The Wild One

by Cardello, Ruth

  “What topic would you have chosen had you met him? If he was here now?” Mauricio asked.

  It was a deep question and one that I took a moment to consider before answering. “I would have asked him how he chose his projects. When everyone told him the Eiffel Tower was ugly, how did he shut out the noise? Did he ever doubt himself, or was his path clearly set before him?”

  Arm around my waist, Mauricio said, “I would have liked to hear his answers. I’ve asked myself those same questions.”

  My gaze flew to meet Mauricio’s. “You have?”

  He looked around the room, then met my gaze again. “I’ve spent the last several years working for my family’s company. Where we took it was mostly my brother Sebastian’s dream. I stepped up when I had to, gave him the reins when he could handle them. For a while, I was where I needed to be. He’s in a better place now, and I’m free to do something on my own if that’s what I want.”

  I completely understood that feeling. “I have enough in my savings that I could leave my job and take a position where I actually get to do something. My role right now is more about inspecting and documenting. I’ve always wanted to create something.”

  “What would you create?”

  “See, that’s the problem. I don’t know.” I sighed and scanned the diagrams in frames on the wall. “Do you think he always knew this was what he wanted to do, or did it just drop into his lap?”

  Mauricio was quiet for a moment. He searched my face with an intensity I didn’t understand, then tucked a strand of my hair behind one of my ears. “I bet it took him completely by surprise. He wasn’t looking for it, didn’t feel ready, but once he saw the potential of it, no other path seemed right.”

  In this emotionally charged moment I felt a deep connection with a man who was still a stranger to me on so many levels. How was that possible?

  The guard asked if we were ready to go. We reluctantly said we were. I could have stayed there forever, but I knew the value of even our short visit. “I’m ready. Thank you.”

  We made our way back down to the open part of the summit. I touched the railing, still unable to believe Mauricio had done this for me. I searched his face. Would a man go this far for a woman he wouldn’t remember next week? Would I feel this much for a man if the connection wasn’t real? No one could be that good an actor—and if he could be, why would he go to this extent? “I’ve already slept with you,” I blurted out.

  His eyebrows shot up to his hairline; then he jokingly wiped a hand across his forehead. “Thank God you reminded me. I had forgotten about that.”

  A panic I couldn’t explain nipped at me. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  He leaned against the railing next to me. “Which part? That I didn’t know there were creepy mannequins in the Eiffel apartment? That I didn’t realize our security buddy would take his job quite so seriously?”

  I glanced over to where the guard was watching us from only a few feet away. I’d forgotten about him. “I loved every minute of tonight. No one has ever done anything like this for me. Ever. I’ve gotten flowers. A jade ring once. Men have taken me to the movies. Out for pizza. I thought having steak was special.”

  “You’ve been dating the wrong men.”

  I looked around again and felt a little overwhelmed. “This is a lot. I don’t know what it means.”

  He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Does it have to mean anything more than I want to be with you?”

  As I struggled to articulate how I was feeling, I once again found it difficult to breathe. I wanted this to mean he wanted to be with me. I wanted how he made me feel to be real. I also didn’t want to charge forward when he wasn’t charging with me.

  I’m a coward.

  I’m never going to leave the job I hate.

  I’m going to ruin this, then marry some man I don’t even want to sleep with.

  Or die alone.

  I don’t want to die alone.

  Mauricio turned to the guard. “We should probably get her back to the ground.”

  He nodded in agreement.

  I followed Mauricio and the guard down the stairs and into the elevator. Mauricio had taken me to Eiffel’s apartment. He’d given me a memory that would overshadow anything I’d find back home.

  We went from one elevator to the next without speaking. When we stepped back out into the night, beneath the center of the Eiffel Tower, I turned to him and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out back there.”

  He put an arm around my waist. “I get it. A lot of people don’t like heights.”

  I wished that had been it. I tapped my temple. “Sometimes I overthink things.”

  “You don’t say . . .”

  “Stop. I’m being serious. I get a thought in my head, and it just kind of circles around.”

  He pulled me into his arms. “I’m the same way. I pictured you naked a few minutes ago, and now it’s all I can think about.”

  I gave him a long look. There I was contemplating mortality, and he was thinking about sex?

  He kissed my neck, and I forgot what I was worrying about. There was only him, the wonder of his kiss, and then the security guard inviting us to continue our date anywhere else. Mauricio thanked him like they were old friends, and if our behavior had annoyed the man, he no longer seemed bothered by it. He waved to us as we left through the security entrance.

  Outside the car Mauricio had waiting for us, we paused. Mauricio bent down to my ear and said, “Come back to my place, Kitten.”

  Someone once said that being brave doesn’t mean never being scared—it means doing what’s right despite being afraid. I’m not sure they were talking about deciding to have a second night of amazing sex despite how it might lead to eventual heartbreak, but it gave me the strength I needed to say, “Oh God, yes.”

  He kissed me then—with the kiss I’d expected. All sex and promises. Decadent. Demanding.

  Perfect.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MAURICIO

  There is a clarity that hits a man post orgasm. As my breathing returned to normal, I began to think we might both be more comfortable in my bed rather than spending the rest of the night on the cold wooden conference table we’d finished on. I reluctantly disentangled from Wren and rolled off the table to stand. Giving in to a romantic side of me I was only just realizing I had, I scooped Wren up and carried her to where she belonged—my bed.

  I threw back the covers, laid her down gently, then joined her. It felt right to have her there, so right I kept my thoughts to myself. Tonight I didn’t want her to bolt.

  A smart man knows when not to rock the boat. My efforts had given me a second chance with her, and I’d made the most of it. If that woman could now look at a crepe without thinking about me going down on her while she ate one, my name wasn’t Mauricio Romano.

  Four orgasms. That had to be enough even for my Kitten. Myself, I’m normally sated at two, but for her I’d rallied and shown her not only the joy that could be found on the balcony while overlooking the city, but also in the shower, and all over the meeting room of the penthouse. Come on, what other man would have been considerate enough to plan crepes to be delivered mid–sex marathon?

  I wrapped my arms around Wren, loving how she snuggled closer as I did. This time she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She traced my chin with one of her deliciously talented fingers. “That was incredible.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said with a smug smile.

  She pinched my chest lightly, playfully. “I’m too weak to think of a good comeback for that, but once my brain starts functioning again, watch out.”

  I kissed her gently on the lips before saying, “Then my only choice is to keep you constantly dazed from too many orgasms.”

  She chuckled; then her expression turned serious. “Thank you for tonight.” She placed her finger over my lips to keep me quiet. “Yes, for the great sex, but I’m also talking about the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. They’re me
mories I’ll never forget. Never. It was all pure magic, and I just want you to know how grateful I am.” I opened my mouth to say something, but she stopped me with a look. “Don’t make a joke. This is probably all routine to you, but it isn’t for me.”

  I kissed her finger, then took her hand in mine, lowering it to my chest. “Nothing about us is routine to me.”

  She chewed her bottom lip before saying, “I think I’ll be okay if we don’t talk about Saturday. I want to enjoy this time with you. And when it’s over, I want to be okay with it. I don’t want to be angry or hurt. I panic sometimes. I’m not proud of it. I’m beginning to see that it holds me back. I’m trying to work on it. Can we do that? Can we just have fun this week?”

  “Absolutely.” I was tempted to tell her I was looking for more than just fun with her, but she didn’t look ready to believe me. I decided the best way to prove to her that I wanted more than until Saturday with her was to remain in her life afterward. Simple. If overthinking things sent her into a panic, then we wouldn’t think about it . . . we’d just do it.

  She laid her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes. “Guess what I realized today.”

  “What?”

  “Crazy-small underwear feels like a perma-wedgie. I don’t know if I’m the lingerie type.”

  I chuckled, unable to look away from the woman I was beginning to wonder how I’d ever lived without. “With my expert help, I’m sure we can find something that not only looks good, comes off easily, but is also enjoyable for you to wear.”

  She opened one eye to peer at me. “Comes off easily? That’s something I never considered when buying clothing.”

  “Really? Then let me add to your wardrobe. It’s a matter I’ve put serious thought into.” With a grin, I said, “Not that I have any complaints about what you’ve worn so far.”

  She yawned and closed her eyes. “Good save at the end.”

  I kissed her forehead. “What do you want to do tomorrow?” My first option would have been to stay right where we were, but I knew she wanted to see more of Paris. “We could helicopter over to Versailles. The Champagne region is a little farther, but also very doable. You pick and I’ll make it happen.”

  She half opened her eyes. “Catacombs? You can say no. They aren’t for everyone, but I’ve read so much about them, and I’m really curious. Solving a seventeenth-century health problem by relocating the remains of six million Parisians into old limestone quarries—now that was an engineering feat that changed lives. Some of the tunnels were already collapsing. It took real courage to take on that project. I’d like to see how it turned out.”

  I’d offered her expensive, luxurious options. She wanted a cheap tour of skulls and bones decoratively piled in tunnels beneath the city. At least that was how I’d always thought of the catacombs until she’d described them. Now I wanted to see more of the world through her eyes. “Done.”

  She fell asleep then.

  I didn’t. I held her close, stared up at the bedroom ceiling, and smiled as I replayed our date in my head. I’d come to Paris looking for who I once was. I hadn’t expected to meet someone who would make me want to be more than I’d ever been.

  Two days shouldn’t be enough to know.

  I smiled again. My father would argue that when it was right, it didn’t even require that much time.

  The last thought I had before I succumbed to sleep was that I wanted to learn more about her parents. Did they need a cow?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WREN

  I woke to a burned smell. It took me a moment to figure out where I was. Mauricio, wearing only boxer shorts, was standing beside the bed with a tray of food in hand. If it weren’t for his super-pleased-with-himself smile, I would have thought I was dreaming. Have I mentioned how beautiful he was? He had the kind of abs a woman wanted to reach out to touch even though she had already kissed every inch of them.

  And those shoulders. Ooh la la. He reminded me of the actor who plays Thor, and I’d watched every movie he’d been in just for scenes when he bared his chest. I’d seen Aquaman a few times as well for a similar reason. I guess I have a thing for chests.

  “Morning, Kitten. Hungry?”

  I took another moment to savor his perfection and felt a rush of heat when the front of his boxers tented in response to my perusal. “I am,” I said in what I hoped was a sexy morning-after voice.

  “Sit up, then.”

  As I did, the bedding fell away, revealing my bare breasts. I almost pulled the sheet up to cover myself, but I liked the feel of his gaze on them. With him, I felt beautiful and free. I left the sheet where it was, scooted over so he could sit beside me, then helped him settle the tray onto my lap. There were croissants, eggs, a carafe of coffee, two cups, and a muffin. Not one of them looked charred. I decided not to ask. “Breakfast in bed. Impressive.”

  He leaned in and kissed me. “You bring out a side of me I didn’t know I had.”

  I rolled my eyes. That was probably his go-to line. “Well, it all looks delicious.”

  He settled in next to me. “I had it sent up from the hotel’s kitchen. My attempt had to hit the trash. I may have overestimated how long bread takes to toast.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. “You don’t know how to make toast?”

  He poured us each a cup of coffee. “I’ve seen it done, just never had to do it myself. Tell me you’re a good cook.”

  “I can make toast,” I parried.

  “And?” he asked in an oddly hopeful tone.

  “And when I’m home I have several local restaurants on speed dial.”

  He chuckled. “You’re joking, of course.”

  I accepted the coffee he held out for me with narrowing eyes. I wasn’t inept in the kitchen, but I didn’t like the implication that it would matter if I were. “Why would I joke about not being able to cook? Do you think everyone with a vagina naturally knows how? Or even wants to?”

  He cocked his head and studied me. “You know how to cook, don’t you? But you’re just giving me shit.”

  I picked up a croissant and bit into it before answering. “I guess that depends how important you think that skill is for a woman. Do you think cooking is a woman’s role?”

  He bit into the muffin and chewed without answering. Finally he said, “This is what I call a land mine conversation. I think I know what you want me to say, but I don’t know what kind of baggage you’re bringing to the table. So I have to tread carefully to make it out alive.”

  I was about to tell him I didn’t have baggage, but if I did I knew a place he could shove it; then he winked, and my heart melted. I decided to be honest rather than defensive. “I grew up with two hardworking parents. They shared the chores, took turns cooking, doing laundry—everything. A real partnership that wasn’t dependent on socially mandated gender roles. My mother knows how to change a spare tire and my father can make a quiche.”

  He gave me a long look. “I currently have a cook who prepares my meals, but before that my mother wouldn’t let any of us set foot in her kitchen. My father may know how to scramble eggs. I’m not sure. I’ve never seen it. They’re happy, though.”

  “So your baggage is old-world style,” I said in a dry tone. “Might be time to update it.”

  His smile was quick and easy. “The problem is I love to eat.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back. “Have you considered learning how to cook?”

  “Anything is possible with the right teacher.” His eyes lit with a mix of laughter and desire. “Speaking of teaching, I have to say I was impressed with your balance when we tried that position in the shower. I thought for sure you’d fall.”

  I laughed. “I trusted you wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “I would have at least tried to catch you, but you were soapy and slippery. It could have gone either way.”

  I threw a piece of my croissant at him.

  He tossed it back at me, then ducked in for a kiss.

  We both sat back w
ith a happy smile and continued munching on our breakfast choices.

  How was it possible that I hadn’t known this man more than a few days? If I hadn’t gone to Paris, I never would have met him. If I’d decided to meet Cecile in a restaurant rather than Felix’s apartment, I might never have run into Mauricio at all during this trip.

  My heart started to pound.

  How could anything that felt so much like it had been meant to be have come from a set of random decisions?

  I shook my head and told myself not to overthink this. How close we’d come to never meeting, as well as how long we’d be together, were both topics that would only tear down the joy I was feeling that morning. Temporary or not, I wanted to enjoy my time with Mauricio.

  I couldn’t have asked for a nicer, sexier, better-looking man to have a fling with in Paris. If I ruined this week for myself, it would be something I’d always regret.

  Maybe that was the beauty of a fling . . . maybe nothing this good was meant to last. Like a bouquet of flowers. Or the perfect spring day. Knowing that they would soon be gone made them that much more special. That was how I told myself to see my time with Mauricio.

  Magical. Fleeting.

  I picked a crumb off my left breast and placed it on the tray. When I looked up, I caught Mauricio laughing.

  “You could have left it—a snack for me for later.”

  “Food and sex. I see a pattern with you.”

  He leaned over, took one of my nipples in his mouth, and slowly circled it with his tongue. That was all it took for my body to hum for him again. He kissed his way to where the crumb had been, licked the spot, then sat back again. “Is that a problem?”

  I put my coffee down with a clatter. “Not at all. I like food too.”

  I moved the tray to the table beside us. “And?” He removed his boxers and dropped them to the floor. He stood beside the bed; his cock was gloriously at full size. I rolled onto my knees and licked the tip of it.

  “That’s it. Just food. Why? Was there something else?” I asked huskily before taking him into my mouth, then running my tongue down the length of him as I eased him out.