Nights with Him (Seductive Nights #4)(47)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“You love it.”

“I do. You could even grab my ass here and no one would care,” she said, egging him on. Like he was going to back down from that dare. He pushed her up against the stone wall at the river’s edge, reached his hands under her skirt and cupped her cheeks, squeezing them, then smacking her rear once. Hard. So hard it probably stung. Her eyes lit up.

He grabbed her hand, and they strolled away from the river and along the streets of the left bank.

“Are you ready for tomorrow’s keynote?” he asked as they walked.

She nodded. “I think so. I’m as prepared as I can be, and the conference organizers have been amazing at making me feel welcome.”

“You’re going to be incredible. Standing ovation, I bet.”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “You’re such a flatterer.”

“No, it’s the truth! Not that I have a clue about love and sex addiction, except I think I’m addicted to making you come. Does that count?” he said, dropping a hand to her back as a breeze blew by again, smelling like rain this time.

“I encourage that addiction.”

They turned a corner onto a narrow street with apartment buildings all boasting flower planters in the windows of the flats. They walked in comfortable silence for a few more blocks, the sounds of Paris at night their companions, faint music floating from open windows, the clink of glasses and dishes at still-open cafes, the din of an ambulance siren somewhere in the distance, such a different wail than those in New York. The clouds swelled, turning heavy with the promise of a late September storm. The air sang of rain; the heavy earthy scent trailing along with it. The hotel wasn’t far and they both picked up the pace.

But soon he spotted the Palais Royal nearby. He raised an eyebrow. “I think we got turned around. We’re a little farther away from the hotel than I thought.”

She stopped and turned in a circle, then pointed toward the avenue at the end of the next block. “I think we go that way to get back on track.”

The first drops fell then, and within seconds the skies were unleashed. Michelle laughed, brushing the droplets off her face, unfazed. She tipped her chin to an archway at the end of the block. “I think that’s one of the passages,” she said, referring to the dozen or so covered walkways scattered throughout the city.

Ten seconds later, they ducked into the Passage Vivienne, stepping through the tall stone archway that soared high above them. They were inside a shopping arcade, stuffed with a bookshop, an old-fashioned toy shop, a store selling all sorts of hats, and more. Their footsteps echoed across the mosaic-patterned floor. The passage was lined with tall plants, and half-moon windows high above. Michelle craned her neck to look skyward. The curved ceiling was made of latticework windows, dark with the rain pounding out its steady drumbeat. All the stores were closed except for a cafe at the far end, still bustling with patrons drinking wine and chatting into the night.

Michelle gasped, and he followed her gaze. She was pointing at a shop. The windows were lined with glass perfume bottles in all sorts of colors—rich emerald green, bright vibrant gold, and sapphire blue. “Remember I told you about the perfume shop in Montmartre? This is just like it. I wonder if the store moved here?”

He shrugged, not knowing the answer, but remembering the conversation in his apartment perfectly. “They exist solely because they’re pretty,” he said, repeating her words from their chat in his kitchen..

She beamed at him, her smile so inviting, then she tugged him into the stone doorway of the shop. Off in the distance, he heard the click of shoes on the marble floor fading. Someone must have left the cafe and headed out the other end of the passage.

“Admit it. You’re still trying to avoid spending the night with me, aren’t you?” he teased.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, looking him in the eyes. “I want to so much.”

His heart beat faster. “Why were you so resistant then?”

“Because I needed to stay separate from you,” she said, her fingers threading their way through his hair. God, he loved the way she touched him. “To protect my heart.”

He circled his arms around her waist. “And now you no longer need to protect it?”

“I can’t protect it anymore,” she said, tilting her chin up at him, keeping her gaze on his. “It’s too late. I can’t fight this any longer.”

He should be terrified; he should shut down. But he did none of those things. He feathered his hand across her back, sneaking it under her shirt. She arched into him.

“Don’t fight it,” he told her.

“Jack,” she murmured, worry in her tone.

“Don’t protect it. I’ll protect it. I want to,” he said, moving even closer to her, spreading his palm across her smooth skin.

“I don’t know that you can.”

“I don’t either. But I want the chance. I want you. I want all of you,” he said, never looking away. He couldn’t. He was too far gone. His heart thudded painfully, beating out a new rhythm. He half wanted to shout at it to stay cool, but he wanted to embrace it as well. To revel in all that he felt for her. This living, breathing mix of everything he never expected to feel, but was powerless to stop. She had stolen into his life in a random coincidence, and now he was driven with need for her.

“Don’t you realize? You have all of me. I am yours. Completely,” she said, taking her time with every word, and each of them landed deeper and deeper inside him. Hooking into him.

He moved his hands to her cheeks. He held her face and stared into her brown eyes. They were so inviting, so trusting, and he could barely hold back anymore. He felt so much for her. It was bubbling up, overwhelming him, threatening to spill out.

“Michelle,” he whispered, his voice as ragged as the beating of his heart. “I love everything about being with you.”

“I love being with you.”

“I don’t want to think about not being with you.” He brushed her cheek with his calloused fingertips; her skin was still wet from the rain. He pressed his groin against her, grinding as he kissed her, pushing her hard against the stone wall of the doorway, where they were concealed from any patrons at the café. His mind was on one thing—getting her back to the hotel room as quickly as possible. But she was faster. Her hands were on his zipper.

“Make love to me now,” she said to him, a soft but oh-so-clear command.