Someone bumped him, shattering the fragile moment. Pulling back, he shifted again so that they were looking out at the view. Unfortunately, his mind was still on the lost kiss, still wondering what it would feel like to taste her lips. Would she melt against him?
He sighed, staring out at the views but…they weren’t as interesting anymore. Not nearly as interesting as kissing Rachel. Feeling her press her softness against him while knowing that she was his woman would be…unimaginably heady.
“We should go,” he said, abruptly turning, but keeping his arm around her waist to protect her from the milling crowd.
The private staff elevator was waiting and whisked them to the ground level. “Merci,” he said to Elizabet and shook her hand. “I appreciate the speedy in and out with your assistance.”
She smiled, glanced at Rachel with a tinge of envy since Rachel was still in his arms, still pressed against him even though they were safely on the ground.
Unfortunately, the jealous glance must have alerted Rachel of her current position because she jerked away, and smoothed her hands down over her dress.
They made their wait back to the SUV and Tarin took her hand as she stepped into the vehicle. He paused, watching her cute butt as she ducked down, but the view quickly disappeared when she found her seat.
With a silent groan, Tarin followed, sitting next to her and wishing he could take her hand or, even better, pull her onto his lap. Instead, he focused on the next stop. “Now to Montmartre.”
“I’ve never even seen Montmartre,” she said, primly folding her hands in her lap.
He looked at her, intrigued by the formal demeanor after such a sweetly affectionate reaction on the tower.
“Are you prepared to climb?”
She blinked and pushed her glasses higher up onto her nose. “Climb?”
“Yep. There are three hundred steps up to the cathedral.” He chuckled at her grimace. “Relax. I’ll get you a crepe at the base, so you’ll be full of energy.”
That seemed to perk her up and she looked out the window eagerly. “A crepe? A real crepe?” she whispered with excitement.
He smiled at her eagerness. “Have you never had a crepe made from a street vendor?”
She shook her head, those corkscrew curls dancing around her cheeks and his fingers itched to catch one, feel its texture. In the dim light of the palace, her hair looked auburn-brown. But in the sunlight, there were sparks of red, and he was fascinated by the difference. She continued to spark his interest in unexpected ways.
“No. I’m from Georgia. We don’t really have street vendors where I come from. There might be some hot dog vendors in Atlanta. And we have some interesting foods at the state fair, of course. But nothing like handmade crepes!”
He chuckled. “There are some who think of the hot dogs in New York as a delicacy.”
She squinched up her nose. “I’ve read about what goes into hot dogs. No thank you!”
“I agree, but they do seem iconic.”
“I’m not even sure that there’s actual meat in a hot dog. At least, not meat that I’d eat if it were put on my plate. So no, I’ll pass.”
The SUV driver pulled up to the curb and Tarin stepped out, then turned to hand her out. Rachel hesitated, but he didn’t relent, waiting patiently for her hand. When she placed it in his, he tightened his fingers around hers, watching her reaction. Sure enough, just as had happened up in the tower, her expression changed, her lips softened and her eyes brightened with awareness.
Excellent, he thought. He hadn’t planned to seduce the lovely woman, but when she looked at him like that, he knew that she burned with the same desire he felt. Tarin vowed not to rush her though. He’d take things slowly and if she felt pressured in any way, he’d back off.
With that plan in place, he tucked her hand onto his arm and led her over to one of the street vendors. “Duex crepes au chocolat, s’il vous plait,” he said to the vendor.
Rachel watched the vendor, utterly fascinated, and Tarin watched Rachel as the man scooped the egg mixture onto the flat heating surface, then lifted a wooden tool and smoothed the egg mixture into a large circle. The crepe cooked quickly and the man flipped it over, then added real chocolate pieces to the center.
Tarin watched as Rachel licked her lips, leaning forward like a small child eager for candy. Once again, she’d surprised him with her eagerness, her lack of guile. And especially, her appetite. He couldn’t stand it when women picked at a pile of lettuce leaves, looking like skeletons. Rachel was slender, but she obviously didn’t starve herself.
When the vendor handed her a crepe, Tarin watched as she took her first bite, holding his own as he waited for her verdict.
“Oh, this is amazing!” she whispered reverently, licking a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth.
He watched as she ate, his thoughts once again off into a sexual fantasy. Would it always be like this with her? Wasn’t there anything she could do that would keep his mind away from making love to her?
Probably not, he sighed and ate his own crepe, not really tasting it since he was still focused on that mouth of hers.
“Let’s go,” he groaned, taking their trash and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. With that, he took her hand. “Ready?”
Rachel looked up at the long hillside. There were two ways to get to the top. Up those stairs or via the trolley-like thing that toted people up the hillside. There was a long line for the trolley, so she glanced back up the stairs. “I should have worn different shoes for this, but…” With a smile, she nodded up at him. “Ready!”
With a grin, he started up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, she was gasping for breath. He seemed like he’d just strolled around the block. He wasn’t out of breath, not even sweating a little.
“You could at least pretend that you’re a bit winded,” Rachel grumbled as she glared up at him.
He laughed. “Sorry, honey. You could always join me for a workout in the morning.”
Rachel looked up at him, wondering if it was a sexual workout. Or was that just where her mind had gone?
Fortunately, Tarin didn’t give her much time to wonder. “Come on inside. It’s beautiful!”
They walked along the courtyard and Rachel looked around, stunned by the crowd. People were sitting and picnicking, laughing, talking, debating or just milling casually around. For some, it didn’t appear as if they were doing much other than reading or relaxing. “Seems like a lot of tourists,” she commented.
“A lot of them are students who come up here to sit in the sunshine or artists who want to sketch the city,” he replied.
Inside, the cathedral was quiet and dark, but astonishingly beautiful. In the narthex area, there weren’t pews, but instead, moveable chairs were lined up, as if waiting for parishioners to arrive. And yet, the main draw of her gaze was the enormous mural on the domed ceiling.
“It’s beautiful!” she whispered, walking alongside him.
“Montmartre is actually the name of the hill and the surrounding area,” Tarin told her as he led her through the cathedral. “This church is called the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, or Sacre-Coeur.”
“I like it,” she smiled up at him. “And you have an amazing French accent. How did you learn the language?”
“Again, one of those princely lessons we all have to learn.” He took her hand and led her down one of the pews to sit down. “This place was built over eight hundred years ago.” He shook his head in amazement. “How did they do it? With all that we’ve learned over the past eight hundred years, how did the architects build something this amazing? Something that has endured for centuries?”
She’d never really thought about it through that lens before. “I can’t imagine,” Rachel replied honestly, then turned to look up at him. “If you didn’t have your royal responsibilities, would you be building things?”
He paused thoughtfully. And then he nodded slowly. “Yes. Most likely.”
She smiled
, feeling a bit sad for him. Not too sad because…well, because he was a freaking prince who lived a life of luxury, servants catering to his every whim, and the ability to travel wherever he wanted. She still hadn’t figured out how he’d made the coffee this morning, but she was fairly certain that he hadn’t done it. No way!
“So, being in charge of the infrastructure of the country was the next best thing?”
He shrugged. “In a way.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
“No. We all have burdens that we have to face. Did you have an ideal childhood? Are you doing your dream job right now?”
The happiness faded from her eyes and she looked away. “No. You’re right.”
Tarin paused, but instead of explaining, she closed off, hunching her shoulders. “What just happened, Rachel?” he asked. “What was your dream?”
For a moment, he didn’t think she was going to answer him. She stared out at the windows, but he doubted she was really seeing them.
Finally, she answered, “I wanted to be a ballerina,” she admitted, sighing and fighting back the ridiculous sensation of feeling…somehow robbed. “I loved dancing. I loved the music and the movement and feeling the rhythm.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged and stood up. “I wasn’t good enough.” She walked out of the cathedral, blinking as the sun shone down on her.
“How do you know that you weren’t good enough?”
She shrugged dismissively again. “My family explained it to me. Everyone has dreams. You didn’t get yours. I didn’t get mine.”
He pulled her to a stop. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I suspect that the loss of your dream was more difficult than mine.”
She squinted up at him. “Probably not, Your Highness. You get to look around at buildings every day and wonder what it would be like to have built them yourself. And over the next several days, you’re interviewing various architectural firms, asking them to do the very thing that you craved to do yourself.”
“How is that worse?”
She smiled up at him, trying to pretend that her heart wasn’t aching. “I don’t see dancers all the time,” she explained succinctly. “So, I’m not reminded of the loss of my dream like you are.”
He shook his head. “You’re not a horrible dancer, Rachel. I don’t know what went on in your life before, but you’re an extremely good dancer.”
She shrugged. “Yes, well, it was a dream. Dancers don’t really make enough money to live on anyway, so it wasn’t a realistic dream. And it’s a very competitive career. I was smart and studied hard in school, got good grades and now,” she paused, looking up at the beautiful blue sky with small puffs of white clouds. “I’m happy with my job and my life.”
He eyed her carefully and Rachel squirmed under the weight of his gaze, feeling as if he could see what she kept carefully hidden. “Someone convinced you to give up on your dream.” He moved to stand in front of her. “Who was it?”
Her eyes shuttered and she looked out across the skyline of Paris. “This is a much better view than from the top of the tower,” she said, purposely changing the subject. “I like it here. It isn’t so high up that it’s scary.”
He frowned, but she refused to budge. “Ready to go?” she asked.
He sighed and turned. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”
She wondered why he even cared. But she was also relieved that he was willing to drop the subject, at least for the moment. “So what’s next? I know that you’ve scheduled meetings with two architectural firms. But…?”
“There’s something I want to show you first.”
They walked down the three hundred steps, but instead of getting into the waiting SUV, he led her down the street, making a few turns, and then…he stopped.
“What is that?” she gasped, staring up at what looked like a bronze man coming out of a stone wall.
“It’s called ‘Le Passe Murielle’. It’s about a man, named Duteille, who suddenly discovered that he could pass through walls. He was imprisoned at one point, but still snuck out through the walls at night only to be back in the morning, confusing the warden. He had an affair with a woman, sneaking through walls to avoid detection from her husband. But eventually, he lost his ability to pass through the walls and got stuck. So, here he rests, stuck in the stone wall for eternity, cursed to stare out at everyone who walks by. He’ll live his life here, unmoving and frozen in time.”
Rachel stared up at the bronze statue, her heart thudding in her chest. “How desperately sad,” she whispered. “What a magical gift, to be able to pass through walls like that. And yet, to find himself stuck forever. The gift turned into a curse.”
“That’s awfully poetic, Rachel,” he teased, leaning forward.
She blushed and looked away. “I used to be romantic,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Then I…”
“Then you were told you can’t dance,” he finished after she paused. Tarin took her hand and led her to the waiting SUV, helping her inside. “Back to business,” he announced.
Rachel was grateful to start working. The three tourist stops in Paris had been wonderful, but after her revelations about her dreams –she had no idea why she’d told Prince Tarin about that– she wanted to get back to her normal routines, lose herself in her job. Working projects like this wasn’t her dream job, but she gained a great deal of satisfaction in doing her job, in managing the details, and ensuring that projects came together smoothly.
It wasn’t dancing, but it paid a whole lot better!
Chapter 7
Rachel couldn’t believe her ears!
For the second morning in a row, she’d awoken to someone pounding on her door.
Pushing the blankets back, she peered out at the window. It was still dark outside. Another hard knock and she rolled over to check the time on her cell phone which was propped up next to her on the nightstand.
It was only five o’clock in the morning. Much too early to get up, she decided, and pulled the covers up over her head.
She’d been asleep for perhaps three seconds when she heard the door open. She sat up and looked around, trying to figure out what was happening.
“Rise and shine, beautiful!”
Rachel pushed the hair out of her eyes, trying to figure out if she was awake or not. Since she’d been dreaming about Tarin all night, his presence in her bedroom was confusing, to say the least.
“Tarin?”
His soft, husky laughter sent a thrill through her already dream-charged body.
“At least you call me by my first name when you’re half asleep. But it’s time to wake up, honey.”
“I’m awake!” she yelped. Rachel continued to sit there, looking around as if she wasn’t quite sure what was going on. Blinking, she looked at the dimly lit room, trying to make sense of the world. Unfortunately, her brain was too tired and wasn’t cooperating. “But…why am I awake?”
“Because you’re coming with me. Don’t worry about showering yet. Put on some exercise clothes and come on out.” Then he was gone and she was alone in the dark, cozy room.
She stared at the closed door, running the words over in her mind again. No shower. Exercise clothes. “Why would I do that?” she asked rhetorically.
Out of curiosity, she pushed the covers off and slipped out of bed. Grabbing her silk robe, she padded barefoot down the hallway to the large living room of the hotel suite.
Thinking she’d only dreamed about Tarin coming into her room, she blinked, trying to adjust to the brighter lights out here. Sure enough, Tarin stood in the living room, drinking a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper, pacing back and forth. He looked up when she entered, his gaze moving over her figure and she knew that she’d made a mistake.
“You’re going to work out in that?” he teased. “I like it. Might not be too practical though.”
She blinked owlishly at his teasing grin, still trying to make sense of this. “What’s going on? My alarm d
oesn’t go off for another hour.”
He walked over to her, tossing the newspaper onto a table. “I’m teaching you self-defense this morning.”
“Self-defense?”
“Yes. But only if you get dressed in something that you can move easily in. As much as I like the robe, I don’t think it will stay on once you start trying to flip me over your shoulder.”
Rachel had been eyeing the steaming coffee mug in his hand, but with that news, she looked lower, her gaze devouring his chest and arms and all of those muscles. “Um…will I get to do that?”
“Eventually,” he teased.
Now what did that mean?
“Do you have any sweatpants or leggings that you can work out in?”
She did, but did she want to wear them around him! “Yes, but….”
“Good. Go put them on. Hurry up, we only have an hour before we need to get ready for our first meeting.”
For some reason, Rachel blindly turned around and headed back into her room. She pulled on the leggings and, because she would be around Tarin, she brushed her hair and brushed her teeth, pulling her hair up into a tight ponytail to keep her mop of frizzy curls out of the way. Just for good measure, she swished with mouthwash, not wanting even a hint of morning breath.
She grabbed a sports bra and a tee shirt, pulling both on over her head, then hurried back out to the main room.
“Will this work?” she asked, then regretted asking as his gaze moved up and down her figure, pausing on her breasts, which immediately started tingling, just as they had last night in her dream. But Rachel knew better than to look down to check. She was fairly sure that he was aware of anything going on in her chest area. Looking at herself would only bring more attention to the problem.
“Yes. That will work,” he turned towards the door. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, jogging to catch up with him.
“To the hotel gym. There’s more room down there and we don’t have to worry about you throwing me into anything,” he teased.
Tempted by the Prince Page 6