Moonlight in Paris

by Pamela Hearon

  She quirked an eyebrow. “You’re making these up, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” The side of his mouth rose in that yummy lopsided grin.

  “Well, tell me anyway.”

  Garrett cleared his throat. “If you kiss a second time, it means you’ll come back.”

  “That’s the Trevi Fountain in Rome. Surely you can be more imaginative than that.”

  “Okay, how about if you kiss a second time, your love will shine more brilliantly than the tower itself.”

  She pursed her lips, pretending to ponder it, and finally nodded. “Works for me.”

  His mouth covered hers again, but remained gentle even when she opened and met his tongue. There was no hurry...no urgency...just a long, languid kiss that left her knees weak and her lungs devoid of breath.

  “You don’t kiss like a girl from Taylor’s Grove,” Garrett whispered.

  “Actually, I kiss exactly like a girl from Taylor’s Grove,” she whispered back. “We didn’t have any movies, or teenage hangouts. The only thing to do was park by Kentucky Lake and make out until we got it down pat.”

  Garrett chuckled. “You did more than get it down pat. You perfected it.”

  Tara batted her eyes playfully at him. “I had more practice than everybody else. I was a virgin until I was twenty-three, so kissing was my forte.”

  A serious look settled on Garrett’s face as he stepped back and took her hands. “That’s a tidbit I never would’ve guessed. What other things am I going to learn about you that will surprise me?”

  Her own recent surprise—the one that gave her a reason for being there—pricked her heart. “I’m still in the discovery stage myself.” His brows buckled in question at her cryptic response, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask whatever it was he was thinking. She was having too glorious a time at the moment to get into the subject of Jacques Martin. Instead, she pointed at the famous avenue in the distance with the arch at the end. “Champs-Élysées and Arc de Triomphe.”

  “Oui. L’avenue des Champs-Élysées et l’Arc de Triomphe,” Garrett repeated in what sounded like perfect French to her no matter what Dylan said about his father’s pronunciation.

  She sighed. “You can take the girl out of Taylor’s Grove, but you can’t take Taylor’s Grove out of the girl.”

  Garrett caught her chin with a finger and gently turned it toward him. “Don’t ever lose the Taylor’s Grove. It’s pure gold.” He touched his lips to hers again in the tenderest of kisses, and she gripped the railing tighter as her knees went weak.

  Garrett pointed to the other side of the viewing deck. “Now, let’s take a look over ‘yonder.’”

  They headed in the direction he’d indicated, not quite making it to the other side before Tara’s cell phone rang. Her mom’s name came up on the caller ID. “I need to take this. Do you mind?”

  “You ask this of a single father?” He ran a finger down her arm. “Of course not.”

  Saturday night was an odd time for her mom to be calling. But then, it was two in the afternoon at home. She swiped the button to answer. “Hi, Mama.”

  “Hey, sweetpea. Just wanted to see what you’re doing.” Her mom’s voice sounded tired. She’d probably been picking tomatoes from the garden. Or maybe canning, which was a job she hated.

  “Actually, I’m having dinner with my neighbor Garrett.”

  “That’s Dylan’s father, isn’t it?” The voice on the other end perked up a bit.

  Tara winked at Garrett, who’d moved far enough away so as not to hear the conversation. “That’s right. Dylan’s spending the night with a friend, so Garrett’s treating me to a night on the town. We’ve been on a Seine river cruise, and we watched the Eiffel Tower light up, which is the most gorgeous sight ever. I’m actually talking to you from the top of the tower right now.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry, sweetie. I—I didn’t mean to interrupt your date. I’ll, um, I’ll let you go.”

  Tara’s senses went on alert. Something wasn’t right. She could hear it in the way her mom’s voice strained and tightened all of a sudden—like she was trying to sound okay when she really wasn’t. “What’s wrong?”

  There was a pause on the other end. “Nothing. I just haven’t talked to you in a few days, and I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  Okay, so her mom was probably just worried about the Jacques Martin search. Tara didn’t want to get into that. It might put a damper on what was turning out to be a fabulous night. “Well, I’m doing great.” She threw an extra load of exuberance into her voice. “I’ve got lots to tell you, but it’ll have to hold until sometime when I don’t have somebody waiting for me. We’re just about to head to dinner.”

  “Yes, I understand. I should let you go then.”

  Her mom’s tone slipped into sad, and Tara’s gut twisted. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow...or sometime soon.”

  Something unspoken niggled at Tara. “Wait, um, how’s Dad?”

  “He’s...okay.”

  “Which means not great.”

  “He’s still upset.”

  “But he sounded better when I talked to him yesterday.” The last call from her dad had made her hopeful that everything at home was finally getting back to normal. At least, he talked about everyday things—the first tomatoes, the doe with triplets still in spots that had come into the backyard.

  “It’s me he’s upset with. Not you.” The voice on the other end of the line cracked. “I’m sorry. I’m calling from Grandma O’Malley’s house, and it’s just making me overly sentimental.”

  Ah! There it was. Mama was calling from Grandma’s. She was finally going through things, deciding what to get rid of and what to keep. “Well, don’t stay too long. No sense in working up a case of melancholy. All that stuff will still be there tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know how long I’ll be here...” Her mom’s voice faded. “But, I’ll let you go now. Enjoy your dinner.”

  Tara walked to where Garrett stood. “I will. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye, sweetpea. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Bye.” Tara blew out a long breath as she touched the button to end the call.

  Garrett was watching her, concern hooding his deep-set eyes. “Is everything okay?”

  She cocked her head and gave her brows and her shoulders a simultaneous shrug. “I wish I could say yes to that, but I’m not certain it’d be the truth.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  Tara chewed her lip, wondering how much to tell him. He’d been very forthcoming about his wife. And with Emma thousands of miles away, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. “I’ll tell you all about it,” she promised. “But not until after dinner.”

  * * *

  “NOTRE-DAME IS GORGEOUS in the moonlight. So majestic.” Tara’s voice was full of wonder and awe—a pleasant, almost childlike quality that Garrett had noticed throughout their night out, beginning with the cruise. It had shifted his focus completely away from the platonic sightseeing tour he’d originally planned.

  Attentive, appreciative and enthusiastic about everything he suggested, Tara had been the perfect date. It had been a long time since he’d spent time with a woman who had such a zeal for life, and it felt good. Damn good.

  He’d gotten caught up in her enthusiasm, and somewhere between her dreamy sigh as the boat passed under Pont Neuf and her squeal as the Eiffel Tower shimmered to life, he’d thrown caution to the wind and allowed himself to think of this night as a date.

  Now, with her back to him and his arms around her waist, she was snuggled against him with the breeze whipping her hair to the side, the moonlight glinting on that tattoo below her ear. This all felt pretty damn good.


  “I was thinking the same thing about you,” he answered, and she reached up and caressed his cheek in a gesture that, at that moment, seemed more intimate than a kiss.

  He wasn’t sure where the night was going to end, but it wouldn’t be here on Pont Notre-Dame. Suddenly, he was anxious to get home. “You ready?” he murmured into her ear.

  She nodded, breathing another of those dreamy sighs that made his breath catch, and slipped out of his arms, but only long enough to catch his hand. “Ready.”

  She was in such a good mood now, he hated to bring it up, but they still had the rest of the stroll home, and he was curious to know what had bothered her so much during the phone conversation at the Eiffel Tower. “When your mom called earlier, you seemed worried. Want to talk about it while we walk?”

  “I suppose.” She gave him a small smile. “Nothing could seem too bad when it’s filtered by Paris in the early morning moonlight, right?”

  Tara told her story with the same enthusiasm that infused everything she did, captivating him with her tale of a family torn apart by a secret over twenty-five-years old. Garrett could almost hear Grandma O’Malley’s dishes breaking right along with the hearts of her family members.

  His own parents were still devoted to each other after thirty-seven years together, so putting himself in Tara’s shoes made his gut twist. “This whole experience must be a nightmare for you.” He pulled her against his side as they approached their building. “So how many of these Jacques Martins have you checked out so far?”

  “Fourteen,” she said dully, and the lack of inflection told Garrett just how much that answer bothered her.

  “And you’re just making cold house calls?”

  She nodded. “My telephone French is even worse than my in-person French.”

  That made Garrett smile, but then an image of Tara walking naively into a seedy neighborhood popped into his mind and his grip on her shoulder tightened. “I don’t want you doing that anymore. Paris is relatively safe to walk around in, but it’s a city, and there are places you shouldn’t be going—especially alone.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know how else to do it. I mean, if I do find him, and he doesn’t want anything to do with me, at least I’ll know what he looks like. I’ll have that to—” her voice broke “—to keep with me.”

  Garrett glanced down and saw the hope glistening in her eyes. Tara was easy to read. She might be talking in terms of Jacques Martin not wanting anything to do with her, but her dreams lay in a different direction entirely.

  She looked up at him, and her smile trembled. Beneath all that zest for life lay a fragile soul. Garrett was filled with several kinds of desire, but the most prominent at the moment was to protect her. He pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. She melted against him, and he felt the warmth deep in his heart.

  When he spoke his voice was huskier than he meant it to sound. “When we get to your flat, I want to see this list.”

  * * *

  “ONE LAST GLASS OF WINE on the terrace?”

  Tara kicked off her shoes as soon as they walked through her door.

  Garrett’s arms came around her from behind, and he kissed her neck. All of the touching tonight had put her senses on high alert, and this caress sent a shiver into all the right places.

  “I was thinking champagne might be more appropriate,” he answered.

  She frowned. That did sound like the perfect ending to this date—or perhaps the second most perfect ending. “Sadly I don’t have any champagne.”

  “I do, and my place is just a few yards away. I’ll get it and some glasses. You get your list of addresses.”

  They met on the terrace a few minutes later, Garrett with an already-opened bottle of bubbly and two glasses, and Tara bearing her list of possible fathers.

  Garrett held her chair for her and then pulled the other one close enough that their thighs touched when he sat. He lifted his glass. “To tonight.” He gave her that half smile that made her toes curl.

  “To tonight,” she agreed, and took a sip. The bubbles tickled her nose, and left an effervescent trail from the tip of her tongue down the back of her throat and into her chest.

  Garrett scooted her list over in front of him, and began talking to her about the addresses and making notes on where she would be safe to go alone and where she wouldn’t.

  “I won’t be working so late this week, and I might even be able to take off a little early and go with you to these places.” He’d put Xs by the four that were located in neighborhoods he didn’t trust. “These two—” he pointed to one on rue Racine and one on rue de Condé “—are near the Luxembourg Gardens. Have you been there?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “The Sorbonne is in that area, and the Pantheon. That’s where Foucault’s pendulum is, which is really cool—Dylan loves it.” He looked up from his list and peered closely at her. “You haven’t been taking Dylan.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No. I didn’t think I should. What if there was a scene with one of the men?”

  “But you’ve lost a lot of time this week, staying with him. Time you could’ve been using looking for your father.”

  “I’ve been able to get in about one place a day. And, if Monique gets back by Wednesday, I’ll still have almost two weeks. I hope I don’t have to go through all forty-three,” she added.

  Garrett pushed back in his chair with a disgusted sigh. “You should’ve said something earlier, Tara. You’ve made a huge sacrifice of your time.”

  “Being with Dylan isn’t a sacrifice. Dylan’s real and precious. Jacques Martin may not even still exist.” The honesty in her words hit her hard, and she felt a tear slide down her cheek. “I may be looking for someone who has already passed away or somebody who won’t want me even if I find him.” A sob swelled in her throat, and she took a sip of champagne to wash it down. She would not allow this beautiful night to be marred by an emotional meltdown of any sort.

  Garrett’s hand cupped her chin, and he turned her face toward him. “I can’t imagine anyone who has met you not wanting you.”

  He pressed his lips to hers gently, but it was like he’d touched her with a branding iron. She’d never experienced sizzle from a kiss like she did in that moment.

  Her hand crept to the back of his neck and she pressed him closer, opening her mouth to the exploration of his tongue. She heard the subtle groan in the back of his throat as he breathed more fire into the embrace.

  His arm slid around her waist, and he stood, pulling her with him and against him until the only separation of their bodies lay in the thin fabric of their clothing. She could feel his desire, and she rubbed her palms against his back to fan the flame higher. All the while he kept possession of her mouth in a kiss that made all the others of her life seem like child’s play.

  She knew without a doubt what she wanted, and she pulled her mouth away long enough to make her feelings known.

  “Make love to me, Garrett.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice.

  In an instant, he’d bent down to brace an arm under her knees, and he lifted her as easily as he might lift a child. “Grab the list. Just leave the bottle and the glasses,” he instructed, leaning her near enough to the table for her to grab her papers.

  “Do you have condoms?” he asked, and she shook her head in response.

  He inclined his head toward his flat. “Then my place it is.”

  He strode across the terrace with her in his arms, and she could almost understand what made ladies of yesteryear swoon. If she’d ever played out a scene that was swoon-worthy, this was it. Her heart was beating a strong cadence against her chest, making her wonder if he could feel it.

  Between the two of them, they managed to maneuver the doorways without too much distraction, and s
oon he was laying her on his bed and placing the list on the bedside table.

  He sat, his weight pressing the mattress down and rolling her to her side. “Now, it’s my turn.” The back of his fingers brushed lightly across the fabric covering her breast, bringing immediate heat to the area...and others, as well.

  She made an effort to give her voice full volume, but it came out as a whisper, heavy with desire. “To do what?”

  His eyes held that mischievous twinkle, and he grinned. “To finally see you naked.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT HAD BEEN A WHILE SINCE he’d undressed a woman—even longer since the woman had been as tall and lean as Tara—and Garrett wanted to prolong the experience as much as desire would allow.

  He stretched out beside her on the bed, and immediately her hands began to unbutton his shirt. He grasped them gently and shook his head. “I’m glad you’re eager, but I’ve fantasized about exploring your body and its tattoos for days. Can I have a little fun before we get to the serious stuff?”

  “Ooh.” Tara’s eyes lit up. “You want to do some body geocaching?”

  “Exactly. How many, um, caches, can I expect to find?”

  She held up her left hand, fingers spread. “Five.”

  He took her hand and brushed his tongue across the tips of her fingers. “This will be my cache finder. Now, you have to lie still, and you can’t give me any hints. Understood?”

  She nodded and lay back against his pillow, arms at her side and eyes closed. Her hair spread out like a flower in bloom around her. Even the blue tips, which he’d found so strange in the beginning, now enhanced the effect, adding depth to the overall appeal of the woman.

  He brushed back a lock that curled around her neck and bent his head to the mark below her ear that had kept him mesmerized for long periods of time in his daydreams. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the pattern, feeling her responsive shiver at his touch.

  The tattoo was an intricate triple spiral that he’d seen before but had never thought much about. “What does this one mean?” His tongue flicked lightly around one of the loops.