by Stacy Travis
“You want to… talk?” I felt sure it was a euphemism for fucking each other’s brains out, but what did I know?
“I have to leave in, like, seven hours. Just hang with me till then?” he implored.
I could already feel myself liking him more than I wanted to, more than made sense for a one-night fling. After breaking up with Johnny just over a month before, my heart was still in pieces, ripped up because I’d finally accepted that we needed different things from life and hurt because he hadn’t even waited until we broke up to find it. I hadn’t begun to put myself back together, and I wasn’t sure if the best remedy for that was a hot fling with an even hotter actor. I needed to protect myself a little, making sure I didn’t add new salt to my wounds and give myself a new guy to feel sad about after he was gone. Maybe it would be smarter to cut and run.
I reached out and ran a hand down his arm, noting despite myself that his arm was frightfully strong and muscular. “It’s not that you aren’t extremely tempting…” I said, not really knowing how to turn him down because I didn’t want to do it.
“Then give in to temptation. I won’t stop you.”
“It just doesn’t seem smart,” I said.
He smiled. “Do you always do what’s smart?” he asked softly. He dipped down and placed a row of kisses under my jaw.
I nodded vigorously, even though he was making me doubt the wisdom of prior mandates. “I do. I make good decisions.”
He kissed me harder, pulling my body flush against his, and being smart didn’t really enter the picture. Every thought fled from my brain. Well, almost every thought. The only ones that were left demanded that I pull his shirt off and let him do whatever he wanted to my body. There was no wrong answer when it came to full contact with his skin.
I reached for the hem of his shirt, edging it up and feeling his muscles jump when I ran my fingernails along the taut skin over his abs. He pushed the hem of my dress higher and his hands claimed more of my skin, leaving his characteristic heat signature everywhere he touched.
I could feel us heading in only one direction and my lust brain decided in a momentary about-face that merciless fucking was back on the table. In fact, it was a mandatory meal. I ran my hands lower on his abs, inching toward the waistband of his pants. His hands were roaming over my ribs and into the cup of my bra, when he abruptly pulled them away and moved back.
“Sorry,” he said. He hadn’t done anything wrong, so I was confused.
“You’re sorry?”
He slowly brushed the hair out of my face and curled it behind my ear. “I had the feeling earlier you wanted to keep things… light. I realized I was getting carried away.”
“It wasn’t just you,” I admitted. Now that we’d stopped, I felt a little more able to think. “You’re hard to resist.”
His mouth tugged to the side in a semi-smile. It was a perfect response. I wondered if he had to practice his expressions in the mirror as part of his acting work. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Ugh. I suck,” I said, shaking my head vigorously. Why was I such a mess? Why couldn’t I have a no-holds-barred sex-fest with a hot actor?
“Not at all. I like you. I like talking to you. We can just do that.”
“It’s so lame. I’ve just… I’ve never had a one-night thing where I knew there was no future.”
He took my hand and looked me in the eye. “That’s not lame. It’s awesome.”
“I’m not sure awesome is really the word for it…”
“C’mere.” He turned so his back was against the arm of the couch and pulled me toward him so my back rested on his chest. “Let’s just hang out. Tell me more about the Sunday dinners your dad used to cook.”
So I did. I did it without a plan for how I’d feel in the morning when he was gone. I’d have the rest of my time in Paris to work that out. I followed my gut, which so far hadn’t been wrong about Chris.
We spent the rest of the night snuggled up on the couch, sipping coffee he made with the Nespresso machine in the kitchen and talking. Our endless conversation was punctuated by twenty-minute interruptions to kiss until we were breathless and on the verge of removing clothing.
“You’re leaving in the morning,” I reminded him more than once.
“I know, I know. Stop reminding me,” he said more than once.
Then we would both regain our composure and settle back into conversation. At least for a couple minutes. We did that for the rest of the night.
Chapter Fourteen
A Minuscule Balcony
I learned something that night in Paris that should have occurred to me earlier in life—sunrise is really beautiful. I’d never seen such a thing at home because my rule was never to wake up before it was light outside, even during the winter. That made for some rushed mornings getting to work on time, especially if I opted to fit in a workout, but my rule was ironclad. Having stayed up all night, Chris and I stood on the balcony again, watching as night gave way to early-morning light. It felt optimistic, that shade of pale blue opening up to pinks and yellows like it was heralding good things the day might bring.
“I wish we could sit out here. My legs are starting to feel tired,” I said, wanting a chair.
“I know. These balconies aren’t really made for doing much besides casting a glance and going back inside.”
The term balcony was generous. In reality, we stood on a two-by-four-foot ledge with an iron railing around it and hanging plants attached to the outside. But then, most things in France, I was discovering, didn’t need to be overstated to be lovely and useful. The small space made it necessary for us to huddle together, which I didn’t mind at all.
We’d been talking all night, and Chris had been especially interested in how I got into the public-relations field. The truth was, I’d studied English in college and I was a decent writer. PR didn’t require much more than that, other than people skills. I wasn’t passionate about it. I was still looking for something that moved me and made me want to work at it because I had no other choice. I believed I’d find that something eventually. For now, the daily demands of the job suited my need for consistency along with the occasional stressful challenge to keep things interesting.
“So are you doing publicity for these companies?” he asked, wanting to know the difference between public relations and publicity. He knew what publicists did.
“Either publicity if they have news they want to get out into the market or damage control if they need to manage bad news like a quarter when their earnings are down. It’s basic spin. Talking up stuff that isn’t such a big deal to keep them in the news, then telling the story another way to minimize fallout when the CEO is accused of sexual misconduct.”
“So it’s exactly the same as what publicity firms do for actors.”
“Yes. I told you, some of our clients are actors. I just don’t happen to work on those accounts.”
“By choice?” he asked.
I had to be careful how I explained it. The truth was, I did avoid working on the accounts of actors because I was bored by the egos and I’d been scared off by my colleagues’ stories about how their clients felt like they were more important than anyone else. “Corporate executives are just a better fit for me. I like business.” The executives could be dramatic, too, but in a different way. They were captains of industry, and their egos were real, but they had a lot at stake with huge companies to run, so they followed advice when I gave it.
Then Chris turned the conversation in a direction I wasn’t expecting. “You know I’m doing everything in my power not to roll you onto the carpet and make love you right now, don’t you?” he said, smiling like he was being a saint. “I just… I thought you should be aware it’s… testing my resolve.”
“Um, I appreciate that. Because I’m not sure I could resist.”
“And remind me again… you’d need to resist because… I’m leaving a few hours?”
“Because I don’t wan
t to have to get over you after sleeping with you.”
He ruffled a hand through his hair. “It’s funny. There have been times in my life when a one-night fling was all I wanted out of a woman.”
“Not sure I need to hear about all your flings,” I said.
“What I mean is, there have been times when that was all it was ever going to be. I knew that sex was just sex and a one-night thing was blissfully over by morning. And I think… part of the reason I’m… I don’t know, enjoying not having sex… I guess I like you more than that. Which seems counterintuitive, I know…”
My heart started beating faster. He wanted this to mean more? Or maybe he was saying that because he liked me, he wasn’t dying to have sex—that I was more like a friend. “Thank you?” I said, unsure if he had more to say. “So then… no sex. Cool.”
He pulled me closer. “No, definitely not cool.” He ran a hand lightly down my arm. It gave me chills. I could tell he was wrestling with something, but I didn’t know him well enough to read him. Maybe he felt guilty that I’d have to get over him even just after kissing for six hours.
“This may be insane, and feel free to tell me if it is…” He stared off, still thinking.
“What?” I asked, reaching for him and turning his face so I could look at him.
“I was just going through everything and thinking maybe it could work. I tend to be a planner, so I’m throwing myself off a little bit—”
I had to laugh. “Okay, you’re talking to a planner. I get it. It’s hard to pivot when you’re set on one direction. What is it you’re trying to work out?”
“I don’t want you to go. I know we just met but… I want to see what tomorrow looks like with you.” Wow. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me and it couldn’t have sounded better if it had been scripted in a movie. I was so completely bowled over, I said nothing. “Why don’t you come with me?”
My brain had a hard time forming words. “Come with you where? When?”
“Tomorrow. Today, actually. You’d have to grab your stuff from your hotel, but we could do that on the way to the airport. I could have the car come a little earlier so we could make a stop…”
“Chris, hold on. Where? I don’t even know where you’re going.”
“Did I not tell you?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. Probably because I was in denial that you were leaving. General avoidance works for me most of the time.”
“So come. To Antibes. It’s beautiful there. There’s a boat, there’s the beach, the most charming little town, and the people are—”
“Lovely,” I finished.
As told to People magazine.
How had I not put it together before now?
Maybe because I’d been nervous on the plane, oblivious to superhero actors and on a cloud since the first sip of cold wine, sitting across from Chris. And now he was inviting me to accompany him to the lovely town I’d gawked at for a moment on a plane. How crazy was it that I was considering it? It would mean this wouldn’t be our last night together. We’d have almost two weeks together, before we went our separate ways to our separate coasts and separate lives.
And that could mean my one-night stand issue would be solved by many nights when we could do whatever superheroes did with their lady friends. Phenomenal sex was my thought, to be clear.
“Nik…?”
I looked at him and realized I’d spaced out on him again. But yes, I wanted to do this. It would be on the spontaneous side for me, but unlike all the times when being spontaneous felt like a dare, this decision felt thrilling. “I’m so sorry. Yes. I’d love to go with you. Please and thank you. Yes!”
He kissed me differently this time, more insistent and conclusive, a kiss so full of promise that I felt in a torrent of wild heat and emotion that left me dizzy and breathless.
Then he called his assistant.
Chapter Fifteen
A Black Town Car
Early Morning
I could already tell I was in over my head. The feeling set in when the black Mercedes arrived at the apartment an hour later and the driver carried Chris’s three pieces of matching luggage down to the car. When it came time to retrieve my two bags from the Hotel des Écoles, my face grew hot at the sight of the ordinary hotel where my ordinary twin bed had made me perfectly happy for the one night I’d slept in it. There was no bellhop to roll my bags to the curb.
I asked Chris to stay in the car while I checked out, but he insisted on helping me lug the bags down the four flights of stairs. He said nothing about the room or my choice of hotel. Still, I felt uncomfortable, and I worried that it might be a mistake to go with Chris after having known him for all of one day. What are his expectations? What are mine?
Realizing that my breathing was bordering on hyperventilating, I knew I had to talk myself down. This would be okay. Trains left every day for other cities, and I could just get on one of them if things didn’t work out. What was the worst that could happen? We could end up annoying each other, and I’d just come back to Paris.
Or… maybe it would go really well. I knew it could only be a summer fling at best, but I was just a month past a breakup. Could my tender heart recover if I started to fall for him?
Yes, I decided. It can. It will. I needed to launch myself headlong into this adventure, wherever it landed me. That was why I’d come to Paris by myself—to eat and drink and feel things and live. So I’d do just that. I’d live the next handful of days to the fullest, feel everything, and if I had to, I’d patch my sad little heart up when I got home.
I handed the woman behind the desk a stack of euros to pay for my room and raced out the door before her curious expression led to actual questions. The driver stowed my bags in the trunk, and I lumbered into the air-conditioned car. The sweat that had gathered on my brow began to cool. Chris was looking at me the way he’d done numerous times by that point, and I realized I hadn’t spoken in a while. I tried to cover with a levity I didn’t feel.
“News flash: I’m just a normal person who stays in one-star hotels.”
He looked at me, surprised. And a little offended. “Do you think I care about any of that?”
“I… I don’t know. Look, I don’t travel by Uber Black or whatever this is. I don’t stay in fabulous apartments with views of the city. So before I spend any more time with you, I just want to make sure you know I’m just… average.”
His expression softened. He picked up my hand, and I felt the familiar surge of attraction that had gotten me here in the first place. “First of all, you’re a far cry from average. But why are you worried all of a sudden that I expect you to be some socialite?”
“I figured that’s what you’re used to.”
“Not necessarily. Or what I mean is, of course it’s great to stay in nice places—”
“No, incredible places. That apartment was amazing.”
“Yes. And a lot of the time, the studio pays for it. Because a lot of my travel is for press. But that’s why I bought my own place in the South. It allows me to feel normal when I’m there. Away from the madness.”
I felt a shred of relief, bolstered by the comfort of his hand intertwined with mine. I was looking forward to normal. I could do normal. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure. And to warn you, it may not be the last time I freak out.”
“Okay, I’ll be prepared.” He kissed me on the cheek, and I settled in for at least fifteen minutes before I freaked out again, when the car drove us straight onto the tarmac at a small airport so we could walk the few yards to a private plane.
Chapter Sixteen
A Private Jet
We walked right onto the tarmac. It was crazy. “So there’s no security?” I asked for the third time. I couldn’t get over the fact that we didn’t have to stand in a line.
“They checked our passports when we walked past, remember?”
“And that’s it? Now we just… fly?”
He laughed. “Pretty much.”
&n
bsp; I tried not to like it too much when the plane lifted off less than a half hour later, after the lone flight attendant had poured us champagne and opened a tin of caviar to put on top of smoked salmon and tiny crackers. I was a little nervous about the luxury of the plane. “I don’t want to get too comfortable traveling in plush leather armchairs,” I told him.
Chris tried to nudge me into acceptance. “You aren’t insulting all other forms of travel just because you enjoy this for now.” He was right. I could at least enjoy the fact that I didn’t have to stay in my seat if I didn’t feel like sitting.
By way of example, Chris pulled me out of my seat and onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. “It would be too easy to get used to this. All of it,” I said, not referring to the plane.
“Enjoy it.”
Chris was quiet after that. Which made me quiet. Which meant I started thinking and also worrying. “Hey,” I asked, looking up at him. “Is this crazy? I mean, we barely know each other and we’re flying to your vacation home.”
He smiled. “It sure as hell seems crazy, doesn’t it? But, I don’t know… it doesn’t feel wrong.”
It didn’t feel wrong at all. So I kissed him. And I didn’t worry for a few whole minutes. Then he added, “Besides, what the worst that could happen? If we don’t get along, my house is big enough for us to coexist without getting in each other’s way.”
“Hmmm… I’m not sure what disturbs me more, the idea that you’ve got a plan for us not getting along or that your house is that big.”
He smiled, which turned into a laugh, which turned into another hot kiss. “I think we’ll get along just fine. I like you. I can tell you’re a good person.”
“I’m okay,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t murder kittens or put ketchup on mac and cheese or anything.”
“You have no idea the kind of people I deal with. I’d take kitten murderer over some of them.”
