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“Hmm?”
“Where’s mine?”
He kissed the top of her head. “Your what?”
She stiffened against him. “My Valentine’s gift, silly.”
He chuckled into her hair. “You know the rules here as well as I do. On Valentine’s Day, it’s the woman who gives the man a gift.”
Allison jerked upward. His almond-shaped eyes smirked at her. He wasn’t serious, was he? No gift? He might look like an Asian god, but he was as American as she was. Hot dogs and apple pie, as he liked to say. If he thought he could skip Valentine’s Day and get away with it, he could think again.
Alli rolled off him and sat up. “I just gave you something really special, Dylan Johnson. I can’t believe…” Her voice dropped off as tears formed. She sniffed, stifling them. She wouldn’t let him see her cry.
What did she care? It was just a stupid made-up holiday. Wasn’t really a holiday, even.
But…she cared.
She lay back down, her back to him.
He was fidgeting. Fumbling with something. Clearly not at all concerned.
“Hey,” he said, inching toward her. His hard body melted against hers.
She quivered. Damn him. Upset as she was, she still responded to his touch.
“Honey,” he said again. “Turn around and talk to me. Please.”
She stiffened against his nearness and shook her head.
“Okay, then.” He climbed over her until he was facing her, his chocolate eyes shining.
He was so fucking gorgeous.
He took her left hand and slipped something cool against her finger.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Allison. Will you marry me?”
Alli jerked her hand upward and sighed at the sparkling gemstone centered on a band of gleaming gold.
“You mean you didn’t forget?”
He smiled. “Of course not. I was playing with you. You really think I’d forget my best girl on Valentine’s Day? These last six months have been the best of my life. I love you, Alli, and I want you to be my wife.”
“Oh, Dylan.” Alli cupped his chiseled cheeks and drew her to him for a soft kiss. “I love you too, and yes, I’ll marry you. Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”
Destination Desire: French Kiss
French Kiss
Okay, you can do this.
Raine’s stomach dropped as the elevator soared upward. She fumbled with her gold chain, trying to ease the constriction around her neck. It didn’t do any good. She was choking. Right here in the fucking Eiffel Tower elevator.
God, what had she been thinking? She was going to die.
Ding! The elevator’s bell signaled the end of its ascent. She breathed deeply, her pulse racing, and fell backward against something hard.
Then, blackness.
