The Wild One

by Cardello, Ruth

  His fingers tightened on mine, and he placed my hand on his thigh. “Never.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Our connection felt so real. “What are you doing with me?” I hadn’t meant to voice the question, and certainly not in the earnest tone I’d used.

  He ran my hand a little farther up his thigh, almost to where, oh God, the evidence of how much he was enjoying our time together was right there in bulging glory. “The better question would be, What are you doing with me? You seem to know what you want. So tell me, Kitten, what do you want from me?”

  Oh yes, because he deals in fantasies. At least he’s willing to craft mine to my specifications. I thought about my prior relationships. None of them had been very exciting. Did I dare share that? I took a moment to describe my own part in how unexciting my sex life had been. “Back home, I’m often one of the guys. Nothing magical ever happens . . . men don’t see me as someone to romance. For just a couple days, I want to wear crazy-small underwear, sip champagne on a balcony, kiss on the steps of Montmartre, see the sights, then . . .”

  “Then,” he prompted with a smile that was pure sin.

  I shifted my hand up his thigh on my own. My smile was a challenge and a promise. “If you can’t figure out the next part, I’ve chosen the wrong date.”

  His kiss was the answer my body craved. It was bold and skilled. The crowd disappeared and time slowed until there was only this man and how good his lips felt on mine. When his tongue dipped into my mouth, I met it eagerly.

  By the time he lifted his head, we were both breathing raggedly. “You chose right. How long are you in Paris?”

  I could barely remember my name—and he wanted my itinerary? “I fly back Saturday.”

  “Me too.”

  He didn’t ask if I wanted to travel back with him because our time together had an expiration date. Normally that would bother me, but I was in Paris, and at twenty-seven I was a hop, skip, and a jump from turning thirty without ever doing anything crazy. One day, God willing, I’d be living a simple life, happily married with kids. When my daughters asked me if I’d ever done anything wild, I wanted to be able to lie and say I hadn’t.

  I didn’t want my denial to be the truth.

  I met Mauricio’s gaze and shivered with pleasure at the hunger I saw there. “Do you have any plans between now and then?” he asked in a deep, oh-so-smooth tone.

  I bit my bottom lip before answering, “It’s still mostly up in the air.”

  He bent near my ear. “Then consider yourself mine until Saturday.”

  I nearly stood and stripped right there. I’m in.

  A little voice in my head warned that I should clarify what being “his” meant before agreeing, but when he kissed me again, I decided we could sort the details out as we went.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MAURICIO

  I’d told myself to take it slowly with Wren.

  I needed to stop kissing her before I dragged her off to the bushes and we got arrested for doing any of the things I was imagining. I sat back and put my arm across the bench behind her, striving to look less affected by her than I was.

  Consider yourself mine until Saturday . . .

  She hadn’t said yes, but she sure as hell hadn’t said no.

  She should have said no.

  It wasn’t that I’d never been with a woman who would have agreed to a temporary arrangement. In fact, five days would be more commitment than most hookups would want. By my standards, breakfast in the morning was overkill. Nothing worse than a lingering lay. Chop-chop, ladies. Everyone had places to go, and showering at my place never made a repeat performance more likely.

  Sure, that made me sound like a dick, but I chose women with similar philosophies. I’d never expected anyone to make me breakfast. Morning sex? Sure, if I woke up and my date was still there and we both had time. But anything more would have been unnecessary pretense.

  So why the hell had I promised a woman I just met almost a week of my time?

  I rolled my eyes skyward.

  Come on, what man could turn down a sex kitten wannabe? How could I be expected to not put time into that tutorial?

  Time was relative. Five days of sitting through meetings with Felix would have dragged on. Helping Wren find her wild side? That would fly by.

  I glanced down at her. She gave me that shy smile of hers that made me want to hug her as much as I wanted to fuck her. She was looking for romance from a man who didn’t do romance—who’d never had to.

  What did men do when they wanted to woo a woman?

  The more I thought about it, though, the more I liked the idea of flexing that muscle. Others had called me amazing without asking me to put much effort in. Wren wanted magic. The idea of giving her that memory, of sending her home with a huge, satisfied grin on her face, was exciting.

  I’m going to rock this woman’s world.

  I’ll show her the perks of being with a man who knows his way around a woman’s body.

  She already looked willing to end the tour early. I could have stolen her away somewhere private, but I didn’t want to—not yet.

  Why?

  The answer was somewhere in that sweet smile of hers. I didn’t want to just fuck her. Didn’t want to just wow her. This was a woman who cared for her parents. Earnest. Confident enough to be here and to have been clear about what she wanted, but innocent enough to make me wonder if every man in her hometown was blind.

  I didn’t want her to regret her time with me.

  I glanced back at the road, where a large red open-topped bus was passing by. I’d also vowed to ride that thing until she begged for it to end. Taking her hand once again in mine, I stood. “Ready to continue the tour, Kitten?”

  She rose to her feet and met my gaze. “I do want to see Paris.”

  I laughed. “So do I.” Five days. No need to rush. I would take my time and savor the anticipation. Even if that involved spending the day on a crowded bus.

  Inspiration sparked her eyes and she leaned in. “Do you speak French?”

  “A little.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “How do you say kitten in French? Maybe you could call me that.”

  I coughed on a laugh. “Not a good idea. In French the word for a kitten or female cat is usually a reference to a part of you I can’t pet in public.”

  “Oh. Wow. Right. English then.” Her face went pink.

  “In public at least,” I murmured.

  She looked down, then met my gaze again. “Only because I’d hate to see you arrested.”

  I laughed. She might not think she was a good flirt, but everything she did and said was proving effective at keeping my cock in a constant, painful state of arousal.

  I placed my hand on her back, and we started to walk. My phone rang. I reluctantly answered. “Speak.”

  “I’m getting discharged around noon. Is Cecile out?”

  “I believe so. We didn’t discuss a time.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “What you told me to.”

  “Are you with someone? Is that why you can’t speak?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Better not be.” I looked Wren over again and a wave of jealousy took me by surprise. If Felix hadn’t broken his favorite appendage, he would have been the one to meet Wren while she was in the hot tub with Cecile. Was that the kind of wild she was looking for? I didn’t like that I didn’t know. Normally I was fine sharing, but the idea of another man’s or woman’s mouth tasting hers filled me with . . . a possessive anger I hadn’t known I was capable of.

  Mine. Even if only for five days. I ended the call and spun Wren so she was in my arms on the side of the path. “From now until Saturday there is no one else.”

  Her eyes widened, then lit with more amusement than was flattering. “So, super-short-term monogamy. I can handle that.”

  I was self-aware enough to understand why she was laughing at me. It sounded ridicu
lous, but I needed to know that no one else would have her. “Good.”

  The kiss I gave her was rougher than I meant it to be. I plundered; I claimed. My hands dug into her hair, and I ground my lips against hers. No, it didn’t make sense, but this attraction went to a primal level.

  When I raised my head, I half expected her to push me away. Never had I felt so close to losing control. Instead she ran one of her fingers lightly over her swollen bottom lip. She flicked the end of it with her tongue before raising that wet finger to trace my lips.

  I took it gently between my teeth and held it.

  A shudder passed through her body. “If you want—”

  “Not yet.” I knew what she was offering, but that was not how I wanted this to go. It wasn’t what she wanted either, not really. “First I want to prove to you just how much I want you.”

  She shifted against my swollen cock. “I have a pretty good idea.”

  I chuckled, then bent down and said, “If you want to see Paris, I suggest we do it before I get you in my bed. Something tells me once I have you there, neither of us will want much else.”

  “Crepes,” she said breathlessly.

  I shook my head in confusion.

  “Sex makes me hungry, and I’ve always wanted to try the crepes here.” She said it so openly, so matter-of-factly, that I threw back my head and laughed.

  “Condoms and crepes. I’m making a list, Kitten.”

  Her gaze fell to my chest. “And maybe a toy.”

  Whoosh, that knocked the breath clear out of me. “Really?”

  Without looking up, she continued, “Nothing too crazy, I’ve just always wanted to try one.”

  I hugged her. Could she hear my heart beating crazily in my chest? “How have you not used one?”

  She mumbled, “I was always afraid someone would know. Aren’t they noisy?”

  I kissed the top of her head and chuckled. “We’ll find you a quiet one.” I reluctantly stepped back. “Come on, I see the next bus coming.”

  We got to the stop just in time. A moment later we were seated once again in the open top level. This time my arm stayed around her.

  “So the call you had earlier—was it Felix?”

  I might not be the forever kind of guy, but I’ve also never been a liar. I couldn’t say it had been Felix on the phone. Doing so might open the door to questions I wouldn’t be able to answer without betraying Felix.

  She frowned. “You don’t have to tell me. I can see it on your face. Where is he? With another woman?”

  All I could do was look at her and remind myself I was following the only protocol I could, considering my friend had broken his dick.

  She looked away, then turned toward me with fire in her eyes. “Just to be clear, I don’t care if we last a day or a week, don’t ever send someone to tell me to leave. You should both be ashamed of yourselves for treating Cecile that way.”

  I opened my mouth and didn’t like how my first response sounded too much like I was defending myself, so I snapped it shut again.

  Without knowing what Felix was going through, my role the night before appeared callous. Even a one-night stand deserved more respect than it looked like we’d given Cecile. I sighed. “Tell Cecile it wasn’t Felix’s intention to hurt her. He’s dealing with something right now that he felt he needed to handle on his own.”

  “So he had you handle Cecile.” Wren pursed her lips, then seemed to relax. “That didn’t give me a great first impression of you.”

  I ran my hand over her hair. Yes, Wren wanted me, but she wasn’t enamored of me. I wondered about the men she’d been with, and my mood soured. Had she imagined a future with any of them? Did she still think of them? I bet she wanted to know their last names. She doesn’t want to know mine. “Then I’m glad I have the next few days to change your opinion of me.”

  She gave me an odd look. “Does it really matter what I think of you?”

  Her question cut through me. I had voiced that exact question myself with other women, usually while bantering back and forth with one I didn’t care if I saw again.

  I hardly knew Wren, and I had no expectation of seeing her again after this week.

  But I didn’t like how okay she was with that scenario.

  Which made no sense, but not much had since we’d met.

  Her smile twisted as she apparently assigned her own meaning to my silence. “That’s what I thought.” She squared her shoulders. “And it’s okay, because I don’t want more than this.”

  Me either, I told myself.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WREN

  Rather than getting off at the next stop, we rode through several. I put only one earbud in so I could hear the tour but also talk to Mauricio. Most of our conversation revolved around either a fun fact we’d learned from the audio tour or something beautiful we passed.

  Our conversation had momentarily gone somewhere uncomfortable, and we’d both pulled back to the safety of superficial topics.

  “Oh, let’s get off here,” I exclaimed as the bus stopped within a block of Paris’s oldest section. If Mauricio hadn’t quickly risen to his feet, I might very well have climbed over him. As soon as we hit the pavement, I spared him a smile. “Sorry, I love history and architecture. Have you been to the sister islands? Île de la Cité and Île Saint-Louis?”

  Mauricio placed his hand on my lower back and shrugged. “I’m sure I have.”

  I checked my phone’s GPS to make sure I knew which direction to head, and I stepped out onto a crosswalk. “I’m so excited.”

  Mauricio trotted to keep up with me. “I can see that.”

  “I read a blog that described the islands as a village within a city—a sliver of the seventeenth century that has been frozen in time. I want to walk on their narrow cobblestone streets. I want to stand on the point of Île Saint-Louis, where I can see Notre Dame and just soak in the history of it, even with the recent fire.” We were crossing another busy street when our hands naturally intertwined. It was a little scary how comfortable I felt with a man I knew very little about. That concern fell away, though, as soon as we reached a main road that ran parallel to the Seine and the two islands came into view. Long covered boats, bateaux-mouches, slid by on the river. The stone wall of the islands reminded me of castles I’d dreamed of as a child.

  Magical and romantic—just as I’d requested.

  We made our way across the Pont de la Tournelle bridge. Tall stone-facade buildings lined the edge of the Île Saint-Louis, their endless rows of windows designed to give every resident a view of the river. The streets narrowed as we made our way toward the center of the island. I stopped in my tracks when I looked along the street that ran down the middle. Unlike so many other areas in Paris, it wasn’t overcrowded. Boutique shops, bakeries, fromageries, and cafés lined both sides of the street. The sound of French being spoken created a musical background to my trip back in time. I gripped Mauricio’s hand. “Love at first sight is a real thing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Sorry, Mauricio, but in this moment Paris has my heart. I touched the cornerstone of the nearest building. “I can feel the soul of the city here. Look, that cobblestone was laid hundreds of years ago. Before cars. Before computers, people stood here, looked down this very road, and saw shops just as we are. It hasn’t changed with the rest of the world. It’s like traveling back in time. Imagine taking a tiny island of farmland and not only making it residential, but also connecting it to the rest of the city in such a way that it becomes its heart. I get giddy just thinking about it. I’ve always read that Paris is the city of love, and now I see why they call it that.”

  “I doubt that was what they were referring to.”

  I pulled my gaze from the view of Rue Saint-Louis to see if his expression matched his dry tone. It did. I might have been blown away by the history before me, but he wasn’t. How could he not be?

  Oh, wait, because for him today was about building a fantasy. Disappointing, but important
to remember. I already knew we had nothing in common. It had been foolish of me to expect him to get excited about the history of the island. I told myself not to, but I couldn’t not ask him: “What do you see when you look down this road?”

  “Is there something here besides you?” His smile was all practiced charm.

  I frowned.

  First I was irritated with him for being less than I wished he were.

  Next I was irritated with myself for not being able to let go and simply enjoy my time with him. I hadn’t had sex in years, and he was beautiful. If his cock was half as big as he seemed to think it was, it would be more satisfying than spending another night with my own hand. He didn’t have bad breath. He might even know what he was doing in bed. Did it have to be more complicated than that?

  “You’re glaring at me.” He tipped his head to the side and spoke slowly, as if this was something he hadn’t encountered before.

  I flexed my shoulders back and forth and tried to shake off my mood. “Sorry. I was just hoping you might share my enthusiasm. It’s not important.”

  Now he was frowning. “It obviously is to you.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that, or if I was even supposed to, so I just held his gaze without speaking.

  We stood that way for several long minutes . . . another silent standoff.

  Great, I’ve made it awkward again.

  He blinked first and ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry, I’m used to things being easier.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Because women normally throw themselves at your feet?”

  “They aim higher, but yes.”

  My mouth rounded in shock; then I saw the smile in his eyes. “Charming.”

  “That’s how they describe me.”

  “That’s not the word that comes to my mind.” I folded my arms across my chest.

  A grin spread across his face. “Really. Care to share?”

  “Cocky.”

  “What some call cocky others call confidence,” he challenged, not looking at all bothered.

  “Tell me, if you’re so great, why aren’t you in a relationship?”