Forbidden Attraction: A Contemporary Romance Box Set

by K. C. Crowne

  She slipped into the booth, taking up one entire side just to discourage me from getting any funny ideas like trying to slip in next to her. I was more than happy to sit across from her in the booth. It made it easier to enjoy the view of that gorgeous face and shapely body of hers.

  Her aqua hued eyes darted around the place, taking it all in. Her gaze moved about quickly but I got the feeling she wasn’t missing a thing. I could see her absorbing every last facet of the cafe from the other patrons to the art on the walls, and everything in between.

  The way she drank in her surroundings was fascinating to me, like she was trying to memorize her surroundings, not wanting to miss one single sensory detail. It was as if she was a painter or an artist, etching everything into her mind so she could recreate it in a work of art.

  I extended my hand to her across the table. “I’m Colin, by the way.”

  “Hope,” she said, taking my hand in hers and giving it a nice, firm shake.

  “And what brings you to Paris, Hope?” I asked.

  She looked me up and down, much like she had done the room, as if I were now a subject for her next canvas. Except rather than simple interest in the sensory input, there was a hunger in her eyes which was something I found more than a little intriguing.

  She nibbled her lower lip, as if debating something with herself in her head. She was probably trying to decide how much to tell me about herself given that I was a complete stranger. I took her to be something of a naturally guarded person who didn’t open up very easily anyway.

  “I’m a travel writer,” she finally said. “I’m writing about Paris.”

  “Ah, you’d think that would be a topic that’s been done to death by now,” I stated.

  She cocked an eyebrow at me. “What do you know about travel writing?”

  “Not much, honestly,” I said, shrugging. “It’s just -- well, Paris is one of the top tourist destinations in the world and hundreds, if not thousands of people have already written about it. What’s left to write about? You’d think people would want to read about more obscure places like, I don’t know, Kazakhstan or Djibouti.”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. I was so close to getting her to like me -- at least a little bit. I knew I could get here there, moving Hope from the ambivalent at best about me column, to somebody who genuinely liked me.

  “And how many people actually talk about visiting either of those places?” she asked.

  I shrugged again. “That’s why you should write about them. Get people interested in seeing them. Think about the new horizons you could explore.”

  She sat back in the booth, a bemused smile on her face. Definitely close to getting her to like me. I was just thankful we moved well past hostility already. I’d take that as a win.

  “What if I told you that my last few articles were about the jungles of Central America?” she posed. “Is that exciting enough for you? Would that count as exploring a new horizon?”

  “Oh, now that sounds like an adventure,” I said. “But please tell me you got all your vaccinations.”

  I meant for it to be a joke, but cringed, knowing how off-putting I could sound when I slipped into my doctor and lecturer voice. It was something that had been pointed out to me more times than I could count. I didn’t mean to do it, but I I’d been in the profession so long, it just came out naturally at times.

  Thankfully, she took it as I’d intended it to be. When she laughed -- a high pitched, melodic sound that was pleasing to me -- it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and I felt myself relax a bit. Some of the tightness eased from my muscles and I sat back in the booth a little more casually.

  It had been so long since I’d been on an actual date with someone new that I’d forgotten proper etiquettes and behaviors. While I wasn’t sure it qualified as a date, I was considering it as practice for one. But I was finding it was like a muscle that had atrophied with disuse for a long time. It was going to take time and effort to get it working right again.

  Hopefully, one day in the not too distant future, I’d start dating again. And when that day came, I needed all the help and practice I could get to avoid making a total fool of myself.

  “Alright Dr. Colin,” she said, grinning. “Turnabout being fair play and all, tell me what you do so I can give you my thoughts on how to do your job properly.”

  “Well actually, I am a doctor,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “No, seriously,” she said. “What do you do?”

  “Seriously, I really am a doctor,” I insisted. “You actually were right on with the Dr. Colin bit. Which was an incredibly good guess by the way.”

  I winked at her as the server came over to our table. He took one look at us, and somehow knew to speak English. His accent was thick, almost too think to understand at times, but we were able to order our drinks. I took note of her choice in beverage -- a glass of white wine. I stored the bit of information away for later use. Because I was really hoping there would be a reason to pull it out again.

  I ordered red wine, because when in France, you should try the local flavors. The waiter nodded and walked away to fetch our drinks, leaving us alone with each other again.

  “So, you’re really a doctor?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I’m here for a medical conference. Need me to prove it to you by showing you my badge? Medical card?”

  “No, I believe you,” she said.

  “Good, because I left my badge in my hotel room,” I teased.

  “Ah, already trying to get me back to your room, I see,” she said, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder as she leaned back in the booth. “Very clever, but I’m onto you, Dr. Colin.”

  She picked up the menu and seemed to look it over, but she kept sneaking glances back up at me as if waiting for an answer to the unasked question that hung in the air between us. Was I trying to get her back to my room? I figured she was trying to ferret out my real motivations. A single woman in Paris -- or any city really -- needed to be careful.

  “Oh I don’t know,” I said, leaning back and relaxing. “We’ll just have to see where the evening takes us. I may be cheap, but I’m not easy.”

  “Yeah well, don’t get your hopes up,” she shot me down immediately. “I only want to get something to eat. After that, I plan on heading back to my room to get multiple uninterrupted hours of sleep. I just got into Paris a couple hours ago.”

  “I see. So, shall we order some food then?” I asked. “Because believe it or not, I was coming here to eat, not to pick anyone up.”

  She studied my face for a long time, a grin forming on her lips.

  “So, we’re on the same page then? Just some food and conversation?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said with a grin. “Besides, I’ve been in conferences all day. I’m much too tired for whatever you had in mind anyway.”

  That was a lie, and I’d managed it with a teasing, light-hearted tone and a wink. I was tired, but not nearly tired enough to turn down a roll in the hay with a woman like Hope if she’d been willing. She said she wasn’t, though I got the sense it wasn’t necessarily from a lack of interest. But I wasn’t going to push the matter. I knew women well enough to know you never got anywhere by being a pushy, arrogant jerk.

  She shook her head and laughed under her breath, turning her attention back to the menu in front of her. I also looked at the menu, finding most of it in French. Another good sign that the place was decent -- they obviously didn’t cater to non-French speakers. But I’d studied Latin and Spanish -- not French -- meaning I was pretty screwed in getting what I wanted food-wise. I settled on something with chicken in the name and left it at that. As long as I wasn’t getting any mystery meat, I’d be happy to stuff pretty much anything in my face at that point.

  “Do you speak French?” I asked my dining companion.

  “Eh, not really,” she said.

  “Y
ou’re a travel writer, and you don’t speak the local language?” I teased. “That seems rather blasphemous.”

  “If I learned the language of every place I visited,” she said dryly, “I’d never have time to write. Or travel for that matter.”

  “Good point,” I said.

  “But I know enough to get by, and to not accidentally order something horrendous,” she said. “Like escargot.”

  She crinkled her nose up at the word, and it was so damn cute, I couldn’t help but chuckle. She had a sweet face; one that would probably always look youthful due to the round shape and the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks. I always did have a thing for pale redheads with freckles. They’d long been my own personal Kryptonite. She might not be what Hollywood considered gorgeous, but to me, she was utter perfection.

  “I take it you’re not a fan of snails?” I asked.

  “No, too slimy. I’ve tried them before. Once,” she said. “I try to keep an open mind when I’m visiting a new place and try some of the local fare, but they weren’t for me.”

  “So you’re adventurous? Like living life a bit on the edge, do you?”

  “Don’t I have to be in this line of work?” she asked as her eyes darted over to the waiter who brought our drinks to the table. “Excuse me, do you have a bathroom I could use?”

  He pointed toward the back of the restaurant and then set our drinks on the table. She thanked him -- in French, impressively enough -- and hurriedly placed her order before excusing herself, grabbing her purse and hurrying off toward the ladies’ room.

  I couldn’t stop smiling as I watched her go. It had been a long time since I’d met someone who kept me on my toes the way she did. And best of all, she wasn’t in medical school or a fellow doctor. I didn’t have to worry about her using me to get ahead in her career. Hell, she didn’t seem to know who I was or the first thing about me, which was a nice change of pace.

  Most people in the social circles I tended to travel in had at least heard of me. I didn’t like to brag but being one of the best doctors in the entire country in your specialty meant that you got a lot of publicity and attention. I’d been on talk shows, podcasts, interviewed for major publications, you name it. As a result, most people in the world of medicine had at least heard my name. But Hope had no clue that I actually was kind of a big deal, and that was nice. I didn’t have to worry about her having ulterior motives or being inauthentic with me.

  Not that I expected to go too far with her. With any luck, we’d have some much needed fun, then I’d go back to Los Angeles and resume my life and she’d go back to wherever she was from. There was no way we could work out long term. Not that either of us were even looking for that. But a doctor and a travel writer? One tied to his job, the other freely traveling the world on a whim and living vicariously through the people in other countries? Nah, I saw no long-term future with her, but it didn’t matter.

  But if things went right, as the old saying went, at least we’d have Paris.

  Hope

  My skin felt clammy and my hands were shaking as I dug through my bag for my test strips and shots. I wasn’t nervous about the needles. Having to receive shots every day from the time you were in first grade, would quickly desensitize you to them.

  I thought maybe my blood sugar was too low and that’s why I felt a bit shaky back at the table. But it hadn’t been. I mean, my sugar was low but still within normal limits for someone who hadn’t eaten yet. Which meant that obviously, I was nervous about the man waiting for me back at the table.

  I hurried up and tested my sugar for the second time just in case. And as expected, it came in a bit low, which was a good thing since I was having a little wine with my meal. I couldn’t drink much, not safely, but that was fine. Just another aspect of my life that had become normal to me long ago.

  I was always very careful with alcohol though. Even if I managed to give myself the correct dosage of insulin to account for the alcohol beforehand, I didn’t like being out of control. I always needed to remain in control of myself. I always made sure I didn’t eat something I shouldn’t have or forget a shot at some point through the day. I kept everything rigidly monitored and scheduled.

  People didn’t realize that living with type-1 diabetes meant you were in a constant state of fluctuation, and you had to monitor it all very carefully. I was a pro by now, of course, and sooner or later, I’d get a pump once my insurance decided I deserved one. But for now, I had to rely on the insulin shots to keep me alive.

  As I stood in the bathroom though, my stupid hands would not stop shaking, my nerves taking over and making it harder to give myself the shot.

  Breathe, Hope, I told myself. He’s just a man. Sure, he was one of the most handsome and borderline charming men I’d ever met in my life. But at the end of the day, he was still just a man. And I wasn’t not ready for anything serious. I wasn’t even close to being ready. Not to mention that even if I were looking for something long term, he could be from anywhere, and a long-distance relationship was simply not in the cards for me. They never worked out and I didn’t want to put myself through that. I’d been through enough.

  It didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun, my overly eager, lust-driven brain spoke up. Apparently Anna’s words had gotten through to me, and it -- err -- she was right. I could have some fun while I was in Paris. Given my current relationship status, there was no reason I had to behave. I was young, single and in one of the most romantic cities in the world. Why not throw caution to the wind and actually enjoy myself?

  I managed to stop the shaking long enough that I was finally able to give myself the injection, and then I tucked everything back into its case and breathed a sigh of relief With one last look in the mirror, I gave myself a little pep talk before heading back out into the restaurant.

  Had I known I’d be running into a gorgeous doctor when I left my hotel room, I might have put a little more effort into my hair and makeup. But that had been the furthest thing from my mind at the time. I’d simply planned to grab a bite to eat then come back to my room to relax. And McDreamy had to literally run into me, messing up all my plans for the night and made me feel completely off kilter.

  McDreamy was a pretty fitting nickname, considering the fact he was as tall, dark and handsome as Patrick Dempsey. With his short cropped dark hair styled impeccably and his nice, tight jeans, Colin was a sight for sore eyes and a delicious treat for other parts of my anatomy. And apparently, he also had eyes for me. I could see it in his face and hear it in his every word.

  Have fun, I told myself as I left the bathroom. It’s just one night. I was allowed to enjoy myself I’d had a shit couple of months, and I deserved to let loose and have a little fun.

  Insulin coursing through my veins and a few deep breaths to steady myself, my nerves were much calmer as I exited the bathroom and headed back toward our table. Colin was looking out the window, his strong jawline and piercing gaze making for a striking profile. I was interested to see that he simply sat there, not distracted by his smartphone or another electronic gadget., but rather, enjoying the sights outside the window. I had to appreciate that in a man.

  As I approached the table, he turned his gaze toward me. It was then that I truly saw his eyes for the first time. I’d assumed they were brown since his hair was so dark, but no, I’d been wrong. Instead of brown as I’d assumed, they were actually a light grey, the color of the ocean swell. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt like I might drown in that gaze. It was so intense and probing, it felt like he could see straight through me.

  “Welcome back,” Colin said, his tone playful.

  “Thank you,” I said, scooting into the booth with a smile. I dropped my bag beside me and took a deep breath. “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

  “Just a couple of Americans making out in front of the restaurant,” he laughed.

  “And how do you know they were American?” I asked.

  “Oh, you just know. You can alway
s tell an American when you see one in the wild,” he teased.

  He swirled his wine around in his glass before taking a long swallow. He was obviously waiting for me to ask him for more information or the simple follow up question.

  “I mean, can’t you?” he pressed

  “Of course you can. Or at least I can,” I said, leaning back in my booth, relaxing into my seat. “I’m just surprised you can. I’m paid to take in the sights and make observations. I’m paid to notice things others don’t. But not many people pick up on the little details that give things like that away.”

  He chuckled, his smile going all the way to his eyes, crinkling them up at the corner. I knew Colin was slightly older than me, that much was obvious. How much older he was though, remained a mystery. There was just a hint of grey at his temples, but some men went grey earlier than others. His face was chiseled and perfect, with only the smallest of smile lines and creases at his eyes when he laughed.

  Yet at the same time, there was a youthfulness about him. The charming kid in him came out in the way he teased, the way he laughed a lot and smiled at me. And also, in that cockiness that you typically found in older, successful men that allowed them to sometimes behave like children.

  I glanced out the window behind him, noting a couple walking down the street hand-in-hand. They were snuggled close, the smiles on their faces and dreamy look in their eyes saying they were obviously very much in love and oblivious to those around them. With a smirk, I pointed them out, while leaning forward and whispering to him.

  “So tell me -- Americans or not?”

  He glanced out the window and furrowed his brow. He focused on them, holding his gaze steady on the couple as they walked past our window.

  “Yes,” he said. “Obviously tourists, probably on their honeymoon.”

  “Oh?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Why do you say that? You don’t think average couples are that affectionate?”

  His gaze flicked back to me, his brow was now set in a thin, straight line, and his eyes burning with intensity. He looked shockingly serious all of a sudden.