Forbidden Attraction: A Contemporary Romance Box Set

by K. C. Crowne

  “Soon, yeah,” she mumbled. “But I don’t want to leave you hangin.”

  “I’m okay, seriously. I’m just being whiney. You’re right, I’m in Paris. I should enjoy it and find a way to salvage this article one way or another.”

  “Like maybe going out and meeting someone?” she asked.

  “Meet someone? Are you nuts woman?”

  “Why not? You’re in a beautiful city with sexy, foreign men,” she said. “Maybe take that angle for your article? Paris isn’t just for lovers, but also for singles? Or something like that. I’m not the writer, so I’ll leave that up to you. But I think it could be a fun angle.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, nibbling my lower lip, though the thought rattled around in my head.

  “Think about it, okay? And promise me you won’t stay locked in your room,” she pleaded with me. “Enjoy the city and let me and the rest of the stiffs live vicariously through your Instagram, please?”

  “I’ll try, Anna, but seriously, you need to get to work,” I said, checking the time again. “I’m going to hang up now.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I said. “Now go.”

  I hung up the phone, and as soon as I did, I let out a long sigh. I’d told her I was fine, that everything was okay, but I didn’t feel fine. I felt about as far from fine as you could get. But I wasn’t going to send her off by telling her I felt that way. She had enough on her plate as it was.

  It was still early enough in the day that I should leave the hotel and go see some of the sights. I’d been to Paris once before, but it had been a while back and had only been a short visit to write an article on an art exhibit at the Louvre. That was pretty much all I’d gotten to see besides the traditional touristy spots. You couldn’t go to Paris without taking a selfie in front of the Eiffel Tower, now could you? I loved my job, not many people got to travel the world and write about the different locales, but sometimes, it was lonely.

  My stomach growled, reminding me that the last thing I’d eaten was some crappy airplane food; a stale and bland sandwich about three hours before we landed. I had all kinds of delightful little cafes around my hotel to choose from if I wanted to grab a bite. My editor had actually suggested the place because it was central to Paris, and in an area that was thriving.

  My editor, Kayla, had given me the same advice Anna had when I broke the news to her about Jeremy and me. She said to just meet someone while I was here, to write about dating in Paris as a single woman meeting exotic men. Easier said than done. It had been a couple months, sure, but after spending years together, I still feared I wasn’t ready.

  Mainly because I wasn’t ready to give my heart away again. If a two-year relationship could go sour so fast and easily, and be based completely around lies and betrayals, how could I ever trust that someone I’d just met wasn’t going to turn out to be a lying, cheating scumbag?

  The answer was, I couldn’t.

  Groaning, I pushed myself off the bed and decided to at least grab some dinner. One little baby step outside. And after a good night’s rest, I could decide on the approach to the article I was going to take.

  Maybe Kayla and Anna were right about it all. Maybe I just needed to find someone local -- or a few someones -- and just go with the flow. Maybe a romantic and passionate night in the City of Lights would be just the thing I needed -- both personally and professionally.

  I had to write something, and since it was an article about experiencing romance in Paris, I had to find a way to make it happen. I didn’t know if hooking up with a hot French guy was the way to go or not, but it was a solid idea. It was my only idea. And if I didn’t get the piece written, I wouldn’t get paid. And if I didn’t get paid, I’d have to shell out all the expenses for the trip myself. On my salary, that would hurt. A lot.

  I debated the merits of taking the time to shower or not before heading out. After a long trip, I was simply too tired to care. Flying often left me feeling gross, but I yearned for a nice, long, hot bath when I got back so I decided the shower could wait. The first order of business was putting some actual food in my belly. After that, I’d worry about my personal hygiene.

  I went into the bathroom and splashed some water on my face. My strawberry blonde hair was a wavy mess. The unruly tangles falling around my shoulders and down my back. My eyes looked tired, but after a long trip, that was to be expected. Nothing a little makeup couldn’t take care of, or at least hide well enough. My blue-green eyes looked startled in my reflection, probably from the exhaustion of traveling. Or maybe that was my default look without makeup. God, I hoped not. My eyes appeared to be the biggest things on my face.

  I gave myself a mental shake. It wasn’t like I was trying to impress anyone. I’d have to pull myself together eventually, but I gave myself permission to relax that first night. I’d figure out my plan of action the next day, after a long hot bath and a good night’s rest.

  But first, food.

  Colin

  “Dr. Pierce!” a feminine voice called out to me as I was leaving the building.

  I stopped and turned toward the voice to see a curvy brunette in a gray skirt suit rushing over to me. Her smile was shaky, and her cheeks flushed as she pushed stray tendrils of her hair back behind her ear. She was young, early twenties from the looks of it if I had to guess. She had the fresh face of someone who hadn’t been working in the medical field for the last ten or twenty years. She didn’t look quite so tired and jaded as some of us.

  “I’m so glad I caught up with you,” she said, offering me her hand while balancing a briefcase and several file folders in her arms. “I’m Suzanne Rollins. Dr. Suzanne Rollins in a few months, if all goes well.”

  I shook her hand, surprised to find that she gave a firm shake along with solid eye contact. She was confident and strong. I liked that.

  “Nice to meet you Ms. Rollins,” I said. “I was just heading out though, it’s been a long day and --”

  “I’ll only take a minute of your time, Dr. Pierce,” she said.

  Her brown eyes twinkled with admiration, and I would know what it meant anywhere. She was interested in more than just a minute of my time.

  “I wanted to talk to you about your studies on gestational diabetes. I have some questions, but I know you’re a busy man, so I was hoping to give you my card,” she purred. “Maybe we could meet for coffee sometime?”

  She shot me a flirtatious smile. She was an attractive woman, the type I’d have taken back to my hotel in a heartbeat back in my younger days. But I was past that now. She was a young medical student looking for connections, surely wanting to use me for mine.

  Back in the day, I’d thought it was a fair enough trade. I used them for some fun and sexual release, they used me for references and connections in the medical community. Everybody got something and it seemed like a win-win to me. But the older I got, the more tired I became of the game. And after a few too many bad seeds getting positions they didn’t deserve, I had no choice but to put a stop to it. My career came first, and I wasn’t about to ruin my good name for a few hours of fun with a beautiful woman. Even though I was still tempted from time to time.

  Though it had been awhile since I’d had time to date anyone outside the medical field, I wasn’t about to fall into that trap once more. It would lead me back down a path I didn’t want to travel anymore.

  “Ms. Rollins,” I said dryly, rubbing my temples as I spoke, “I’m sorry, but I no longer meet individually with medical students. I simply don’t have the time. But if your school would like to schedule me for a lecture, by all means, have them reach out to me once I’m back in L.A. I’d be more than happy to give a talk on the subject.”

  I turned on my heels, but the young woman simply wasn’t having it. She grabbed my arm and swung herself around, blocking my exit. I tried to keep my temper in check and my face a blank mask, but it was hard when someone didn’t take “no” for an answer.


  “Just twenty minutes of your time, that’s all I ask,” she said.

  She nibbled her lower lip while giving me a seductive smile, clearly intent on playing the ingenue. A few years ago, she wouldn’t have had to ask twice. It seemed I was still paying for the reputation I’d built in some circles.

  “I don’t have twenty minutes to spare at the moment,” I said.

  That was a lie. I’d scheduled my speech at the international conference in Paris around some planned downtime. It had been years since I’d taken a vacation, and at my friend’s urging, I finally booked some time off. Given that I was giving a talk, it wasn’t strictly for pleasure, but it was close enough. It was certainly closer than I’d been to an actual vacation in a long, long time.

  But I wasn't going to let Ms. Rollins know that. Nor was I going to fill up my time meeting with medical students who were hoping for residency referrals. I wanted to be left alone. For the first time in years, I wanted no more meetings, no more talks, and no work. And the quicker I got out of the building, the quicker I’d be free of it all and could get started on my long overdue vacation.

  I moved to the right of Suzanne, and she seemed to consider blocking my way again. I shot her a look that said, “Don’t you dare” and she thought twice. She was after a reference from me and wanted me to put in a good word for her with the right people. Pissing me off wasn’t about to get her what she wanted, and she seemed to finally understand, backing off a bit and trying a different tack.

  “I’m happy to meet with you when you’re back in Los Angeles --”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what she said after I pushed open the double doors and stepped through. The next instant, I was out on the streets of Paris. I was free from the confines of all work obligations. It shamed me to admit that I wasn’t even sure how to relax or have fun anymore. My entire life had been spent either in school or working, but I was going to figure it out if it killed me.

  It had been hard to turn the beautiful young woman away, because I was still a warm-blooded man with needs. But unlike my younger self who tended to think with a different part of my anatomy that wasn’t as smart, my older self was smart enough to spot trouble when I saw it. Call it my hard-earned wisdom.

  She’d been a persistent young woman, the type that would never stop harassing me if I gave in. I needed a release, yes. God knew how badly I did. But not with someone who would stir up drama in my life. I seriously didn’t need any more of that garbage. Not after what happened with Whitney.

  The wounds were still there, and still a little raw. Just thinking her name caused my blood to boil as I waited for a cab outside the convention center. I needed something to forget my ex, and this trip was part of my so-called healing. Since I was free and unencumbered by anybody now, I gave myself permission to have a little fun.

  Fun. Such a foreign concept to someone like me, but there I was -- trying to learn a foreign concept in a foreign land. I wasn’t sure how to go about injecting a little fun into my world, but I was intent on making the best of it.

  My stomach growled, reminding me of the pitiful lunch that was served hours before. Europeans were known to eat much smaller portions of food than we Americans were used to, and the lunch I’d had served to me definitely proved that point -- the rumbling in my empty belly only reinforcing it.

  I ran down my mental checklist; go back to the hotel, shower, change, grab food. And then what? What came after? What kind of fun would I, a single man in Paris, be able to find?

  I wasn’t sure. But I was going to see what kind of fun this city had to offer a guy like me.

  Freshly showered, wearing clean clothes, and feeling slightly refreshed and recharged, I stepped out of my hotel out onto the busy Paris street. It was a cool evening, and the City of Lights was living up to its name. I’d been to Paris before, but never for pleasure. I’d never taken the time to stop and appreciate the landscape around me. I’d never stopped to soak in the sights or the aromas that saturated the air.

  One thing that I always noticed however, were the narrow sidewalks and even narrower streets. There was something claustrophobic about it. Coming from Los Angeles, I was used to walking around a concrete jungle, with massive cars speeding past you at all hours of the day and night.

  The concierge at my hotel had suggested a cafe only a few blocks down from the hotel called Belle Vie -- Beautiful Life in English. It sounded cliché as hell, but at the same time, it also seemed somehow fitting.

  I strolled down the Parisian street, stopping to glance in the windows of the art galleries and bakeries I passed by. The air was crisp and cool, even for Spring. Or maybe I just wasn’t used to weather that wasn’t sunny and warm, like back home. It was nice, though. Cool enough for jeans, which I hardly ever wore due to the nature of my job and speaking engagements. If I wasn't wearing scrubs in the OR, I was wearing a suit and tie. But that night, I’d put on a pair of dark jeans and a dark blue polo shirt. It was nice to be in something more casual and relaxed. I’d grabbed a sport coat on the way out the door, just in case there was a dress code at Belle Vie.

  I stopped and stood looking in the window of a jewelry store, catching sight of my own reflection. My hair was almost as dark as the night around us, crisp and cut short to my head. I’d shaved before coming out, so my face was smooth as a baby’s butt. A bad pun considering what I did for a living.

  My eyes fell on the diamonds sitting not too far from the window, and my heart sank. Not all that long ago, I’d been picking out rings for Whitney. I thought perhaps marriage and spending a life content with her was in the cards for me. It was something I’d been looking forward to and excited about. But boy, had I been wrong about how that was going to turn out.

  I turned away quickly without looking, and damn those narrow sidewalks, I crashed into someone as they were walking by. I realized she was there at the last minute, but by then it had been far too late.

  “Hey!” she shouted, tumbling.

  All I saw was a mess of red hair, but I reached out anyway to help her keep her balance. I grabbed ahold of something, and prayed it was an arm and not something more delicate. I helped catch her before she hit the ground and the woman righted herself, yanking her hand free from mine while glaring at me.

  “Watch where you’re going,” she growled.

  She ran a hand through her hair, straightening the wild mop of curls out as best she could. I just stood there feeling like an idiot not only for nearly knocking her over, but for standing there gaping at her like a moron.

  “What are you staring at?” she snapped.

  I didn’t say a word. I wasn’t sure why I was staring, not really. I’d seen my share of beautiful women in my life -- hell I’d rejected one only hours before. But for some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off the one in front of me as she straightened out her hair and glared at me with the largest blue-green eyes I’d ever seen in my life.

  “Ah, I’m guessing you don’t speak English,” she muttered. “Parlez-vous Anglais?”

  “Yes,” I said, chuckling and feeling a tad bit foolish. “Yes, I’m American.”

  “That explains it then,” she growled, shaking her head as she turned on her heel to leave. “Next time, watch where you’re going.”

  I hurried behind her without even thinking, my eyes never leaving her curves. She had an amazing body, with just enough hips and ass to sink your teeth into. I felt a familiar stirring in my groin -- something I hadn’t felt with Dr.-Something-or-Other back at conference.

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked.

  “What do I mean by what?” she said, side-eyeing me, her tone edging toward hostile.

  “When you said, ‘that explains it’?” I said. “What did you mean by that?”

  “Ah, well, just the general lack of awareness for anyone else,” she said, smirking at me. “That tends to be an American trait.”

  “Judging by your accent,” I said. “I’d say you’re American too.”

  “Good job, S
herlock. Your powers of deduction are astounding,” she said, rolling her eyes and laughing.

  She stopped suddenly, her eyes taking everything in around her. Finally, they landed on a sign that said Belle Vie and she looked pleased with herself.

  “What a coincidence,” I said, pulling the door open. “I’m going here for a quick bite myself.”

  “Oh, lucky me,” she said.

  There was less hostility in her voice now, but she was still teasing me. She gave me a once over before stepping through the door I held open for her.

  “And the least I can do for nearly knocking you down is offer to make it up to you,” I said. “Maybe buy you a drink? You know, show you I actually am aware of others around me.”

  “A drink, huh?” she said, turning toward me as soon as I stepped into the cafe behind her. “Promise not to spill it all over me?”

  “Scout’s honor,” I said, holding my hands up in a fake pledge. “I swear I’m not usually that clumsy.”

  “Uh huh. I guess we’ll see,” she said, clicking her tongue as she weighed over the option.

  “So, is that a yes to letting me buy you a drink?

  She rolled her eyes theatrically, trying to pretend that she wasn’t checking me out, but judging by the flush in her cheeks, it was clear she liked what she saw. Her gaze washed over me as she drank me in, and I relished that feeling. I never grew tired of being admired by women. Especially women as beautiful as she was.

  “Fine. I guess I could use a drink,” she said, doing her best to sound put out. “But just one, got it? And only because it’s nice to run into another American here and I think you owe me at least that for nearly murdering me.”

  I hid my smirk as we walked toward a corner booth. I had a feeling she was into me more than she let on, but I figured we’d get there in time. The place was pretty lively, but casual. The air was saturated with a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen, and the chatter around us was mostly in French. I took that to be a good sign the Belle Vie wasn’t just a tourist trap, but somewhere locals actually frequented as well.