A Christmas Chance

by Louisa Masters

  A Christmas Chance

  Copyright © 2019 by Louisa Masters

  Editor: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: Hot Tree Group

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  For all the readers who asked about Paul.

  Table of Contents

  About A Christmas Chance

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Epilogue

  Also by Louisa Masters

  About the Author

  About A Christmas Chance

  Is there anything quite as magical as Christmastime in Paris? Not according to Paul, who goes out of his way every December morning so he can enjoy the festive decorations. It’s his special quiet time—until the morning he scares off a pickpocket and meets tourist Jacob.

  Jacob is in Paris to tour the Christmas markets, and he’s definitely interested in getting to know his rescuer better. But Paul’s a busy man, with no time for a relationship that can’t go anywhere… or so he thinks.

  As the two embark on a holiday fling amidst the romance of Christmas in Paris, the only thing that can bring Paul down is the knowledge that it all ends on December 23.

  But Christmas is the season of chances….

  Chapter One

  PAUL WOULD NEVER admit it in a million years, but most days in December, he was at his desk so early because he liked to walk down the Champs-Élysée before the sun rose.

  He had to go out of his way to do it—the Champs-Élysée was not on the route from his apartment to the Morel Corporation building, not even close—but he happily made the detour every morning, taking the Métro to Franklin D. Roosevelt station, strolling to the Arc de Triomphe, and then taking the Métro again to La Defense, where the Morel Corporation headquarters were. Very few of the shops were open so early, but their window displays still twinkled and sparkled. The lights in the trees guided him along, and for a short while, he could wander through a land of magic—unless he was jostled by a hurrying commuter or inattentive tourist. That broke the spell quickly.

  Still, it was an experience he looked forward to every year. People rhapsodized about Paris in the springtime, but for Paul, Christmas was the best time of year.

  As he strolled along, he took in the happy smiles of the early morning tourists and the impatience of the few locals who elected to come this way. The sky was slowly beginning to lighten on the eastern horizon, but it was still dark enough that the lights remained on. In fact, with as gloomy a day as was predicted, they just may stay on all day.

  There was a small cluster of English-chattering tourists peering at the macaron trees in Ladurée’s window as he passed—and a casual-looking man who was edging closer to them in a seemingly nonchalant manner. Paul sighed. Why was there always someone who wanted to break the spell?

  “Watch your pockets,” he warned the tourists. Heads turned. The wannabe pickpocket whirled, a snarl on his face… and froze. Paul smiled genially. He didn’t have to threaten to call the police—or make any threat at all. A gentleman he might be, but he certainly didn’t look it. The pickpocket took in his six-foot-five, broad-shouldered frame, his slightly crooked nose, and his rough-hewn features, and decided to try his luck elsewhere, disappearing into the crowd.

  Several of the tourists clustered before the window were still looking around, confused, having missed the silent exchange, but one man met Paul’s gaze and smiled. “Merci,” he said with a truly terrible accent, but Paul smiled back anyway. As awful as it could be to have his native tongue butchered, it was better than those tourists who didn’t bother to try at all. Not that it really mattered to him—he spoke English, German, and Italian fluently, and could get by in Spanish. His skill with languages had been one of the things that had helped him land such a great job so early in his career.

  And speaking of that job, this was not one of the mornings where he didn’t need to be at work so early. Lucien, his boss, had a meeting first thing, and there were some figures that still needed to be added to the presentation notes. He turned away from Ladurée to continue his walk—he could still enjoy the sights if he picked up the pace only a little and would arrive at the office in plenty of time.

  A moment later, someone fell in step beside him. Paul glanced over to see the young man who’d thanked him staring back with big blue eyes. When he saw he had Paul’s attention, he smiled again. There was something about that smile that was wholly engaging. Maybe it had to do with youth—although he appeared full-grown, there was something about him that seemed very young still.

  “May I help you with something?” Paul asked politely.

  “I just wanted to say thank you.” The voice was deeper than he’d expected and seemed almost strange coming from such a slim, young-looking man. “I’m Jacob.” He stopped and turned to Paul, forcing him to stop as well out of politeness. Jacob extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you…?”

  “Paul.” He shook the offered hand, and even through their gloves, he felt the zing of electricity. He sighed inwardly. Why was he always attracted to unsuitable men? “It’s nice to meet you too, Jacob. I’m sorry, I’m on my way to work, so….”

  “Of course.” Jacob let go and took a tiny step back. “Uh, can I buy you lunch later? Or dinner tonight. As a thank-you.”

  Oh. Oh. Was young Jacob hitting on him?

  Paul studied him closely. Most of Jacob’s head was covered by his hat, but his eyebrows were a medium brown that suggested lighter hair. His skin was fair, lightly freckled, and combined with his big blue eyes and full lips gave him that air of youth. He was shorter than Paul—most people were—probably about five eight or nine, and seemed to be slimly built, although it was difficult to tell with his big coat.

  “How old are you?” Paul asked abruptly. It was terribly rude, but he wouldn’t have dinner with a child, not even platonically, and he didn’t have time to lead in to the question.

  Luckily, Jacob didn’t look offended. He even laughed. “You think I’m a teenager, right? I’m twenty-four. Look, here’s my passport.” He dug into one of his coat pockets and handed over a dark-covered passport. Paul noted the Australian emblem on the cover before he flipped it open. Jacob’s solemn yet adorable face stared out from the photo, and the date of birth confirmed that he’d celebrated his twenty-fourth birthday just two months ago.

  Paul gave the passport back. “You should keep that in an inside pocket,” he warned. “And while I appreciate your trust, don’t give it to strangers like that.”

  Obediently, Jacob unzipped his coat a little and tucked the passport in an inside pocket. “You just saved me from a pickpocket,” he pointed out. “I’m pretty sure you can be trusted not to take off with my passport.”

  “I didn’t ‘save’ you,” Paul scoffed. “It was just a warning. You make it sound so dramatic.”

  “Dude, you saw where I was keeping my passport. There’s a go
od chance I would have been spending the day at the embassy trying to get it replaced if you hadn’t warned us. You saved me from hours of bureaucratic bullshit and waiting.”

  Paul couldn’t help it, he laughed, and Jacob grinned.

  “Come on—dinner. To say thank you. And then maybe a moonlit walk along the Seine… the lights are so pretty.” Jacob met his gaze in a direct way that told Paul more clearly than any words could have that he was being hit on, and he found himself extremely attracted to Jacob’s fabulous forwardness.

  What could it hurt? A date with a tourist—maybe a one-night stand. Things had been so busy at work lately that he’d let his social life slide. This would be good for him.

  “Okay.”

  IT WASN’T UNTIL early afternoon that Paul had a moment to reconsider. He’d felt a niggling doubt from the moment he’d agreed but had pushed it aside to deal with a busy morning. Now, though, his boss had called him in to his office, shoved a baguette in his hand, and told him to sit and eat. Paul had obeyed, because Lucien didn’t often order him around—plus he was hungry and had a busy afternoon ahead—but eating wasn’t enough to distract him from his thoughts.

  Was this a bad idea? December was a busy time—he had enough to do without taking time for dinner with a stranger, no matter how attractive. He would also be giving up his Christmas walk home along the Champs-Élysée… although a romantic walk along the Seine was almost as good.

  “Is everything okay?” Lucien asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  “Of course,” Paul said automatically. He liked his boss, they were even friends of a sort, but he’d never brought his personal problems to work before and he didn’t plan to begin now.

  “Are you certain? You seem… distracted today.”

  He almost dropped his lunch, horror invading every cell of his body. “I’m sorry.” He wracked his brain—had he made a mistake this morning? “I assure you, I will give my full attention—”

  “Calm down, Paul,” Lucien interrupted, smiling. “You’ve performed your duties with your usual meticulousness, and I have no doubt you will continue to do so. You have my utmost confidence. But we’ve known each other a long time, and I can tell when you have something on your mind. The last time you were like this, your father had cancer. I will always regret that I didn’t ask you then what was wrong and offer you support. So I’m asking now.”

  Perhaps Lucien was more of a friend than he’d thought.

  “It’s nothing like that,” he assured, not wanting to cause worry. “Everyone is well. I….” Oh hell, was he really going to do this? Whine to his employer about his dating life?

  Lucien waited, smiling encouragingly, blue eyes warm, and Paul was reminded of another pair of blue eyes—brighter, bigger, and to his mind, far more inviting.

  Yes. It seemed he was going to bring his personal life to work.

  “I met a man this morning,” he confessed.

  Lucien waited.

  “And he asked me to dinner.”

  Lucien’s smile widened, and he nodded.

  “I said yes.”

  The smile broke into a grin. “That’s great. What’s he like?”

  “He’s… young. Well, not really. He’s twenty-four. But he seems younger. He’s cute and sweet, but I don’t really know anything about him. I met him on the way to work. Now I’m second-guessing myself.”

  Lucien propped his elbows on his desk and tapped his forefinger against his mouth. “You’re twenty-eight. Twenty-four is not cradle snatching. Unless he was raised in a monastery and has only just entered wider society, he’s probably aware of what he’s doing. I think it’s great that you’re dating. You need someone in your life.”

  “Oh, it’s not like that. He’s a tourist. An Australian. It’s just a date… I guess a thank-you.”

  “A thank-you?” Lucien raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

  Paul shrugged. “There was a pickpocket hanging around these tourists and I warned them.”

  “Which merits a thank-you,” Lucien mused, a tiny frown wrinkling his brow, “but probably not a thank-you dinner. I think he likes you. So why are you second-guessing?”

  Sighing and wishing he’d never begun this conversation, he admitted, “I don’t know. December is busy, and he’s just visiting, so it’s not like it can go anywhere.”

  “That’s true. But since when is a fling with a tourist a bad idea? If nothing else, you get a few hours of interesting company and possibly sex. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  That was true. In fact, it was a very good point. He’d break his routine for one evening and likely have a good time. If not, well, who cared?

  “Thank you,” he said to Lucien. “You’re right. This will be good for me.”

  “I’m always right,” Lucien replied with a wink. “What’s his name, by the way?”

  “Jacob… something.” The heat of embarrassment flushed up his cheeks. “I didn’t get his last name.” He’d had the man’s passport in his hand, but never thought to check. He did have a phone number, at least.

  “Tomorrow, I expect to hear all about your date with Jacob whatever his name is.”

  Paul smiled and nodded and wondered why he hadn’t kept his mouth shut.

  Chapter Two

  JACOB HAD INSISTED that because Paul had to work while he planned to spend the day wandering Paris “like a feckless tourist,” he would make the arrangements for their dinner. “I’ll meet you outside your office if you want, or you pick where,” he’d offered, and in that moment, staring into those wide blue eyes, Paul had not been able to think of any sensible place for them to meet. Which was foolish, because his office was nowhere near any tourist attractions. So when he exited the Morel building a little after six o’clock, his beautiful Australian tourist was standing a few feet to the right of the door, smiling in Paul’s direction. Paul couldn’t help smiling back.

  “Hey.” Jacob came over, hesitated, then stretched up on tiptoe and kissed Paul’s cheek. He drew back immediately and winced. “Should I apologize for that? I didn’t even ask if you were out at work, and these people”—he looked around at the steady stream of bodies exiting the building—“are your colleagues.” His eyes went wide with sudden horror, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God, you are gay, right? I haven’t completely misread this thing between us?”

  For a second, Paul was tempted to tease, but Jacob was genuinely horrified at the thought that he might have made such a huge faux pas, and Paul couldn’t let him keep thinking that.

  “I’m gay,” he affirmed. “And I’m out at work. So you don’t need to worry about that.”

  Relief flashed across that expressive face, followed by a coy smile. “And the other part? Have I misread this thing between us?” He put a hand on Paul’s chest, and Paul fought the urge to shiver as sexual anticipation flooded him. How long had it been? Six months, maybe? Yes—the last time he’d had sex had been right about the time Lucien and his boyfriend were dragged through the gutter press. He’d been dating a guy who couldn’t handle the crazy hours he’d had to work in the wake of that crisis. Since then, things had been busy, and he hadn’t felt the inclination to hunt down a date or a sexual partner.

  But now…

  “No,” he said, and his voice was husky. He cleared his throat. “No, you haven’t misread it.”

  “Good.” Jacob gave him a little pat, then took his hand. “Okay, so we can get a cab or the train. I had no idea there was so much of Paris outside the tourist areas. We could walk, but according to my iPhone, it would take over an hour, so I thought we could take transportation to the general area of the restaurant, and then if time allows—which it should—detour for a stroll along the Champs-Élysée. It was so nice all lit up this morning.”

  Paul stopped dead, took Jacob by the shoulders, and kissed him, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. It took barely a second for Jacob to kiss him back. They ignored the ribald comments, th
e cheers and applause, and the complaints from people who had to detour around them, until finally, breathlessly, Paul drew back. “That sounds wonderful.”

  Flushed and grinning, Jacob took his hand again, and they stepped to the side, out of the way of most of the foot traffic, so they could stroll to the Métro station.

  “What did you do today?” Paul asked, and prepared himself for a discussion on Montmartre or the Louvre.

  “I went to the Christmas markets at Notre-Dame and Les Halles,” Jacob said. Paul tried not to wince at his pronunciation. “That’s mostly why I’m here even though it’s freeze-your-balls-off cold.”

  “It’s not that cold right now,” Paul pointed out. It wasn’t warm, but the weather was nothing unusual for this time of year.

  “It is for me. December in Australia is summertime, and where I live, it doesn’t get this cold even in winter.” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “I’m making a real sacrifice here.”

  Paul laughed. “Where do you live?” He considered what he knew about Australia. He’d been several years ago for a visit but hadn’t seen much beyond Sydney other than the Great Barrier Reef region in the northeast.

  “Sydney, but I grew up in the Mary Valley in Queensland, which is warmer again.”

  “I’ve been to Sydney, but I have no idea where the Mary Valley is,” Paul admitted.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to, it’s a rural area. I moved to Brisbane for uni when I finished high school, and then about a year in to my first job, I transferred to Sydney.”

  Their walk and Métro ride passed quickly as they talked about Sydney, about what Paul had seen and experienced when he was in Australia, Jacob’s time so far in Paris, and his plans for the rest of his trip.

  “I leave on the twenty-third,” he said as they walked up the stairs at Charles De Gaulle-Etoile station. “To be honest, I’d have stayed longer and maybe traveled around France a bit, but my mother is already almost not talking to me. If I’m not home for Christmas, she’ll disown me. So my dad will pick me up from Brisbane airport on Christmas Eve, and I’ll spend a week or so with them before I go back to work and start in my new job.”