The idea of heading back into the clubs wasn’t tempting. Returning to a city where I’d once run so wild had clarified that point for me. I didn’t want to go back. I wanted to move forward . . . I also didn’t want my time with Wren to end yet. “Wren, I want to see Paris with you—your way.” As I said the words, I realized how much I meant them.
She searched my face, not yet looking as if she fully believed me. “I would say something witty, but I’m not good at flirting.”
I fought a smile. “We could work on that.”
Her eyes narrowed again, but I could also see that my comment had amused her. “And just to get this out there, if anything does happen between us—you are absolutely wearing a condom.”
“Absolutely.” I coughed back a laugh. Never had I found anyone as funny as Wren, even though she wasn’t trying to be.
The bus pulled over again. I stood and held out my hand for her to take. “Let’s go see the Eiffel Tower.”
She rose and her eyes lit with challenge. “There are over twenty stops on this tour.”
“Sounds like fun.”
She placed her hand in mine, and we made our way through the bus and to the street. Once there, I pulled her closer and bent to growl in her ear. “Wanting to end the tour had nothing to do with how interested I am in you, but now that I know what you’re determining from today—hang on to your water bottle, pumpkin, because we’ll ride that bus until you’re begging to stop.”
Her expression showed her surprise.
I swooped in for a quick kiss that left me feeling as rattled as she’d looked. I could have fucked her right there; that was how strong the sizzle between us was. The intense kind of euphoria that made the sky look as blue as her eyes and the sunshine feel brighter.
My resolve to protect her from me battled with my desire for her. My body was overheating, and my thoughts were a hot mess—and it was fucking incredible. I put my arm around her waist and turned her so she’d have a view of the Eiffel Tower. “So, my little engineer, tell me something I don’t know about this icon.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
WREN
My mind raced as I tried to focus on the iron landmark before us. Part of me wanted to tell Mauricio to stop kissing me. Another part wanted to turn, wrap my arms around his neck, and beg him to kiss me again.
How could I be expected to form a coherent sentence while trying to sort it out?
I pretended to be momentarily overwhelmed by the Eiffel Tower, but really I was catching my breath and trying to regain my composure. I groaned inwardly as I remembered how I’d blurted out that being with me required using protection. In my head, it had sounded sophisticated and sexy. If Mauricio’s amusement was anything to go by, it hadn’t come across as either.
Yet he was still at my side.
He didn’t have to be. I’d told him he could go.
My cheeks warmed as I remembered how he’d promised to ride the bus until I begged to stop. What else would he do with that kind of dedication?
What did it say that I wanted to find out?
My very responsible life was waiting for me back in Connecticut. If I didn’t share our time on social media, no one back home would even know about my time with him. It wouldn’t affect my parents or my job. He was my chance to walk on the wild side before stepping back into my life.
So tempting, how could I resist?
I glanced around, and although the area was full of all types of people my attention was drawn by young couples displaying public affection for each other. Some sat together on the grass. Some kissed in the middle of the crowd, seemingly oblivious that they were not alone. They made it look so easy.
I realized Mauricio was waiting for me to say something. He wasn’t the type to go to museums. Did he really want to hear what I knew about the tower? Even as I asked myself the question, I squared my shoulders and reminded myself that this trip was about not worrying for a change. If he didn’t like hearing historical facts, no one was forcing him to stay. “The story of the Eiffel Tower is fascinating. It was built to show France’s industrial prowess for a world fair. The plan was to tear it down after twenty years. Part of the original contest to design it actually included a caveat that it must be easy to dismantle. Imagine three hundred men, over two years, eighteen thousand thirty-eight pieces of wrought iron held together with two-and-a-half million rivets, all for something that was meant to be temporary.”
A couple walked by us, pausing to kiss passionately. The young woman whispered something in her lover’s ear that brought a grin to his face before they hurried off together.
I wasn’t positive, but my gut hinted what she’d whispered hadn’t been the history of the Eiffel Tower. I groaned inwardly. Was I playing this wrong? My sex life was a snore fest . . . did I want it to stay that way?
A gorgeous man was literally holding my hand. He’d already made it clear he wanted me. All I had to do was get out of my own way and let it happen.
I glanced up at Mauricio, half expecting to see his eyes glassed over and him reaching for his phone again. The warm smile he gave me sent fire licking through me.
He dipped his head closer to mine. “So why does it remain?”
“What?” Did I mention how dark his eyes were? His perfect white teeth? How solid and strong every inch of him was? My heart thudded crazily in my chest, and I became acutely aware of every single place our bodies were touching.
“They obviously didn’t tear the tower down. Do you know why?”
I shook my head. Why were we talking about a metal structure when my body was literally humming for his?
His smile widened. “I’m surprised. I was sure you’d know.”
I blinked a few times quickly. “About why the Eiffel Tower is still standing?”
Desire burned in his eyes as they searched my face. “Yes. So many things don’t last. Why is it still here?”
It was difficult to breathe, even harder to concentrate when he looked at me that way. I flicked my tongue across my bottom lip. “It’s complicated. When it was first built, it was considered ugly. To protect it, Eiffel proved it could be useful for science and as a radio transmitter. So it survived its demolition date. Later, when the Nazis took Paris, the French cut the cables, which meant the Nazis had to climb one thousand seven hundred ten steps to hang their victory flag from it, and the first one was so big it blew off. They had to climb back up and hang a much smaller flag. The tower would not be humbled. There’s a beauty when something survives in spite of what others expect of it. I can’t speak for Parisians, but that’s why I think they embrace it now. Not because of its lights or its global popularity, but because it’s an emotional symbol of French resilience. Despite all odds, it still stands.” I stopped because I felt like I was rambling. “Sorry, did that answer your question?”
“Yes.” He traced the line of my chin with his thumb and looked down into my eyes without speaking for several heartbeats. “And no. I’ve never met anyone like you, Wren.”
I swallowed hard. “That’s a good thing, right?” I joked.
His answer was a kiss that had me twining myself around him. There might have been people around us. It could have still been daylight. None of that mattered. His hands dug into my hair. I went up onto my tiptoes, kissing him back with abandon.
When he broke off the kiss, he rested his forehead against mine. “You’ve been up-front with me, so it’s only fair that I be as well. I want to be with you, but I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not good at relationships. If you’re looking for forever, you won’t find it with me.”
Our breath mingled intimately as I weighed his words. He wasn’t looking for anything long term. Another woman might have been disappointed, but I wasn’t good at relationships either. No matter how good they started, there was a pattern to how mine ended. I had yet to find a man who understood that my parents would always be a priority to me. I didn’t want to move away from them. Nor did I need to be saved from the situation.
&nbs
p; The men I’d dated had wanted to be number one in my life. I didn’t love like that. The man I wanted wouldn’t see my parents as competition. He’d understand that even the weight of such a responsibility was a gift. The possibility that such a man might not exist was not something I wanted to waste time lamenting. Mauricio was offering something temporary, and in a way it was a bit of a relief. I didn’t need to worry about what a vacation fling thought of my life choices, or if he would blend well with my parents. No, I could concentrate solely on this sizzle and how good it felt to be wanted by a gorgeous man.
“I’m not looking for forever. How about we just have some fun?”
“Some fun.” He echoed my words as if doubting my claim.
I ran my hands up his strong chest. God, he felt good. “I want to be with you, too, and I’m willing to shoulder whatever guilt comes with breaking your heart.”
“You are?” he asked in a deep, amused voice.
“I am. I’m only here for a week, so don’t let yourself get too attached.”
He raised his head and looked down at me with desire burning in his eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”
Inspiration hit me, and I pulled his head down so I could whisper, “Something so decadent I fly home smiling.”
His eyes widened, his hard cock twitched against my stomach, and he growled, “I like the way you think.”
I moved slowly, experimentally back and forth against his erection, reveling in the guttural groan the action elicited from him. “And I like the way you feel.”
He claimed my mouth again, this time plundering it as if I’d pushed him beyond gentleness. I loved the way his hands tightened in my hair, loved how he took control of the kiss. Had we not been in public I doubted our clothing would have stayed on long.
Eventually we broke off the kiss and simply held each other, both breathing heavily. His voice was husky when he asked, “So what’s the next stop on the tour?”
Was he serious, or was this where I was supposed to say his place? I didn’t know. During my hesitation, he added, “My guess is it’s Hôtel des Invalides.”
Hotel.
No, not a hotel like its name implied, but a complex of buildings where Napoleon I was buried. I needed to calm down. That might require fresh air and stepping out of Mauricio’s embrace. “You’re right. I’d like to walk around here first, though.”
Or find a real hotel . . .
No, there was no need to rush that.
And I really did want to see Paris.
Mauricio tucked some of my hair back in place, then stepped back. “Keep telling me what you want, Wren, because you’ve given me a goal . . . to send you home smiling.”
My mouth went dry. “It’s good to have goals.”
“Yes, it is.” He put his arm around my waist, and we began to walk the perimeter of the tower. When we approached a security entrance, he asked, “Still sure you don’t want to go inside?”
I scanned the area inside and the long lines of people that filled it. “Not today. We’d need tickets to go up. I’ll come back.”
I’d almost said, “We can come back,” but I had no idea if we would.
We strolled along, hand in hand. Each time I glanced up at him and caught him watching me, I smiled, blushed, and looked away. I felt young and sexy, and the whole day felt like a dream. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” I challenged spontaneously.
His hand gave mine a light squeeze, and he pulled me closer as we walked. “Something I’ve never told anyone. Let’s see. I can’t watch The Wizard of Oz because I don’t like the—”
“Flying monkeys?” I cut in with my guess.
He nodded.
“Me too. They gave me nightmares as a child. And in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory it was the—”
“Oompa-Loompas,” he interjected with a laugh.
We shared a smile. “Anything stuck in Jell-O freaks me out—even fruit.”
“If I chase a spider with a shoe and he gets away, I have trouble sleeping because I’m positive he’s plotting his revenge.”
I chuckled at that. “I always look under the bed of a hotel room. I’ve never found anyone, but I watched too many horror movies in my teens to trust there is no one there.”
“Thanks, now I’m going to wonder until I check. I have another. I’d like to visit my cousins in Montalcino, but I’m not ready to get married.”
My eyebrows rose. “You plan on marrying one of your cousins?”
“Oh God, no.” Thankfully he sounded as put off by the idea as I’d been. “That sounded bad, didn’t it? My nonna thinks we’re all too old to be single. Sebastian visited her last year and said she’d arranged for him to meet every available woman in miles.”
I brought my free hand to my heart, and this time my shock was for dramatic effect. “How awful. I hope he made it out alive. Who’s Sebastian?”
He shook his head in amusement. “My oldest brother.” We stopped and he tapped a finger on my nose in light reprimand. “I didn’t mock your fear of fruit in Jell-O.”
Yes, but who could fear a matchmaking grandmother? That sounded adorable. “How many siblings do you have?”
We moved to sit on a bench in the sunshine. “Three brothers. One older and two younger. How about you?”
“It’s just me and my parents,” I said, forcing a bright smile and looking at our laced hands. “But I’d love a litter of children.”
“A litter? How many is that?”
If Mauricio and I had met in the United States, and I thought there was any chance that we might have turned serious, I would have worried that the truth would scare him off. He’d already told me he didn’t do forever. Hell, he might not even do tomorrow. There was a freedom in that knowledge. I could be myself—the Paris vacation version of myself, anyway. “At least three. Maybe five. I had a nice childhood, but I was often alone. I wanted someone to fight for the bathroom with, someone to stay up too late giggling with. My friends had love/hate relationships with their brothers and sisters, and I envied that.” I glanced at Mauricio. “Is this where you tell me siblings are overrated?”
His eyes darkened with an emotion I couldn’t discern. “Not at all. I can’t imagine not having my brothers in my life. We’re all different, but if something happens to one of us, we’re there for each other.”
“That’s what I want for my children,” I said simply. “It’s not easy to shoulder everything myself.”
He nodded, and we were quiet for a moment. “Are your parents unwell?”
Once again, on a normal first date that wasn’t something I would have shared. This was about feeling good and having fun. If I could also squeeze a little therapy session out of it? Well, what was the harm? “Yes and no. My mother was cleaning houses, but it became too physically challenging as she got older. My father”—it felt good to talk about what my family refused to back home—“he was an engineer in the army, and a good one. Didn’t matter what it was, he could design it, fix it, or pinpoint a weakness so it could be destroyed. Everyone thought he would invent something revolutionary. At least, that’s what his army buddies tell me. I never knew that side of him. He was injured in an IED accident, lost his right arm, and left the military. After that he opened a gas station in my hometown. Not much money in it, but he’s independent. Mostly independent.”
There was a surprising amount of understanding in Mauricio’s eyes. “And you stayed nearby to be available when your parents need you.”
No judgment.
No declaration that I shouldn’t.
He understood in a way I hadn’t expected him to. “Yes. They’ve done everything for me, made sure I always had what I needed. I’m happy to help out in any way I can.” Wait, while I was being honest . . . “I just wish I could be two people.”
He leaned in. “Now I’m intrigued. The woman I’m getting to know seems wonderful in her own right. Who else do you wish you could be?”
I glanced around and took a moment.
Despite the fact that we were holding hands, Mauricio wasn’t what mattered most about my trip to Paris. The question he’d asked was. It was the same one I’d asked myself so many times lately. What was my life missing? “Doing the right thing is supposed to be its own reward, isn’t it? I should be happier than I am. I’m looking for something . . . I just haven’t figured out what yet.”
“I understand that feeling.”
I scanned his face for any hint he might be tiring of the conversation but found only compassion. Funny, he was out of my league in the looks department—truly, he belonged on the big screen while I happily blended in with most crowds—but it didn’t feel that way. What was he doing with me, and why wasn’t he a conceited ass?
Just then I remembered what Cecile had said about him. Mauricio was the type who would sell a woman the fantasy . . . sweep a woman off her feet . . . then not know her name. I expected the sweeping part to be tacky and easy to dismiss. His sustained attention, the way he really seemed to care—a woman could get addicted to fantasy.
The challenge would be to remember it wasn’t real.
“If I could be two people . . .” I gave myself over to a playful idea. “I’d be myself and a wild sex kitten.”
Unfortunately, as I finished the sentence, a group of loud children had passed by, and I wasn’t sure he’d heard it. My eyes flew to his. Nothing. He’d missed it.
I swallowed hard.
Did I dare say it again?
He dipped his head a little closer, bringing his ear to just a few inches from my mouth. “Sorry?”
I took a deep breath, and in a loud whisper, I said, “Myself. I’d be my practical self, and I’d also be a wild sex kitten.”
“I missed that last part.”
I pulled back, ready to say it again louder. Then I saw the teasing sparkle in his eyes. “Asshole.”
A grin spread across his face. “Kitten.”
Embarrassment and desire flooded me in equal parts. I started to pull my hand free from his. “Don’t make fun of me.”
The Wild One Page 6
