She groaned again. “Almost never. And didn’t you tell me you haven’t had great sex so far?”
Touché. Look at me, already thinking in French. “What does that have to do with being up-front with someone?”
“Making yourself a challenge is what makes it exciting for a man. Don’t think of that as a lie or a game; think of it as a dance. The best partners don’t tell each other what to do; they don’t discuss who they danced with last; they discover each other by learning to move together. The chase, the flirtation, that’s the music . . . You can dance without it, but why would you?”
I stood and walked to the mirror. Dancing was not a passion of mine. In preparation for a friend’s themed wedding, I took ballroom lessons and failed miserably at it. The instructor said I needed to follow rather than lead. I’ve never been good at giving up control.
Was that why my relationships failed as well? I didn’t let go. I needed to establish clear parameters, maintain control. No chase. No wild flirting.
No music.
Huh.
I dug some lip gloss out of my makeup bag and applied it. “Thanks, Cecile. You’ve given me something to think about.”
“Wren?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MAURICIO
Even as I made my way to the bus ticket kiosk, I doubted we’d actually take the tour. She wanted to see me again. I understood the feeling well. I’d spent a restless night, wondering how long Wren would make me wait before she called. I didn’t doubt for a moment that she would. Not after the way she’d kissed me back. Brief as it had been, it made her feelings for me clear.
I arrived at the kiosk a few minutes before nine and scanned the street for a sign of her. She’d left an impact on me. Not only could I remember exactly how she looked, smelled, and tasted, but I found it difficult to think about much else. I smiled as I pictured her peering at me—completely hidden by the side of the hot tub, except for those deep-blue eyes of hers.
I checked my phone for the time and frowned. When I looked up, she was directly in front of me, dressed in comfortable shoes, jeans, a T-shirt, and round mirrored sunglasses. Her long hair was swept back in a ponytail, and she had a water bottle in each hand.
I automatically accepted the one she held out to me. The brush of her hand against mine was enough to send my thoughts scattering. She smiled brightly, and all I could think about was kissing those sweet lips of hers.
With her free hand she took a map from the side of the kiosk. “So, open top or closed?”
“Open,” I replied automatically, then shook my head when I realized she was referring to the types of bus and not the scene my mind had wandered to again.
“I prefer those too,” she said cheerfully, then stepped up to the window and ordered two passes. Over her shoulder, she asked, “I don’t care if we go into any of the sights today. I just want to walk around, get my bearings, buy a few souvenirs, sit in a café, and sip strong coffee.” Before I could get my own wallet out, she’d paid for both of us. When she turned back to me, she waved the tickets. “I asked you, so this is my treat.”
She stepped away from the window and held out a ticket to me. I accepted it and took a moment to read it over. We’re actually doing this? “Had I known you wanted to see the city, I would have hired a car.”
Amusement lit her eyes. “I told you what my plans were for the morning.”
“You did.” Not even sure why, I smiled back. When was the last time my heart had beaten so wildly I found it difficult to concentrate? This thing between us—it was heady. Lead away, Wren.
Our eyes met and held for an electric moment. The pull of her was nearly irresistible. I leaned in, but just as I did, she whipped open a map. “It looks like from here we’ll go around the Arc de Triomphe. I want to go to the observation level, but that can wait until later in the week. That area is close enough to walk to, so no stress there. The next stop is Trocadéro. It looks like it’s right across the street from the Eiffel Tower. The blogs say the view is incredible from the top of the steps. I also want to walk around the tower. There are security checks to get beneath it, so we don’t have to go in that area, but I’d like to. I’ve heard the lines for the tower are crazy if we don’t have advance tickets, but we could still stroll around. What do you think?”
Her enthusiasm was so pure, I couldn’t look away. With my index finger, I gently tipped her chin up so our eyes met again. Her lips parted, and I couldn’t resist. I ran my lips gently over hers—a light, teasing kiss. Her lips moved against mine in a caress that shot fire through me. When I raised my head, I said, “I’m in.”
I was.
I would have agreed to go anywhere. I couldn’t explain the strength of my attraction, but I definitely wasn’t going to leave her side when being with her felt so good.
She looked away after our kiss, and her cheeks took on a pink hue. It was so sweet I wanted to hug her to me and promise we’d take this at whatever pace she needed. She busied herself with putting the map into her purse, then said, “Looks like we wait for the bus over there.”
I offered her my hand.
She hesitated, and I held my breath. Not since grade school had I put so much stock into such an innocent gesture. I had no idea if she would take my hand or not.
The bus pulled up, and people pushed in around us, jostling to get on the bus first. In the mix, her hand found mine, and a huge grin spread across my face. I guided her onto the bus, reluctantly breaking off our connection to accept a pair of earbuds. We made our way up the stairs to the second level, a journey that provided me with a nice view of her rounded ass. Perfection.
She chose a spot in the middle on the right side. I sat beside her. What looked like a cruise tour filled the seats in front of us—loud, excited, and mostly American. Couples of varied ages and nationalities were scattered around, as well as a few single passengers. I was probably the only passenger sporting a woody, but I couldn’t convince my cock that Wren wasn’t deliberately trying to excite it. Each time she shifted to look down at the street, her thigh slid along mine. When she stood to watch the people still loading below, her ass was eye level and so perfectly rounded I looked away and chuckled at how being around her reduced me to a teenage version of myself.
The bus pulled out into traffic, and she sat beside me with a happy sigh. “Perfect weather. Great company.” She waved her hands. “And freaking Paris!”
Her earbuds flew out of her hand and dropped to my feet. She instantly bent and began hunting for them, her face bobbing over my lap. It was too easy to imagine her there for an entirely different reason. In a strangled tone, I said, “I’ll find them.” I tossed her my unopened pair.
As I hunted around near my feet for the elusive little fuckers, I glanced up at her. She was in the process of choosing the correct channel for the audio tour. I’ve been with a lot of women—a lot. Too many, according to my brothers. Along the way, I’d gotten more than a little jaded. If things didn’t work out with a woman, there was always another one ready to step in, just as eager to be with me.
This was so different it felt dangerous. I closed my hand around the earbuds and straightened. “Got them.”
She nodded. Her eyes dilated, and she appeared as affected by me as I was by her.
Why were we on a tour and not in my bed? “Do you know what they have near Trocadéro?”
She shook her head without speaking.
“Taxis,” I said with sensual confidence.
She wrinkled her nose. “Do you know what else is there?”
“What?” I whispered, leaning closer.
“The Eiffel Tower.” After shooting me a sexy little smile, she turned and pointed at the Arc de Triomphe as we passed it. “Can you believe Napoleon never saw the arc completed? He promised his soldiers they would walk through it, but he was defeated before it was completed. Twelve avenues lead to it, each named after a French military leader. Imagine the planning that went into
making it happen. The architects who designed it are long gone, and forgotten by most people, but what they designed lives on. It tells a story of history so well, it has made its own mark.” Her hands clasped on her lap. “I used to dream that I’d one day create something that would make a difference.”
I placed my arm along the back of her chair. She sounded a little like she was spouting something she’d memorized from a guidebook. It made me wonder if traveling was new to her. There was such yearning in her last statement that I had to ask, “Are you an artist?”
“Engineer,” she said with a shrug, as if that were a common thing. It wasn’t, at least not in my circle of friends. I knew far too many people who hadn’t had to work for what they had. They lacked the kind of strength I sensed in this woman. “I’ve always enjoyed learning how things work. I get that from my father.” Her expression seemed conflicted—as if that fact made her both proud and a little sad. “What do you do?”
I didn’t want to talk about me. There was so much more I wanted to know about her, but she was waiting for a response, so I said, “Until recently I helped run my family’s company. Currently, I’m weighing my options. Deciding if that’s what I want to continue to do.”
She nodded. “Are you close to your family?”
“Very.”
“Me too.” There it was, that conflicted look again.
I took a guess and said, “It’s not easy to balance family and career.”
“No, it’s not.” Her voice lowered as she said, “I’m also at a bit of a crossroads, myself. That’s why I’m here. I needed a little distance.”
Her words resonated with me.
Crossroads.
I knew that place well.
A wisp of her hair blew across her eyes. I tucked it behind her ear. Touching her felt so natural. “Sometimes it helps to get an outside opinion.”
“Does it?” Her tone was a light challenge.
I like women, but I don’t normally delve too deeply into their lives. Things went smoother, ended easier, when exchanges were kept light. I surprised myself by saying, “I believe so.”
She held my gaze for a long moment. “Ever feel like you were meant for more?” Her smile twisted with self-deprecation. “What do they call that? A false sense of grandeur?”
I traced the line of her neck with my thumb. “I suppose that depends on what you mean by more.”
She cocked her head to one side. “I’m not looking for fame or money. I just want to do something important.” She looked down at her hands before meeting my gaze again. “I stayed in my hometown so I could be close to my parents. I have a good life there. I should be happy, but . . . is it wrong to also want some of this?” She waved a hand at the city that was a blur behind her.
“I don’t think so.” I wanted more of this—her beside me, openly sharing. “You don’t think you could have both?”
She let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know. Sometimes I do, but then I worry that if I look away from my family for a moment . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her bottom lip.
“What would happen?” My voice was barely above a whisper, but she heard me.
The tears that filled her eyes hit me like a sucker punch. She opened her mouth as if about to tell me, then shook her head without uttering a word. She turned away again and exclaimed, “Oh, look. The Trocadéro. Gorgeous.”
Yes. She was.
I was tangled up on the inside . . . protective of the innocence she exuded and turned on more than I should be. Wren wasn’t the kind of woman who should be with a man like me. She was the type my parents were praying all their sons would one day settle down with. Sebastian had found Heather. Intelligent. Unpretentious. Sweet. Trusting. Wren was the same.
Completely the wrong choice for a one-night stand.
Listening to Wren made me wish I were a different kind of man. Cecile had warned me not to break her friend’s heart. I’d dismissed the warning, but it echoed in my head as I looked down at Wren. People liked me too much, too fast. Would she?
Her devotion to her family had shone in her eyes. Someone like that probably fell hard.
I wanted to be with her, but I didn’t want to hurt her.
Or live through the guilt that would follow.
For all my superficial gifts, or perhaps because of them, I wasn’t capable of love.
Lust? Absolutely.
Sustained interest in one woman? It had never happened.
If she fell for me, she’d be devastated when I lost interest. And I would. Sure this was intense, but that didn’t mean the feeling would last. She didn’t come across as someone who was experienced enough to realize that.
I needed to end the date early—before I gave in to the temptation of her.
The bus pulled over.
She chuckled and twirled her earbuds in the air. “We didn’t even use them. Oh, well, hang on to yours. We can use them when we hop back on.”
Several of the people around us had begun to make their way toward the stairs. I stood and took out my phone. “I should check in with my office—”
Her expression fell as she rose as well. “Of course.”
She knew I was about to cut out, and her disappointment was clear. I’d already done what I was trying to avoid—taken the sparkle out of her eyes. Better this way, though, than to break her heart later. “I’m in Paris on business. I wanted to see you, but . . .”
“But you don’t want to fuck me enough to stay for the whole tour. I get it. Just go.”
“Whoa, what?” Did I hear her right?
The bus pulled out into traffic again, taking us both unawares. Over the intercom, in multiple languages, the driver requested that everyone remain seated.
She sat down with a huff and took out her map again. “Great, we missed the stop. The next one is farther down the river near the bateaux-mouches. I guess I could circle back . . . or take one of those.”
Speaking of circling back. I sat down again, turning to face her. “What did you just say?”
“The bateaux-mouches. They’re a kind of boat.”
“I know what bat—before that. About me not wanting you enough to stay for the tour?”
Before answering, she folded the map up and stuffed it in her pocket. “Cecile predicted you’d ditch and run after the first stop. Actually, she doubted you’d even agree to come on the tour at all. That was the bet we had. She said today would be a good gauge of how much you wanted to be with me.”
My eyebrows headed toward my hairline. Wren was a strange mix of shy and blunt. “So this was a test.”
She looked down, then met my eyes again. “For her, not for me. I thought it would be fun to spend the day with you. Sadly, you lived down to her expectations. So it’s fine. Get off at the next stop. I didn’t come to Paris to meet anyone.” She glared at me. “All you’re doing now is blocking my view.”
She crossed her arms and turned away from me.
I stared at the back of her head for a time, then folded my arms as well and sat back. No good deed goes unpunished. There I was trying to do the right thing, trying to be the good guy for once, and what did it get me?
Dismissed.
Neither of us spoke. A silent standoff.
She shot me an irritated look as she put in her earbuds.
Childishly, I did the same, even though I couldn’t have cared less about the Paris information on the recording.
When the bus stopped near the river, I didn’t get up. If she wanted me to move, she could damn well ask me to.
She didn’t. She sat there, earbuds still in, back to me, as if I were a stranger she was barely tolerating.
The tour announced the next stop would be directly in front of the Eiffel Tower. She’d been so excited about walking around it. I couldn’t let her miss it. I took out my earbuds and touched her arm.
She removed hers and gave me such a cold look I smiled. Right or wrong, I liked that she wasn’t worried about impressing me.
Her
eyes narrowed. “Yes?”
What I should do and what I wanted to do were in direct opposition to each other. Was there a third option, one that included bringing the smile back to her eyes without taking things too far? “I’ve never walked around the Eiffel Tower.”
“No?” She didn’t sound like she believed me.
“No. I spent a good deal of time in Paris when I was younger, but mostly at clubs.”
She glanced at me, then turned to look forward. “I can see that.”
I wasn’t used to being dismissed. I ducked to speak closer to her ear. “Can you? VIP everything. Never waiting in line—ever. I was kind of a big deal in this city.”
The look she gave me made me replay my words in my head, then groan. She was not impressed, and I couldn’t blame her. I was acting like an idiot. My brain didn’t function right around her.
She arched an eyebrow. “It doesn’t sound like we have anything in common. I’d rather skip the line at a museum than a bar.”
I wanted to say, “Me too,” but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been inside a museum. Grade school field trip? No, wait, I’d also gone to one as part of a college assignment. Her expression hardened the longer I remained silent.
She looked me over again, then said, “I don’t care how boring it sounds or if I’ve offended you. Usually I would. I spend too much time worrying about how everyone else feels and making sure they’re all okay. I’m on vacation from that, and this is my first time in Europe. I refuse to apologize for wanting to see everything—and that includes all the touristy sights as well as any hidden gems I come across. So stay or go. I really don’t care.”
I wasn’t offended—I was impressed.
I liked the way she knew exactly what she wanted. People often weren’t honest with me. They hid their flaws, lied about their preferences, did what I wanted to do. I’d gotten used to it—had come to accept it as normal. Wren was proof that some people were made of tougher stuff. What did that say about the women I’d chosen to be with?
For several years, keeping Sebastian out of trouble and my family’s company afloat had been all-consuming. Perhaps easy was all I could handle back then. But how about now? I had my freedom again. What did I want to do with it?
The Wild One Page 5