The Paris Apartment (Love Nests Book 1)

by Sophia Karlson

  “Don’t ever run from me again, Mila. Please.” His fingers edged up her forearm, cupping her elbow and luring her closer into his embrace. “I know last night was… a lot to digest.” He hesitated. She wasn’t fighting him, she wasn’t pushing him away and he hugged her tighter. “Can we talk about it?”

  He let go to search her face. Her eyes were downcast, her cheeks pale. Her eyelashes glittered with moisture, but she didn’t blink a single tear down. Trying to be so bloody brave. He could resist a lot of things, but not that sweet trembling lip that she was about to trap with her teeth.

  He leaned in and kissed her. A soft, melting kiss that drove every feeling home. He wanted her, he needed her. He was in love with her. He poured every emotion into their kiss and she pressed into him.

  People moved past and crowded them. Mila pulled away and glanced to the side. “There’re so many people here,” she said softly as she stepped away and straightened her shirt.

  Her eyes flittered over the crowd that ambled through the garden and a ready blush stole to her cheeks. Their intimate kiss had caught a few curious glances. He should have known Mila would be shy in a setting like this. His heart chanted mine, mine, mine.

  He took her hand and led her to a path in the opposite direction of where most people were going.

  “It smells so heavily of roses,” she murmured, shooting an uncertain glance at him.

  “It’s the best time of year to visit the garden.” And the last place on earth he’d ever thought to do this. “Mila—”

  “Can we sit down?” she interrupted. “My legs are shaky and they might give way soon.”

  He glanced at her, concerned. “You’ve eaten?”

  She chuckled. “Yes. It’s just… you. And seeing you here so soon. I just checked my things in at the youth hostel, never thinking you’d come today.”

  “You thought I’d be able to stay away?”

  She licked her lips and hunched up her shoulders. Did she really not understand how he felt about her? The love in his heart swelled and he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and fly away with her. Instead, he nudged her towards an empty bench in the shade, out of the throng of tourists.

  “I never thought this would happen,” he said as he sat down next to her.

  “What?”

  “Us. Falling in love.”

  She gazed into his eyes and shot him a sad smile. “No, it wasn’t the plan.”

  “I’ve guarded against it all my life, Mila,” he sighed. “With the home I was brought up in… with my mom, my dad… Love was pain. I suppose you must know some of it, having been in Stacey’s life.”

  “Only some.”

  “Can I fill you in?”

  Mila nodded. She fiddled with her bag as the story poured from him, every detail that she’d never been privy to. When he told her about Stacey, she broke down completely and the tears she’d been relentlessly checking washed down her cheeks.

  The shade shifted as they sat quietly for a long time. He was spent but felt lighter for it.

  “That’s what you meant by self-defense?” she whispered. “That you got into… swinging because you wanted to protect yourself from falling in love? And getting hurt?”

  “Probably. The thinking was that an open relationship would protect me from a cheating partner. I’d figured that she’d have no reason to go behind my back.”

  She nodded, her hand finding his; he clutched it tightly between his own.

  “Mila. That’s not what I want. I can’t see myself wanting that ever again. Not now… that I’ve met you. Not ever again.”

  She searched his gaze, faltering.

  “I can’t change my past, Mila,” he sighed; he had to look away from her gaze that spoke so openly to him, telling him she was scared.

  She didn’t respond and everything he’d hoped for slipped from his grasp, which had been weak from the start.

  “No, you can’t,” she murmured eventually. “I’m actually a bit jealous of the freedom and… uninhibited way you go about this whole sex thing.”

  He chuckled. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t intend to go back to the club or any other similar club. Ever. I’m going to sell out.”

  “Really? You said it was a good investment.”

  “I’d rather invest in this thing we have for each other.” He faced her and cupped her cheek in his palm. “I don’t want just once, Mila. I’m in love with you. I want this…” He let go of her cheek to indicate the garden, the sunlight, and the beauty that surrounded them. He wanted her forever. “I’ve never had this feeling with anyone else.” He closed his eyes for a second, breathing out the relief of telling her how he felt. When he looked at her again she’d licked her lips and they were begging for his kiss. “And this…” He glanced shamelessly further down her neck and her chest, pausing at her breasts before sweeping lower to where her legs were crossed, concealing her hidden treasure.

  She said nothing, the heat of embarrassment staining her cheeks a delicious pink. He cursed under his breath and pulled her close to crush her mouth with a kiss that he deepened slowly. He had no other means to make her understand how serious he was. She opened for him in an agonizing tease that made him want to pull her onto his lap in a straddle if for nothing else than to hide his arousal. When he eventually pulled away he whispered hoarsely to her, “What can I do to convince you? What do you want?”

  She swept her hair from her rosy cheeks, flustered after the intensity of their kiss. “I want to live in… sin. With you.”

  His pulse raced, the heat of the moment tightening every muscle in his abdomen. “Then come to New York with me. Next week. And then Singapore. Back to Paris. Come see the world with me. Until we get dizzy from going around and around.”

  She dropped her head back and laughed. To hear her so happy was food for his soul. She turned to him with sparkles in her eyes. “You’re crazy.”

  “You travel light. You’ll have everything you need. Kick-start your career in New York.” He searched her eyes, begging with his own for her to say yes. “I’ll look after you. There’s nothing I want more… the idea of not having you by my side—”

  “You’re so crazy.” She shook her head, still chuckling. “But I kinda love your type of crazy.”

  He chuckled and she leaned in to kiss him, deeply. After a wistful moment, she broke away and brushed his cheek with her fingers. “Now, Mr. Sinclair. The last time I checked, this garden wasn’t going anywhere in the near future,” she murmured. “But do you think we could go somewhere…?”

  Sassy Mila Johnson had read his thoughts, read his body, just as he’d read hers. “You’re crazy, but I kinda love your type of crazy too.”

  He stood and helped her up, and hand in hand they strode out of the garden.

  epilogue

  Three Months Later

  Mila smiled wistfully as she ran her finger down the frame of a watercolor she’d done of Stacey. Taking a few steps back, she made sure the painting still hung straight. Not that it mattered anymore. She glanced around the gallery. In the perfect lighting, her art literally shone and she exhaled in elated relief. Every single painting had a red dot next to it, indicating that it had been sold. She was making a living out of her art and the reality of it was liberating.

  An arm wrapped around her waist and she leaned against James’s chest. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Congratulations, my love. You’ve been a roaring success, as I knew you would be.”

  He was her biggest fan, her cheerleader, her anchor. She turned her face towards his, relishing the sweet scrape of his cheek against hers, his lips trailing kisses in search of her mouth.

  “Has everybody left?” she whispered against his lips, a certain heat building in her body from being in James’s arms. He held her with a bit of reverence, his fingertips stroking down her sides and hips in a gentle tease. She caught
his hands in her own, pausing the slow burn in its tracks.

  “The catering company is cleaning up. They’ll be done soon.”

  She turned into his embrace and hooked her arms behind his head. “Thank you. For everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  In the end, she’d never gone home until a few weeks before her exhibition. Instead, she’d hopped the globe with James, staying with him in New York, Paris, and Singapore. When he’d had some leave, he’d taken her to the Maldives as if they were on honeymoon. Heat rose to her cheeks and a delicious tingle whispered between her legs. The time with James had been just that—a long extended honeymoon. He had set her free on so many levels. Her experiences of the past three months were exhibited on the walls for anyone to see between some of her earlier paintings and drawings, and she was proud of every piece that hung in the gallery.

  “Anything for you,” he murmured, then kissed her, deeply. Around them, feet were scuffling, glasses clinking as they were gathered onto trays, but they didn’t stop the slow exploration of each other’s mouths.

  When it grew quiet around them he pulled away. “All these watercolors you did of Stacey sold too.”

  “I’m surprised.” The watercolors were raw, somehow deprived of Stacey’s natural beauty. Instead, they scraped under the surface, at Stacey’s soul, exposing her heartache and loss. Doing these paintings in New York during Stacey’s recent visit had been therapeutic for both of them.

  “The same man bought all four of them.”

  “What? Really?”

  “I checked the list earlier, I didn’t think they would go so quickly… I still wanted to keep them.” James’s voice was strained.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I would never have exhibited them if you wanted them.”

  He shrugged and she knew why—he was dealing with what had happened to Stacey, too, but in his own way. If seeping their pain into art and sending it into the world helped James, then she’d do a million more.

  “Who bought them?” Mila asked, her curiosity piqued.

  “Ivo Linder,” he answered. “A certain Doctor Ivo Linder.”

  Mila paused. “Dr. Linder?” The man Stacey had referred to on more than one occasion, mostly in scathing terms. He was the university counsellor Stacey had to see twice a week until the semester was done. Or until Linder signed her off, whichever happened first. She glanced at James, but his eyes studied the watercolors, his jaw tight and not revealing that he knew any more.

  “Did you by chance meet him?” Stacey had arrived at the exhibition on her own, but earlier Mila had watched her sneak off with a man Mila had never met.

  “No. But there was this guy Stacey walked circles around for about two hours. Then they left together.”

  So many things were off with that situation that Mila closed her eyes for a second. Three months until the semester was finished. One set of final exams. One last chance for Stacey to get things right. God, Stacey, please stay out of trouble.

  A shudder ran down her back at the thought of Stacey tossing everything to the wind on a whim. Dr. Linder was there to stop her from burning her future at the stake, not to lead her by the hand to the stake to tie her to it. You didn’t visit art exhibitions solo and leave with your university shrink when something wasn’t afoot. Something that could only leave a pile of ash behind.

  “Are you cold?” James asked, interrupting her ill-directed train of thought.

  Summers were slow to come in the Cape—it was as good an excuse as any. “This dress is a bit skimpy for this time of year.” She wore the little black dress James had bought for her in Paris.

  “I love that dress on you.” He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “But I love it better off, to be honest.”

  She chuckled. “Thank you.” Was it possible for her to love James deeper? More?

  “Let’s walk the gallery one last time.”

  “Yes.” She slipped her hand in his and he led the way. She’d never see these art pieces again and many of them told the story of her journey. There were her small cityscapes of New York, Singapore, and Paris, framed in layers of white on white, clustered between drawings of people she’d met en route.

  “I’m sorry your parents weren’t here.” James gave her fingers a soft squeeze.

  She shrugged. It didn’t matter, despite it being her first solo exhibition. Her parents and brothers, with the exception of Ruben, had been glaringly absent.

  “It’s for the better, really.”

  James chuckled. “Yep. Way too much of my naked flesh exhibited here for Pastor Johnson’s eyes.”

  “You didn’t mind, did you? Having them all here…” Mila hadn’t exactly been shy in introducing her model to anyone asking. James’s nudes were pieces that poured out of her, like nothing could hold them back any longer.

  “Of course I don’t mind. You’re just satisfying my exhibitionist streak.”

  She laughed and swatted playfully at his arm. “You may exhibit all you want, James Sinclair.” She loved the ease he felt within his own skin.

  He rubbed his thumb over her hand, quietly assuring her that any exhibition was for her eyes only. Around them, the gallery grew quiet and empty. They were all alone.

  They stopped in front of her most expensive painting, an oil she’d ended up doing in New York, painting in a studio belonging to one of James’s art world connections in the city. It was a project that had taken up a lot of time, but she could leave it to dry between their trips to the city and pour all her energy into it when they were there for a few weeks.

  “I rather like this one. And the fact that you had the time and place to do it.”

  “It was fun.” And something different.

  “Mila…” James turned and took her hands in his. “The sale of the Paris apartment has gone through.”

  “So quick?” Her heart tugged. She loved being in the center of Paris, surrounded by history and art, but understood that James had to sell the apartment to let go of his past.

  “The sale of my share in the club will go through in a matter of weeks.”

  Mila nodded. He’d let go of everything for her. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

  He smiled down at her when they broke apart for a breath. “We can get another apartment wherever you choose. So, your pick. Do you want to set up house in New York, Singapore or Paris?”

  Her breath stalled in surprise. “Set up house?” This living in sin thing was rather delicious, but she’d love to have somewhere to settle that would be theirs.

  “Set up house, with you. That’s all I can think of.”

  She hitched her eyebrows at him. “I knew you only had one thing on your mind, Mr. Sinclair. But I hadn’t imagined for one second that it would be setting up house.”

  He laughed. “When you’re around, yes.” He gave her a peck on the tip of her nose. “When you’re not around, all I can think of is how to make you the happiest woman in the world.” He let go of her hand and slipped his into his jacket’s inner pocket, caressing her breast on the way.

  Every time he’d hugged her since she’d put on his jacket, there had been something hard pressing against her breast. She blinked when he pulled a little square box from the inner pocket, her mouth suddenly dry.

  “So where’s it going to be? New York, Singapore, or back to Paris?”

  “New York,” she managed to whisper. Of course, it had to be New York. She’d give anything to live with him in a city that was drenched in creativity and art.

  “Mila Johnson, make me the happiest man in the world, and say yes.”

  “To what?” she teased him. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, her throat tight with emotion.

  “To marrying me.”

  She bit her lip and closed her eyes. She didn’t have to see the ring; she didn�
��t care what it looked like. All she wanted was to say yes.

  So she did.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  No matter the path you take in life, many people influence your journey. I have so many wonderful people who have walked the road with me, helping me get where I am today—thank you!

  My husband Richard: Thank you for all the craziness. You are my heart. I’ve never known it is possible to love someone like I love you.

  Supreet Kaith: what a privilege to have met you and to have worked with you. Every book just gets better. Here’s to many more to come! No pun intended.

  Tilla: for all the proofreading. And Stephen, of course, for tirelessly providing opportunities for copper buckets in the past few years. And now I got you to read a part of my book. Thank you both for being our anchors and sharing some of our best crazy adventures. Where are we going next?

  Isolde Dittrich: we’ve come such a long way from our early days in tourism. Thank you for proof reading and always being there for me.

  Allison Dobson: My personal cheerleader! Thank you for being such a wonderful and supportive friend.

  Laurie Sanders: for being the lookout rock in this maze of writing.

  Stephanie Létourneau: friend and life coach—thank you for giving me the kick in the butt exactly when I needed it. I miss you and wish that we could still be neighbors.

  Caitlin Bronaugh: critique partner extraordinaire and book angel! The person who literally helped me save this book. I would not have been able to do this without you. Not only are you a wonderful critique partner, you are a fabulous writer too. I’m looking forward to the day when you wow the world with your first book.

  About the Author

  I’ve always been drawn to the magical escape of books and the journeys they take us on without leaving the comfort of home. I’ve been fortunate to have traveled a bit, and this book was inspired by a visit to Paris some years ago. We were walking in some narrow alley in the 1st arrondissement of Paris, when I noticed a door with a single plaque with Club Privé written on it. My imagination got going, and at some point, things got pretty wild.