“It’s the Celtic symbol for life, death and rebirth. Oh! That feels really nice.” She wriggled beneath him. “I got it after my grandmother died. Ironically, she turned out not to be my biological grandmother, and I’m not even Irish—”
He cut off her speech with a kiss. “Shh.”
She grinned, and he went back to tracing the tattoo slowly with his finger and then his tongue.
He allowed his tongue to wander to her earlobe, nibbling there for a while before moving on to the rim of her ear and the delicate skin behind it. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed him closer, her breath coming in pants with an occasional moan of pleasure. The erotic sounds urged him to hurry, but he reined his body in.
Her breath caught as he fingered the first button on the front of her pale blue dress and slid it through the hole. A small V appeared in the square neckline of the dress and deepened as each button gave way, each punctuated by a small gasp.
The third button confirmed what he’d already suspected—she wore no bra—and deep within the area between her breasts, a delicate green stem appeared. Two more buttons and he was able to lay the bodice open. He stopped for a moment to take in the sight.
Her breasts were small, but beautifully shaped with perky nipples, drawn tight with excitement. Below the right breast was a small daisy with a bright yellow center and white petals. Its stem wound across her torso from one side of her rib cage to the other.
“Number two.” Garrett bent his head to trace the flower with his tongue, but the nipple was too enticing. He sucked it quickly into his mouth, and was rewarded with an appreciative squeal that lowered into a moan as Tara’s back arched off the bed. He flicked his tongue on the very tip, then made a wet path to the daisy and around its many petals. “What’s this one mean?” he asked, as he started across the stem.
“My deflowering. Giving up...my virginity at...at...oh!” Her words came in spurts, and Garrett watched her fist the sheet into her half hand. “Twenty-three...petals. Ah!”
As his tongue continued its journey, Garrett opened three more buttons to reveal a lace thong that matched the color of the dress. The vision shot directly to his groin and he hurried to undo the final buttons and lay the dress completely open.
Tara’s pale body speckled with freckles against the blue material...with the delicate daisy and the wisp of blue lace...was worthy of the Louvre. A few small scars that he guessed were from her spleen removal were still visible, but they added an element of danger that spoke of her genuineness. When he sat back to look at her, she propped herself up on her elbows, arched her back in a languid pose and let her head drop back. The straps of the dress slid down her arms in slow motion, and Garrett’s heartbeat accelerated.
To hell with the tattoo hunt. He wanted her. Now.
He hooked a thumb into the lace and tugged as she lifted her hips. The lace slid down her legs, exposing a small pink heart on her flat stomach, two inches above the top of her left thigh.
She gave him a coquettish grin. “That one’s just for fun. Sort of a reward for getting this far, you know?”
“I think I’m ready to capture the prize.” He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head.
“You’re giving up mighty quickly.” She punctuated the challenge in her voice with a raised eyebrow.
Garrett unfastened his belt and trousers, shucking them, his briefs and his socks in one fluid movement. “I’m not giving up. I just think it may be time to probe deeper into this mystery.” He climbed into the bed, sheathing himself as quickly as his eager fingers would allow.
Tara reached out and brushed the back of her finger across his lips. “Will you use the same instrument you’ve been using?”
“I’ll start with that one.” He tried to sound official, but he couldn’t hold back the grin that twitched his mouth. “But then I’ll probably have to switch to something larger and more sensitive.”
She gave a delighted laugh and opened her arms wide to greet him.
He met her embrace, rolling on top of her, covering her neck and shoulders with kisses, then sliding down to torture her time after time until she was wild with need.
She responded in kind, placing kisses, nips and licks on any part of his body that ventured near her mouth. Her touch burned through him like a set fuse. At last, she wrapped her legs around him, locking him into position, and if he’d had any thoughts of lingering, they were lost in a haze of lust.
He slid into her exquisite tightness, catching her erotic gasp on his tongue. Her fingernails scraped along his back as she met his thrusts, curving into him as her back arched higher.
He reached the edge but backed off, refusing to make the plunge without her.
“No!” She ground out the words through clenched teeth. “Don’t...slow...oh! Oh, Garrett!” Her legs, her arms, her hands—it was as though every muscle in her body tightened its hold on him, taking control, throwing him over the precipice to join her in the free fall.
Time stopped, and they floated in midair, riding the currents up and down until they once again touched solid ground.
He collapsed on top of her but worried that his weight might be too much, so he rolled off, gathering her to him.
They each took a deep breath, and the single syllable exploded from both of their mouths simultaneously.
“Wow!”
* * *
TARA WOKE TO THE BRIGHT morning sun warming her front and Garrett’s warm body spooning her from behind. His arm snuggled around her waist, holding her close and secure. She closed her eyes and listened to his slow, deep breathing, reliving the night before.
Garrett Hughes was the stuff of dreams. That he’d planned the perfect date for her spoke volumes, but nothing could compare to his lovemaking. It was as if he could read her mind, recognize all the subtleties and nuances of her movements and breaths. Time after time he’d brought her to climax, and even when he’d finally driven home, he’d held back until he was sure she would make it one last time with him.
She’d never had anyone like him, and—a lump formed in her throat—after she returned home, she might never again.
But she had last night...and hopefully there would be several more repeat performances before she returned to the States.
She sighed and an involuntary tremble of emotion shook her. Garrett’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. “You cold?” His breath caught the back of her ear, making her shiver again.
“No. It’s just my body’s reaction to the nearness of you.” She turned a little, so that her head rested against his cheek.
“Mmm. That’s nice.” She sensed his smile although she couldn’t see his mouth. “Last night was pretty special.”
A contented sigh escaped from her lungs as she nodded. “Yeah. It was.”
Garrett raised himself up on an elbow, and the loss of his embrace rolled her onto her back. He caught her gaze and held it, brought her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss to the palm. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed myself so much with anyone else. It was...fun...and hot...and—”
“Ooh-la-la?”
He chuckled. “Your French has certainly improved.”
She cupped his cheek with her hand, brushing the thick growth of stubble with her thumb, then moved it over to brush the scar that cut through the top of his lip. “Did you get spiked here, too?” She hoped not. His tale of his thigh getting ripped open by a kid sliding into third base with metal spikes made her cringe, but she didn’t even want to think about that happening to something as sweet as his lips.
He shook his head. “A memento from Angie. We were walking in our neighborhood late one night, and she ran over and climbed on our neighbor’s trampoline and started jumping really high. I was sure she was going to break her neck, so I climbed on to get her off, and when I got hold of her, she head
-butted me.” He pointed to his front tooth and ran his finger along the next one beside it. “Lost two teeth, as well.”
Little by little, Tara was piecing together the nightmare his life with Angie must’ve been, and it made her admire his strength and resilience all the more. “I’ll kiss the boo-boo.” She softly pressed her lips to the spot.
Garrett’s hand traveled to the small of her back and caressed the site of her largest tattoo. “Tolkien’s initials, eh? I knew something was there. I just couldn’t make it out through that wet dress you had on when we first met.”
She squeezed her eyes closed, feeling the heat creep into her face. “What a way to meet! I was soaked and frustrated, and you’re standing there naked—”
“Trying to figure out if I could subdue you by throwing my towel over your head.”
They laughed together, and then they laughed harder as the memory of the ludicrous situation loomed larger in their minds. She collapsed on top of him, and he rolled her onto her back and started kissing—and laughing—his way down to the tattoo of the small chain that circled her ankle—“a reminder to not be chained down by other people’s ideas of who I should be,” she had explained.
His finger and thumb encircled her ankle, adding a third dimension to the tattoo, and he gave a tug, parting her legs slightly. His lips began a steamy line of kisses that traveled up her calf.
“Oh, yeah.” She wiggled her butt deeper into the bedclothes.
“I think I know the real meaning behind this tattoo.” He tightened his grip on her ankle, and gave her that lopsided grin that made her insides melt.
“And what would that be?”
“I think...” He continued the line of kisses up the inside of her thigh. “I think you are...a slave...to your desires.”
The next set of kisses continued upward, convincing her he was probably right.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GARRETT GAVE TARA A small tour as they hurried toward Henri’s, pointing out some of the more interesting sites in this part of the city.
After surprising her with breakfast in bed—complete with chocolate croissants, an omelet extraordinaire, sausages and pureed strawberries mixed with champagne—Garrett had surprised her, and himself, even more by suggesting she go with him to pick up Dylan. One of her Jacques Martin addresses wasn’t too far from Henri’s house, and on the way home, they could go by another Jacques Martin address on île Saint-Louis.
He didn’t want his time with her to end yet—and she didn’t seem in a hurry to leave.
Though she’d confessed that meeting his best friend coupled with the prospect of meeting her birth father made her slightly queasy, not even that double whammy caused her to back down.
She’d returned to his apartment in the now-infamous yellow sundress, which was smart on her, and Garrett was proud to have her on his arm. So proud, in fact, that they’d gotten a later start than he’d hoped because he’d had an overwhelming desire to remove it.
Once they reached their destination, he guided her up the sidewalk to Henri’s door, which flew open while he was still in the process of knocking.
“Hi, Dad.” Dylan’s eyes widened along with his grin. “Tara!” He rushed out to greet the surprise visitor with a hug, and Garrett’s heart was divided. His son was thrilled to see Tara, and she him, but the affection they already shared wasn’t going to make her goodbye easy for any of them.
Garrett shoved the thought from his mind. One bridge at a time. The one he’d crossed last night had landed him in Wonderland, and he would stay there as long as possible.
“Garrett? Entre, entre!” Henri’s voice came from somewhere deeper inside the house.
Jean Luc and Veronique showed up close on Dylan’s heels, both of them excited to see Garrett again, so he wasn’t quite through the introductions when Henri entered the room.
His friend took one look at Tara—not a quick look, but a bold, head-to-toe-and-back ogle that made Garrett want to punch him in his handsome face—and immediately transformed into the sexy, suave Frenchman women flung themselves at. He stepped toward her, hand extended. “Bonjour, Tara. Bienvenue chez moi.”
Garrett’s hand instinctively went to the small of her back to stake his claim, but he reminded himself that he didn’t have a claim on this woman—she was a free spirit who would be going away soon, disappearing out of their lives as suddenly as she’d popped in. He dropped his arm back to his side.
Tara gave Henri’s hand a brisk shake. “Thank you, Henri. It’s nice to meet you.” As soon as she pulled her hand free, she caught Garrett’s arm and latched on to the crook of his elbow.
Henri’s eyes followed the movement, and his smile softened into a look of genuine affection. Then he shifted his gaze to Garrett and gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder. “Can you stay? The boys help Veronique plant the lettuce.”
“Please, Dad?” Dylan was always reluctant to leave any place where he was having fun.
Garrett was aware how anxious Tara was to check out the two addresses they had, but he wanted Henri to spend a little time with her, too. “Okay.” He nodded. “But only for a few minutes.”
“It will only take a few minutes, and I will try to keep him clean,” Veronique assured them with a smile as she followed the two boys outside.
Henri led Garrett and Tara into his living room with its low-slung, ultramodern furniture, which Garrett detested. The Italian leather in white and gray tones reminded him of a lounge that might be frequented by the storm troopers from Star Wars.
Their host indicated they were assigned to the love seat, throwing a wink Garrett’s way while Tara was getting settled. It was a small piece with abrupt ends and no arm rests, and two people sitting on it made for cozy conditions.
Garrett started to protest, but they weren’t staying long...and Tara’s thigh pressed tightly against his was nice.
“Do you enjoy Paris, Tara?” Henri asked.
“Yes. Very much.” She shot Garrett a grin that would’ve seemed innocent if she could’ve controlled the blush that crept into her cheeks. “It’s a beautiful city. Photos can’t do it justice.”
“What sights have you seen?” Henri settled into his favorite chair that looked to Garrett like a giant check mark.
Tara started naming off the places she’d visited, and Garrett watched Henri’s face tighten with concentration.
“You have the beautiful accent, but I am sorry that I do not understand all you say.”
Tara laughed. “I’ve been encountering the same thing for two weeks now.”
Garrett could tell that Henri hadn’t picked up all of that, either, but it didn’t seem to matter. His friend liked Tara, and he was glad for that. And if Tara felt uncomfortable, she didn’t show it. She had a manner about her that put people at ease. Now it seemed silly that he’d gone out of his way to avoid being around her.
“Do you happen to know anyone around here named Jacques Martin?”
Tara’s question startled Garrett, and he shifted in his seat. She turned to him and shrugged. “I figured I could just ask Henri about the address that’s close by. It might save us some time.”
“Tara is in Paris looking for someone,” Garrett explained to the unspoken question in Henri’s eyes.
“My birth father,” she added. “I just found out about him, and I came to Paris to try to meet him. His name is Jacques Martin.”
Garrett translated what Tara said into French, along with an abbreviated version of Tara’s story, and how she’d been going to addresses she’d generated from the phone book and the internet.
When he finished, Henri shifted his attention back to Tara. “The world, she is small. Oui, I know of the Jacques Martin who lives near. But he is not of the age to be your father.” His words were slow and distinct and edged with a tenderness Garrett had heard
often when they spoke of Angie...or Dylan. “He is peut-être thirty or thirty-five.”
Tara’s shoulders had visibly stiffened with Henri’s declaration that he knew such a man. Now they sank...and slumped...and Garrett’s heart sank with them. He saw her lip tremble slightly before she caught it between her teeth, but she gathered her composure quickly. “Well, thank you anyway, Henri.” She looked at Garrett and let out a deep breath. “Another one bites the dust, huh?”
Reflexively, his arm looped around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “That will just give us more time to spend looking for the right one.”
She nodded and gave a tight smile that he sensed covered a flood of disappointment. She was strong, this one. And though she didn’t need his arm anymore for physical or moral support, he left it around her anyway.
* * *
TARA AND GARRETT ROUNDED a corner and emerged from the cool shadow of a building into the bright sunlight. Dylan had been walking between them, holding both of their hands, but now he ran ahead to look into the window of a shop with a kite hanging outside. Despite the heat, Garrett tucked Tara’s hand under his arm as they walked, bringing her right side into a contact that felt much more intimate than he probably meant it to. She realized with a smile that her body was still stuck on some kind of thrill mode from last night.
She’d had an adequate six hours of sleep, dozing off around four, a full hour after Garrett’s soft snores started. But his kisses had flavored her dreams, and she’d woken to find his desire still raging. Then there had been breakfast and the visit with Henri. Hours had passed, yet she remained suffused with an excitement that made the events of last night seem only moments ago.
Now Garrett’s hand casually caressed hers as if it had always been there, and they were heading to rue Dante, an address that housed a map shop owned by a Jacques Martin.
“Have you thought about what you’ll say to your father when we find him?” Garrett shot her a sidelong glance as he maneuvered the two of them down the narrow sidewalk, all the while, keeping an eye on his son.
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