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“You are, but I still respect it.” I take some bread from the basket between us and tear it apart. “My dad was a professor in math. He used to give me extra lessons to make sure I got it, you know? But I didn’t. I never understood math, despite his best efforts. I barely scraped by to graduate high school. He was pissed when I went to college and studied art, but hey. I didn’t see why I should put myself through torture to make him happy.”
A long moment passes between us. Our dynamic shifts. We go from two people drawn together by chance to a couple brought together by fate’s coincidental timing.
“My dad wanted me to run the company with Tessa the way he does with Mum. Of course, that was never going to happen when she got married.”
“Is she okay, by the way? That must suck. I remember Day talking about the wedding after she and Aaron got engaged.”
Tyler’s lips twitch. “She’s a Stone. She’s taking his arse and she’s hanging it out to dry while wringing it out. Pre-nups are legally binding, something that knob forgot when he fucked about on my sister.”
“Good. He deserves to be trampled by a donkey.” I finish my wine just as our food is delivered.
I dig in as soon as we’re left alone. So I’m hungry. I cut a piece of meat off the thigh on my plate and put it in my mouth. Salty but sweet… It’s duck. Something I usually cringe at eating. Somehow, the French have made it not cringe-worthy. Combined with sautéd potatoes and salad, they’ve made it damn tasty.
We eat in silence. My eyes are almost fixed on the window and the city as we float past it. The Musee d’Orsay, Notre Dame, Le Palais… We pass them slowly with barely any effort.
I wish I had my phone for pictures, but while staring at these uninhibited by a lens, I understand why Tyler said no. The photographer who says no to pictures—go figure.
I set my knife and fork on my plate and turn on the seat. The seat stretches the whole way around the back of the boat, and windows line the space above it. Except for the very center, which is windowless.
After resting my forearms against the ledge, I lean forward, poking my head out like it’ll increase my viewing pleasure. In reality, I just want to feel the river breeze against my cheeks.
The sound of the dark red curtains closing fills my ears. I look to the side and see Tyler pulling them toward me. He releases them and they hang on either side of my body. He shrugs off his suit jacket and rolls up his shirtsleeves before climbing on the seat behind me.
My lips pull to one side when he lifts my arms and links our fingers before setting our entwined hands back down on the ledge. He rests his chin on my shoulder and watches the city as it goes past.
His body is hot leaning against mine. It completely blocks out the coldness of the evening—but I’m not sure I’ve even registered it fully. I’ve been so focused on Tyler and the incredible views as we’ve gone along the River Seine.
And now… Now, this moment is more intimate than most. It’s something very real. There’s something very enticing in the way he holds me. It’s comforting. Safe.
“Not bad, huh?” he asks softly. “Pretty good convincing if you ask me.”
“Aha.” I tap the back of his hand with my fingers. “But I didn’t ask you, and I’m not telling you. A woman has to have her secrets, you know.”
“I’ll give you that.”
He turns his face toward mine and kisses down my jaw, the tiny kisses making my heart flutter. His lips find my neck and make their way down there to the hollow of my shoulder then back up to my ear. Now my heart isn’t fluttering—it’s thumping. It’s thumping so fucking hard that I’m sure he can feel it against his arm.
“You’re so easy to turn on,” he murmurs against the tender spot beneath my ear. “It’s like I can flick a switch on your body and you’re ready for me.”
He nibbles my earlobe and I sigh, dropping my head back.
“Oh, no.” He lets go of one of my hands and pushes my head back up. “See the bridges? You didn’t notice before, but the French like to stand on them and watch the boats go by. They wave to the tourists and the natives on the boats.”
“So?”
“So you don’t want them to know what I’m going to do to you. Or do you?”
My breath catches. “That depends what you’re going to do to me.”
He lets go of my other hand and looks at his watch. “How many times do you think I can make you come with my tongue in ten minutes?”
Now my breath really does catch. My lungs burn with the pressure inside them. From the pure, sweet, torturous anticipation of what he’s threatening.
“You wouldn’t.” The words rush out on an exhale. I spin my head round to look at him when he moves.
The hot, sexy glint in his eyes tells me that he would. He will. And he’s going to.
He slides down the chair and positions his face beneath me. Holy fucking shit. He’s actually going to. He’s going to lick me while I’m hanging half out a window in the center of Paris.
