haven’t heard a word.”

  Almond blossoms. The end of winter, the beginning of spring. “No. I heard.” Almond blooms were known to smell heavenly. “I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.”

  “So you’ll come?” The tight lines on his forehead faded, and a smile broke across his face.

  “Where?” She fought to rewind the conversation, but it simply wasn’t in the memory files of her mind.