26 Hours in Paris

by Demi Alex

  His hand found her wet heat. His thumb circled her throbbing bundle of need. Muscle control disintegrated, and her body liquefied. Her head lolled back on her shoulders and her hair brushed her lower back.

  “This way,” Marko said, firm hands guiding her to straddle his body in a full contact position. “Kiss me, Kat. Take me and give me everything.”

  She did, moaning with pleasure when he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and rubbed her clit with the same measure. Heavy sensations built in her lower belly. Her hips circled his groin, and the feel of his hard length gliding between her swollen folds grew to an unmanageable hedonistic indulgence she craved.

  Pushing upward, Marko filled her body and met her desire, impaling her on him and driving them closer to the edge of reason with each thrust.

  “Come with me, bella,” he said, breathing freedom into her heart and tumbling them off the cliff. He caught her in his arms and held her as they fell. Together.

  * * *

  Knowing he may regret reminding her she had a job to do, Marko had to do it anyway. Kat had to know she could work when she was with him. She could do anything she set her mind to. “We’re going out. Research for the article, sweetheart. Your dress is on the bed,” he said.

  “You bought me a dress?” She lowered the makeup brush to the vanity and turned to look at him.

  Merde, she was beautiful. Standing in the bathroom in only a bra, dark nipples peeking through the lace and a neat little patch of curls set between her legs, he didn’t want to take her out. Didn’t want her to dress.

  “Yes. What you brought isn’t appropriate for the weather. Guaranteed pneumonia if you step outside in either of those dresses tonight.”

  “They aren’t that bad,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal. “My coat is long, and that lovely wrap you gave me is perfect protection against the wind.”

  He had to stop fantasizing about bending her over the Italian marble and fucking her gorgeous ass. He’d make her watch in the mirror. More importantly, he’d watch. His cock swelled and throbbed painfully with the image.

  The thought of her staring back at him with the smoky look in her melted chocolate-colored eyes . . . He’d push through the muscled rosette and stroke into her tight hole . . . So fucking tempting . . . The bounce of her full breasts . . . The tightening of her nipples . . . The flush on her face as she worked to take him . . . His cream dripping over the lattice of pink that he’d left—

  “Merde!” He wiped his palm down his face and stepped back. He wanted much more than mind-blowing sex with the woman. He had to focus on the big picture.

  Only an hour earlier, Kat had been content to stay in Marko’s bed for the remainder of their time together. Then, his sappy conscience and realistic side insisted on them seeing more of Paris . . . supposedly for research.

  He needed more than sex from Kat. He needed everything she had to give, and in order to get that he had to have some control of the carnal urges that had dominated his day. Being with her after all the time apart made minimizing the physical need practically impossible.

  “Fine. Don’t get so worked up.” She threw her hands up. “I’ll wear your dress.”

  “Good,” he clipped, turning and walking away. He needed distance to maintain his composure. “Wear the boots. Your garter and stockings are beside the dress. No panties.”

  “No panties equals pneumonia,” she called, giggling to his back.

  The problem was he hadn’t thought of buying panties. He’d have some delivered.

  Accompanying his cousin during a few of her shopping expeditions, he’d grown comfortable with spotting clothing he wanted to see Kat wear. In spite of Martine’s teasing about his newfound interest for woman’s couture, he’d purchased a few outfits in anticipation of her visits.

  In all the time he’d known her, Kat had gushed over only one designer, so he’d visited the Emilio Pucci boutique on Avenue Montaigne more than a few times during the summer. As a result, silky and bold patterns hung beside exquisite monochrome gowns and dresses in what he had intended would be her closet. Not once had he considered buying appropriate lingerie for her to wear beneath any of them.

  He shrugged and stepped into the closet, choosing a shirt off a hanger and putting his hands through the sleeves. She was still ‘fixing’ her makeup as he went downstairs, not appreciating the greater distance between them.

  Walking through the sitting area and past the kitchen, he went directly to the wine room and selected his favorite vintage. He finished a first glass of the potent drink, cleared the remains of their lunch from the table, and set to the task of making sure the hearth would be secure in their absence.

  He was placing two glasses of red wine on the counter, when the sexy clicking of stilettos sounded on the marble stairs. He turned and his breath caught in his chest. Wine spilled on his hand and he wiped at it with a towel he promptly tossed across the counter. The bohemian princess strolling toward him, the most beautiful woman in the world, was all he wanted to see.

  Her hips swayed with each step she took toward him, mesmerizing him and keeping him in place with the melodic movements. He was her prisoner.

  “This is a Chloe,” Kat exclaimed, her smile growing brighter with each swoosh of the fabric around her legs. She pulled the skirt to the sides of her thighs and twirled on her toes. “How does it look?”

  “Beautiful.” Marko walked to where she stood and took her face in his hands. Stroking his thumb over her cheeks, his gaze traveled from her big eyes to her full lips. Her free spirit on full display made her absolutely irresistible. “Damn, Kathryn. You’re so damn beautiful.”

  “The intricate jacquard and the soft fringe are like ornate feathers on a—”

  “Fuck the dress,” he interjected. “It’s you that is one hundred percent beautiful.” Taking a step back, he kept a hand on the soft skin of her exposed upper arm and allowed his gaze to sweep up and down the rest of her body. “How is it was possible for anyone to look so good?”

  “Thank you,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing tight. “I love it. It makes me feel wonderful. No matter what you say, this dress is gorgeous, but I don’t think my boots do the gown justice.”

  “The dress is black. The boots are black. They match,” he assured, switching from whipped to man mode again. “Give me a few minutes to check on the fire in the bedroom, and I’ll be right back. There’s wine on the table.”

  He took the stairs two at a time. Turning into the bedroom, he was greeted by her lingering scent. He smiled. At last, her scent filled his room. He planned on keeping it there. It was their time.

  The faint glow of embers in the hearth was almost out. He repeated what he’d done in the living room, secured the screen, and made sure there was nothing flammable within a meter.

  He hurried back to the woman, who for once, had done as instructed. She’d dressed in what he’d given her, even chosen to go wonderfully braless. Nothing to restrict the movements of her lush breasts for him and no lace outlines under the dress for her. No panties—well, in truth, he’d never considered them necessary, so he’d never considered them. Then there were those cock-teasing boots on her feet, which added character to the free spirited dress she wore so well. A true bohemian princess, she stood by the window.

  “The city sparkles,” she said, leaning into his chest as he rubbed his hands down her arms. “I can see why it’s one of the most romantic destinations in the world.”

  “Anywhere with your other half is the most romantic place in the world,” Marko said, fitting his lips against her neck and kissing up to the sweet spot behind her ear. “Personally, I’d stay right here if it meant holding you in my arms all the time.”

  He felt her shiver, and smiled before suckling on her soft skin and feeling her body heat against him.

  “Thank you. I have you all to myself tonight and I couldn’t be happier.” Marko described the quaint café nightlife of the Isle to her. “Many cafés have b
raziers or propane heaters on the terraces. It’s rare for Parisians to give into the cold weather.” They watched the boats glide past the historic buildings, and spoke of all things Paris, not moving away from the window view.

  When the Eiffel Tower started twinkling, she gasped and danced on her toes. She turned and handed him her wine glass.

  “Wait here. I need my phone.” Kat looked around the room, trying to remember where she’d put it last.

  “I’ll get it. It’s on the table,” Marko offered.

  “No,” she insisted, pushing on his shoulder for him to turn and look out over the city. “Stay there. I want to take a picture.”

  Picking up the phone, she immediately pressed on the camera button. The tower twinkled behind Marko. She clicked at least a dozen pictures of his silhouette before he looked over his shoulder and nodded for her to hurry.

  “Get over here. The show only lasts a few minutes.” Marko reached for her hand and took the phone. He pulled her against his chest and rested his head on hers. “Selfie?”

  “Yes, please,” she replied, turning and placing a loud kiss on his cheek.

  He captured the kiss and a few more pictures, before he lifted her off her feet and into his arms. “Kiss me properly.”

  The ricocheting contentment in her chest pinged off her heart and hit every happy nerve in her body. Kat was happier than she’d been in years, and she knew that Marko had everything to do with those feelings. She traced his jaw and lowered her head, licking slowly over his lips, and slipping her tongue through them. Passionate tingles flowed into her soul as he gently glided through her mouth and sucked her into his until the tower stopped twinkling.

  “If we don’t go now, I’ll keep you here forever,” Marko said, lowering her feet to the floor.

  Forever with Marko was very tempting. Was it too much to want everything? “Okay, let’s go. We have a city to see, research to do, and a feature to write.”

  She longed for everything. Marko, career, happiness.

  “Allons-y,” he said, and arranged the wrap snug around her body, leading her to the foyer. “Do you want me to carry your phone?”

  It was such a couple thing to do. She could be quickly lulled into thinking this little break from reality could be a forever situation, and she couldn’t help the warmth that filled her at his suggestion. At least they had the night. “Sure. Thanks.”

  The business card tucked into the side pocket of her tote came to mind. She’d certainly found what she’d initially been looking for. She rummaged through the receipts and pulled out the invitation from the romantic Cyril. Asking for her phone, she took it back from him, lifted the rubber casing, and fit the card inside. She handed the cellular back to Marko, who promptly slid it into his pants pocket.

  “What’s that?” Marko asked, holding open her coat and waiting for her to slide her arms through the sleeves.

  “A hidden gem,” she replied, shrugging into the coat. “I’ll explain later.”

  She didn’t argue when he handed her the gloves and fit the beret on her head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Happy with her hand once again tucked neatly into Marko’s coat pocket, Kat bumped against his shoulder and puffed out little clouds of breath. The chill in the night air stung her cheeks, but the stroll along the quaint streets warmed her soul.

  “I can see why artists have flocked to Paris over the years,” she said, holding out her arms and twirling like a child. Happy and carefree, Kat walked beside Marko in the city of her dreams.

  The picturesque character of the storefronts was distinguished, yet inviting. Time-worn stones whispered romantic tales down the long lanes. Bright red doorframes had her making mental notes of where to return, while retracted awnings identified the proprietors’ intents and marked their passage through the cobblestone paradise.

  She stopped before a chocolatier’s window and regarded the creative display with amazement. A chocolate park sprawled through the shop, covering all shelving and featured table rounds. Dark chocolate trees with gold leaves at their roots, creamy little pavilions with colorful candy roofs, and even a magical playground, with a tall old-fashioned slide and an intricately carved carousel, called for the child in her to wander through the gourmet wonderland.

  “Such an enchanting masterpiece,” she breathed.

  “Not only is his work art, but it’s also delicious,” Marko explained, squeezing her hand in agreement. “Don’t tell Antoine, but this is one of my favorite places for a sweet indulgence on the island. I sneak a Grand Marnier truffle at least once a week.” He looked down at her and nuzzled a kiss behind her ear. “When the weather warms and the season is right, I’ll bring you dark-chocolate-covered fraises des bois every night. I promise.”

  He promised. He always kept his promise. Forest strawberries were best in the summer. The season started in mid June. Sadness filtered through her. She wouldn’t be here in June. He’d have to break his promise. The first she knew he couldn’t keep.

  Wiping a gloved finger over the corner of her eye, she shook her head. She must have read too much into a simple comment. He hadn’t meant it literally. He was being nice and adding to her research. There was no real promise.

  “You need to stop thinking so hard,” he reprimanded. “It’s only chocolate.”

  “I was thinking about your neighbor,” she said. Somehow, she recovered and skimmed over the truth, perplexed as to why he’d never spoken of Antoine before. “Is he your best friend?”

  “Antoine?”

  She nodded, relieved that she’d managed to shift the topic of conversation back to Marko’s life and away from her dark considerations of a lonely future.

  “I never really thought about it, but I guess you can say he is.” Marko wrapped his arm around her waist and commenced walking. “From the first day I saw the apartment, even before I bought it, we became friends. He offered me a coffee and welcomed me to the neighborhood.”

  “So, he’s a new friend. You bonded as neighbors at that beautiful home.”

  “Yes. And I’m so happy you think the apartment is beautiful. It needed a lot of renovations when I first saw it. However, the location was excellent.”

  “It is. I can’t get over the views,” she added. “And it’s very spacious for a city place. Very spacious.”

  “The three levels were being used as three different units, for three different families,” Marko explained. “It took some time, but when they were combined, space was not an issue.”

  Kat had never seen the third floor—or, in U.S. terms, the fourth floor. She loved the first level with the sitting and dining areas. Impressive, yet cozy, it welcomed long conversations and gatherings. The comfortable seating, gorgeous view, and openness of the space called to her family nature. The kitchen was very modern, and come to think of it, that level also had the wine room.

  The next floor had the master bedroom, which was a suite much grander than any apartment she’d ever lived in. He’d suggested his study as a place to set up her laptop and keep any notes she wanted to collect; then he had also shown her two more impressive bedrooms. She’d never realized there was more to the home.

  “When the majority of the demolition was done and the foundation had been restored, Antoine asked to see the place. Since he also lives on the isle, he was familiar with the architecture. He agreed with the idea of preserving the historic integrity on the property, and he understood our need for modern amenities. Antoine offered to help me when Aimee was visiting her grandparents. He did a lot of the trim and woodwork in the formal areas.”

  “What is on the third level?” Kat asked, referring to the fourth floor as a true Parisian would.

  “There is a formal living room, dining room, and what you could call a large kitchenette or a small kitchen. It’s more for entertaining and those type of events. I prefer the first level. Not too high from the street, but it still affords stellar views.”

  “It really does,” she agreed. “You could see everyth
ing, including the expressions of the people walking on the street.”

  “Exactly.”

  They fell silent and walked toward the river. Sultry jazz floated past a wooden door, issuing an invitation of warmth out of the wind. Passing an old-world bistro, she reached out and ran her hand over the regal blue iron bars on the window and along the blue walls as they rounded the corner.

  “This restaurant has been through some recent changes, everything from the menu to new owners, but it’s a classic landmark on the island.” Marko explained.

  “Lots of clientele for such a small place,” Kat said, sidestepping a couple exiting the club and two others heading inside.

  “It’s not so small,” Marko said against her ear. The music drifting out the door made it difficult to hear. He squeezed her hand and spoke near her ear. “Long and narrow, they manage to serve a lot of people. There’s a lower level, too. How would your book have ended if the lawyer and her academic frequented this place?”

  Very differently, she thought. Kat lowered her gaze and stared at the tips of her boots. She shuffled over the cobblestone in silence.

  “Step down,” Marko said, supporting her elbow as she moved on autopilot.

  The wind whipped around her ankles, and she shivered. Walking along and trusting Marko to keep her safe, she flipped through the final fictional scenes in her mind. “I sort of gave up on them. They couldn’t get their act together, and I needed to end the book. Though they’re not together, they each have a happy ending.”

  He didn’t say anything and she didn’t elaborate. They walked in silence for a few minutes. Marko steering. Kat staring at her toes.

  “Look up, bella.”

  The Pont Marie stretched across the river. Lights, framing the impressive structure, glittered on the water. The pretty bridge resembled a fairy’s crossing, sprinkled with pixie dust. “Just wow,” she said, a smile crossing her face. “Cyril was right. I can see the appeal.”

  “So can I,” Marko said, looking down at her and positioning his back to the wind, sheltering her from the cold. “If you look carefully, you’ll notice how each of the five arches differs in design. I’m not sure why it was made that way. Regardless, the bridge is as unique as any of the bridges spanning the Seine. Each bridge has distinctive architecture. The real mystery with the Pont Marie is why there has never been any statues built into the niches of the arches.”