SMITTEN (Paris Après Minuit)

by Juliet Braddock

  Lost in the sentiment of her words, Nigel gave her ass a quick, playful pat. At that moment, he knew that January belonged to him. However, he had to hear her say it again. “What was that?”

  Rolling on to her back again, she circled his neck with her arms. “I said that I love you.” And as her arms tightened around him, she repeated herself, “I love you, Maestro.”

  About the Author

  Bestselling author Juliet Braddock loves eighties music, wine, food, theater and all things French. When she’s not exploring the big cities of the world—most notably Paris—she lives and writes in Brooklyn, New York, and is the proud cat mom to a very spoiled Russian Blue rescue. Juliet is legally blind and spins her sizzling stories with adaptive software for people who have low vision. She’s an advocate for vision health and vision loss rehabilitation.

  Also by Juliet Braddock:

  BLEMISHED

  PROFESSOR KNOWS BEST: A Novella

  WEAKENED (Book 1, Manhattan Bound Series)

  WRAPPED (Book 2, Manhattan Bound Series)

  KNOTTED (Book 3, Manhattan Bound Series)

  BOUND (Book 4, Manhattan Bound Series)

  Online:

  Find Juliet on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest and at www.julietbraddock.com

  COMING SOON:

  Take an exclusive look at Juliet’s next erotic romance,

  BLINDSIDED

  Flip the page for more…

  BLINDSIDED

  by Bestselling Author

  Juliet Braddock

  Coming Soon

  Josie Rossi has trouble forgiving and forgetting. Although she relinquishes sexual control, Josie is daring and resilient. Born and raised in New York City, she gets what she wants at whatever cost—everything except for her former colleague, Oliver Billington.

  BLINDSIDED is a second-chance at love story with two rival journalists who must decide if they can forget their tumultuous past and build a new, albeit different, life together in the face of their greatest fight ever.

  Inspired by the author’s own experience with vision loss, BLINDSIDED is a work-in-progress. Watch Juliet’s social media for details.

  Chapter One

  “Aw, fuck!” Josie Rossi twisted her face in anger as the words plummeted from her full, pouty lips. Nearly skidding, she stopped and propped a fist on each curvy hip.

  Toe-to-toe, she met him at eye-level and shoved her shoulders back. Josie wasn’t the kind of girl who walked away from a fight—even when it came to her longstanding feud with Oliver Billington.

  “You mean I’m stuck with you?”

  Quickly, he dropped the cigarette that dangled from his lips and almost burned a hole straight through his black Polo shirt. Oliver had tried to quit smoking several times that year, but in the presence of this woman, he knew that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  With the breeze from the Thames River tossing her long ginger-hued locks about her shoulders, she raised her hand to shield her hazel eyes from the late-evening sun. Summer had finally arrived in London. Borough Market teemed with locals and tourists alike on that rare, gorgeous evening. The mood around them was light, but contempt rumbled as it stirred in her belly.

  In a nod to her own pride, Josie refused to budge. Her eyes studied him from his tennis shoes and followed his sinewy legs that stretched out beneath his cargo shorts. Her nostrils flared as she dared to continue her journey, taking note of the chiseled cut of his abs beneath his shirt. However, she found amusement in that one cowlick of light brown hair that was always out of place on top of his head. She basked in his physical imperfections, which she admitted reluctantly were undeniably few in number.

  All the while, his brown eyes stared at her in disbelief, brimming with the ire of his disenchantment that seared through her.

  Still, Josie refused to allow his haughty stance to rattle her. “I think,” she began, “we’ve been set up.”

  Her friend who planned the night had just texted Josie to say that she was sick. However, the friend insisted that Josie go and enjoy the night. Seeing Oliver standing alone only made her wonder if his friend canceled, too.

  “Oh, is that was this is?” She couldn’t turn away from Oliver’s unwavering gaze. One thing he did like about Josie was her five-foot ten-inch frame. With a pair of shapely legs of her own, he couldn’t deny that she commanded attention, if not admiration. However, in Oliver’s mind, her charm ended with her outward beauty—or so he told himself.

  Fuck, why the hell did she have to be so damn pretty?

  “Well, why wouldn’t our mutual acquaintances assume that because we’re both single, American journalists working in London, that we’d be perfect for each other…?” Her frigid stare defied him. “Just wish they would have passed along some names with the invite.”

  “Why?” Defenses rising, Oliver now stood almost at attention, like the good soldier gone bad. However, he wasn’t rising to the orders of his drill sergeant. This was Josie. And she knew damn well how to play the basic training game with him. “So you could have canceled?”

  “No, so you could have canceled and allowed me to have my Saturday night back.”

  Although they worked for competing news agencies in New York, both Josie and Oliver had been assigned to London to cover the ramifications of Brexit, the United Kingdom’s infamous split from the European Union. Seeing each other at the usual press junkets only ignited this competitive dislike between them. While Oliver often wondered if she had been dating, Josie scrubbed her mind of all considerations for his sex life. Regardless of his dalliances, Josie knew damn well that he wasn’t capable of actually falling in love and maintaining a relationship. Oliver could never escape his own ego to cater to someone else’s needs. Of that, she remained certain.

  “Maybe they don’t know our history….” Oliver improvised with regard to their acquaintances who arranged this whole evening. “It’s an honest mistake.”

  Refusing to budge in her stance—or in her opinion—Josie held firm. “Yeah, and honesty ain’t always the best policy.”

  His discarded cigarette continued to smolder on the concrete. Oliver squashed it with his foot, wondering if he could kill this conversation just as easily, but his wrath brewed. “So like you, Rossi, just to assume…”

  “Still can’t let it go after all these years, Billington?”

  “Me?” He choked on the word as he chuckled. “Hardly.”

  In truth, Josie carried a grudge, but she also found intense pleasure in the idea of making him squirm for a couple of hours. Rolling up the sleeves of the white cardigan that she wore over a simple navy sleeveless dress, she cocked her head to the side and sighed. “Alright, let’s get this shit over with. That way, I won’t have to see you until the next press conference—and I can sit on the opposite side of the room.”

  “Shit? You’re referring to our blind date as shit?”

  “There’s nothing blind about this,” she retorted. “And you just called this a date—not me.”

  Pushing past him, Josie opened the restaurant door for Oliver and gestured for him to enter. “Look, let’s just get this over with, and we can both call it an early night. No hard feelings against the friends. Last I checked, we were both adults here. Or at least I was…”

  His initial anger faded to amusement, broadening his fake smile into a genuinely wicked grin. Josie still knew how to up the ante with him. Before he took the door handle himself, Oliver had to confirm her crazy thought process. “You’re staying?”

  “You, of all people, know I don’t back down from a challenge.” With her patience dwindling, she pointed inside the restaurant once again. “Certainly, you’re not going to wimp out on me here, are you?”

  Gently, he eased Josie to the side to hold the door for her. “We go Dutch. And then we take separate cabs home.”

  “Such a damn American.” Exasperation resonated with the sting of her rancor. “Walk it to the Tube and hop the damn train—it�
�s a beautiful night.”

  Oliver chose to ignore her, but admittedly, he was intrigued where this evening might lead. Likely, they’d end up throwing pints of beer in each other’s faces and stomping away in anger. However, he wasn’t one to dismiss a dare—especially not from a woman like Josie.

  Although it was still early, Boro Bistro was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. While they waited at the hostess stand, Josie minded the clock on her phone, wondering when they might be seated. Temptation to send her girlfriend a rancorous text filled her, but she stopped herself. She didn’t need to burn every relationship in her life just because Oliver stood so damn close to her in a crowded bar.

  “Somewhere else to go?” Oliver asked.

  She rolled her shoulders somewhat listlessly. “Maybe.”

  Silence lingered between them while the ambient sounds of laughter and conversations echoed around them. The clink of glasses and the rousing toasts, however, didn’t inspire Josie. Her calculating mind spun with the possibilities of how she’d weave her web. She could be cordial. She could also make her exit at any time.

  When a harried waitress finally rushed them with a trayful of dirty dishes, Oliver straightened his stance.

  “It’ll just be a moment,” the waitress assured them. “Is a table on the terrace alright by you?”

  “That’s fine,” Josie and Oliver said in unison, and then turned to look at each other.

  “It is a pretty night,” Josie offered. “It’s good to spend some time in the great outdoors while we can.”

  “Ah, at last we agree on something.”

  With its classic French flair, Josie felt as if she’d stepped into a Paris café. An eclectic mix of modern lighting against the backdrop of brick walls clashed with the old wooden tables and blue plaid linen napkins folded decoratively on every table. Throw pillows adorned the colorful banquettes. Outside, the patio intermingled contemporary furnishings meant for a living room with walls that were lined with antique kitchenware—from pots and pans to plates.

  Personally, Josie thought the decorator tried a little too hard to mix too many eras of French design. However, she didn’t have much time to ponder the atmosphere when the waitress brought them to their seats.

  A shabby outdoor sofa loaded with billowy cushions sat beneath a patio umbrella that felt more like a garden tent. The surface of the nicked wooden coffee table sparkled with antique crystal candle holders. While intriguing, the setting sparked thoughts of familiarity that Josie dismissed. If she had been there with anyone but Oliver, she might have considered the possibilities. Now, though, she just wanted to claim a corner of that couch and pile the pillows in between them.

  “How about you unfold your arms and have a look at the drink menu?” Oliver suggested after he’d settled in comfortably. He knew Josie seethed over any show of emotion, but he laughed over the transparency of her body language.

  With a pause, she took the leather billfold and flipped toward the wine list. Josie needed a whole bottle, but she didn’t plan on staying any later than one glass.

  “So, what have you been up to?” Oliver asked.

  “You mean in the eight years since we worked for the same outlet?”

  With the tug of his shirt collar, Oliver propped himself against one of the throw pillows. “I’d say we did a little more than share a cubicle, but let’s leave it there—for now. I know you’re doing well.”

  “I am…” she crowed. And she was. For the most part.

  “And congratulations on that National Press Association Award,” he continued as if he’d been rehearsing his lines. “Doctors Without Borders is an important story. You wrote one hell of a piece.”

  Their drinks arrived, and for once, Josie found herself speechless. Compliments rarely left his lips. However, his attempt to be genial didn’t sway her. “Surprised you read it. Did you need a dictionary to look up the big words?”

  “Look, Rossi,” he snarled slightly as he scooted a smidgen closer to her, “if we’re stuck here for a couple of hours, let’s at least make a concerted effort to be civil.” To reiterate his point, he held out his pint of frothy Belgian beer as if waving a white flag between them. “To you. Congratulations.”

  With her glass, she raised a suspicious brow. Her nod was a thoughtful one, but Oliver knew that sarcasm always burned her better judgement. “And to your attempt at maturity.”

  “Listen, Rossi, I’ve grown since then.” The muscles in his arm tightened, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the back of the couch for support. Josie still infuriated him but now in different ways. “And maybe I can actually admit that you fucking scared the piss out of me.”

  Josie’s sudden burst of laughter was so loud that it shook him, nearly prompting Oliver to spill his beer. Attitude oozed, but Oliver refused to allow her to shake him. He knew all too well how easily he could penetrate her sometimes wicked defenses. “Something actually frightened you?”

  Fury nearly strangled him now, but Oliver found his words quickly. Perhaps, this conversation came eight years too late, but he felt that it was still worth carrying out. “Come on, we were kids back then.” He took another drink—a long one—and then licked the thick foam from his upper lip. If he could be completely honest with no one but himself, Oliver thought that maybe she’d recall the vulnerability they once unpeeled in each other’s steel exteriors. “I was threatened by you. You’re a talented writer. And I didn’t want to admit that someone might be better than me.”

  His words seemed genuine, but Josie refused to allow herself to fall prey to charms again. After all this time, she still had a score to settle, even as temptation bore into her consciousness. Time certainly hadn’t tarnished his looks, but she had to remind herself that the same asshole she knew so well sat behind that bright white smile.

  “Don’t bullshit me, Billington.” For eight years, her anger lingered and simmered. She never expected she’d be forced into an intimate setting with him, but sitting across from Oliver forced all of Josie’s emotions to boil to the surface. “So, you just thought that fucking me—and then fucking me over—was the solution?”

  “I’m trying very hard to be real here. Give me that, at least.” He reached out and took her hand to grab her attention. “You intimidated me.”

  Even though she remained still, her body trembled inside. Damn man still had the ability to melt her composure. Images of their past crept into her mind like the slideshow from some porn movie. It was the sex, she’d convinced herself, that propelled her to invest so much time and energy into their youthful affair. His hands and his mouth elicited exquisite pleasure and pain that she never discovered with a man since Oliver. Relationships never satisfied her. One-night-stands left her craving him. Josie lusted over Oliver just as much as she loathed him. That son of a bitch still made her burn with the sparks he ignited, but for the sake of her sanity, she had to abandon her scorching memories.

  Putting those explicit thoughts aside, Josie’s claws emerged. “Jealous much?”

  “Yes, I was jealous. I can admit that—and I can cop to the fact that I didn’t want to think that someone might be better than me.” As the waitress passed their table, Oliver hailed her for another round, even though he still had half a pint left. “And I know now—hell, I probably even knew it back then—that I did a shitty thing to you. But I—I’d like to apologize…and I’d like to move on from there. We were twenty-three years old.”

  Yes, they were so damn young. Josie could even acknowledge her own naivete. She thought they were a team. At the time, she’d imagined a real partnership with Oliver—in work and in life. They were both so driven by their careers, and they shared a passion for each other.

  Burying the proverbial hatchet never came easily for Josie. She remembered the night he told her that he found a new job and had to take off to Syria in the morning. A relationship, Oliver told her, didn’t fit his lifestyle.

  The bitterness that crept into her heart that night never left.

  Un
til that moment, she’d deluded herself into believing that she meant more to him than a few fucks. They’d shared their dreams and fears so candidly with each other, while stripping down their emotions to come alive within the play of their sexual fantasies. Occasionally, they admitted their faults. Oliver never told her that he loved her, but he promised her that he had no intentions of severing the ties to their comfortable bond.

  Without warning, he left her, alone and shattered, shivering and shaking on the crappy IKEA carpet that covered her laminate wood floor of her three-hundred-foot studio. From that night on, Josie promised herself she’d never cry over a man again.

  “I—you know this doesn’t come easy for me—but…I’m sorry.” As Oliver struggled with the words she’d waited so long to hear, Josie’s thoughts spiraled out of control. “I hurt you. And I know that. I was a young pretentious jerk.”

  She wanted to tell him that he was still a pretentious jerk, only not so young anymore, but she held her tongue. Looking into his eyes, she discovered a forgotten soul. Josie might have been quick to point out his deficiencies, but she could also recognize his sincerity. Much to her dismay, she found herself waning.

  “I never imagined I’d have time alone with you—to actually apologize.” His fingers closed over one of those stupid pillows, and he was tempted to toss it toward her head. However, he reminded himself that he had this opportunity to attempt to tell her everything she needed to hear—everything he wanted to tell her for eight long fucking years. “And don’t think I haven’t thought about you, Rossi. It was a dick move. I couldn’t handle the fact that you were better than me, so I had to prove to myself that I was just as good—just as daring—as you could be.”

  Crystal clashed with solid wood as she placed her drink with a little too much force on the table. She hadn’t intended to slam her glass, but Josie couldn’t always control her reactions. Perhaps, the nature of this meeting compelled him to make amends; however, Oliver commanded her to listen to him with his suave, subtle charisma that she fought so hard to resist.