He threaded his hand through her hair, gripping the back of her head as the strands fell like silk waterfalls across his fingers. “I dream about your perfect little ass. I fantasize about how it would feel. You have no fucking idea how much I want that.”

  She shivered against him, a sexy little movement that revealed how utterly in synch they were in the bedroom. She was his perfect fantasy. She was his perfect reality. She was everything he’d ever wanted, even if she’d never asked for this. But she had asked for it, and he was going to do everything he could to make it perfect for her.

  “We have to wait ‘til after my keynote though,” she said, her voice a soft warning.

  He laughed lightly. “Yes. Of course. I do want you to be able to walk.”

  “But after that, you can have me.”

  “I wish your keynote were ending this very second,” he said, and dropped his mouth to hers, consuming her in a hot, wet kiss that would have turned into so much more if they weren’t on this goddamn plane.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mais Oui

  She was radiant in the gaslight from the streetlamps along the Seine.

  The soft glow illuminated her, a faint golden light at night that made her all the more breathtaking. She wore heels and a skirt, her strong legs on display for him, always for him, and a pretty top that was falling off her shoulder. He’d already had her twice today. The second, the very nanosecond they’d arrived at the hotel room, he took her. The door had fallen shut and he’d thrown her on the bed, stripped off her jeans and his, and entered her. It was a hard, fast fuck, but after that red-eye flight it was what they both desperately required. It wasn’t enough to quench his desire, though, and after a nap, he’d put her on all fours, and made her cry out his name once more.

  Then they’d behaved, spending the afternoon working. She’d practiced her talk alone in the room at the Sofitel Hotel in the 8th arrondissement, near the Champs-Elysées and the Louvre, while he’d gone to a cafe around the block and worked on his laptop. He’d drunk espresso at a sidewalk table, and watched the Parisians stroll by as he dealt with business matters related to vibrators, bullets, and butterflies. It seemed quite fitting to work on Joy Delivered business in a city like this, where anything goes and everything went, where the residents embraced sex and sexuality. Hell, the politicians here often had mistresses. Paris was a city that celebrated passion.

  Judging by the P&L numbers his chief financial officer had just sent over, there were plenty of Americans and Upper East Siders, as the demographic data told him, who enjoyed the full range of Joy Delivered products, from basic massagers to butt plugs to leather floggers. But yet, there was such a vocal outcry to shut down the damn BDSM clubs, even though Denkler’s campaign had tried the whole “safer for everyone” route. Admittedly, it was working the tiniest bit, based on the new numbers Henry had sent over earlier today. That gave Jack a needed boost of confidence that turning the tide was possible. It wouldn’t be easy, but it seemed doable, even though time was running out on the campaign.

  The whole situation had left Jack with a bad taste in his mouth. Politics and sex were terrible bedfellows. Ironic too, because there was so much demonizing of the clubs on the outside, but he bet some of those same opponents had red marks on their asses from using toys behind closed doors.

  But here? Even when he’d had his laptop screen open to a photo of a prototype of a new double-headed dildo, neither the waiter nor the gray-haired woman who’d been sitting next to him, holding a teacup poodle in her lap as she drank a coffee and dragged on a cigarette, seemed to care. The woman had even leaned closer and whispered, “looks like fun,” to which he’d responded “mais oui.”

  He’d always enjoyed the pace of life here in Paris, and the conversations he overheard revealed the city’s true nature—discussions about movies, art, an Yves St Laurent exhibit at the Grand Palais, a music festival on the steps of the Musee d’Orsay, even a debate about religion. Very few conversations were about business.

  It was a different way of life in the City of Love.

  Now, he and Michelle had finished dinner at a small bistro on a cobblestoned street, and were wandering along the river, buzzed on the bottle of wine they’d drunk. The Eiffel Tower beckoned in the distance, lit up like it was covered in diamonds, its nighttime jewels glittering across the night. The Seine cut a ribbon through the city, and he held Michelle’s hand as they threaded their way along a grassy path by the water, still-green trees forming a canopy overhead. They stopped several times to kiss. A small green cab scurried by, its horn bleating loudly. They were surrounded by other lovers on this path, tangled up together on benches, under the trees, on the stone wall.

  “Think anyone is taking our picture now?” he joked when they broke the kiss as a young hip couple walked past them, looking at a photo on their cell phone. Even from a few feet away, he could tell the picture was of a dog.

  She laughed and shook her head. “Hate to break it to you, big shot, but I don’t think anyone here cares about who Mr. NYC Eligible Bachelor is involved with.”

  “God, I love the French.”

  “No one knows we’re here, either,” she said.

  “No one?”

  She jutted up a shoulder. “Well, my brother knows, and Sutton knows. But I didn’t tell my clients where I was going. I only told them I was going to be away on business, and then arranged for a backup therapist. They don’t know where I am, and I like the privacy. I had a new client the last few weeks who just kept throwing me off-kilter.”

  He quirked up his eyebrows in question. “What do you mean?” he asked, his shoulders tensing.

  “It was weird,” she said, looking at the sky as if she were remembering. “He just seemed to be checking me out during one session, then in the next one he knew too much about me. And when he put his dark black glasses on, he reminded me of someone I’d bumped into once outside the office.”

  Now his hackles were raised. He clenched his fists, immediately hating this guy, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Except he didn’t want anyone making the woman he cared for uncomfortable. “What does he look like?”

  She shrugged. “Standard businessman, I guess. Short dark hair, dark eyes. Why? Are you going to go all Army Intelligence on me and track him down?” she asked, shifting to a playful tone.

  “If I have to, I will,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. He would protect her if need be, though he doubted this dude was anything but a man who couldn’t keep his eyes off a beautiful woman.

  “Well, I like that the Paris tabloids don’t care about you.”

  He nodded in agreement, grateful that Page Six’s obsession with him didn’t extend overseas. Besides, only Casey and Nate knew where he was. “I’m nobody here,” he said.

  “Then let’s get back to the hotel, Mr. Nobody.” She looped her arms around his neck as a soft night breeze blew by, kicking up her skirt. He copped a peek. “Pervert,” she teased.

  “You love it.”

  “I do. You could even grab my ass here and no one would care,” she said, egging him on. Like he was going to back down from that dare. He pushed her up against the stone wall at the river’s edge, reached his hands under her skirt and cupped her cheeks, squeezing them, then smacking her rear once. Hard. So hard it probably stung. Her eyes lit up.

  He grabbed her hand, and they strolled away from the river and along the streets of the left bank.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow’s keynote?” he asked as they walked.

  She nodded. “I think so. I’m as prepared as I can be, and the conference organizers have been amazing at making me feel welcome.”

  “You’re going to be incredible. Standing ovation, I bet.”

  She laughed, throwing her head back. “You’re such a flatterer.”

  “No, it’s the truth! Not that I have a clue about love and sex addiction, except I think I’m addicted to making you come. Does that count?” he said, dropping a hand to her back as a breeze blew by again, smelling like rain this time.

  “I encourage that addiction.”

  They turned a corner onto a narrow street with apartment buildings all boasting flower planters in the windows of the flats. They walked in comfortable silence for a few more blocks, the sounds of Paris at night their companions, faint music floating from open windows, the clink of glasses and dishes at still-open cafes, the din of an ambulance siren somewhere in the distance, such a different wail than those in New York. The clouds swelled, turning heavy with the promise of a late September storm. The air sang of rain; the heavy earthy scent trailing along with it. The hotel wasn’t far and they both picked up the pace.

  But soon he spotted the Palais Royal nearby. He raised an eyebrow. “I think we got turned around. We’re a little farther away from the hotel than I thought.”

  She stopped and turned in a circle, then pointed toward the avenue at the end of the next block. “I think we go that way to get back on track.”

  The first drops fell then, and within seconds the skies were unleashed. Michelle laughed, brushing the droplets off her face, unfazed. She tipped her chin to an archway at the end of the block. “I think that’s one of the passages,” she said, referring to the dozen or so covered walkways scattered throughout the city.

  Ten seconds later, they ducked into the Passage Vivienne, stepping through the tall stone archway that soared high above them. They were inside a shopping arcade, stuffed with a bookshop, an old-fashioned toy shop, a store selling all sorts of hats, and more. Their footsteps echoed across the mosaic-patterned floor. The passage was lined with tall plants, and half-moon windows high above. Michelle craned her neck to look skyward. The curved ceiling was made of latticework windows, dark with the rain pounding out its steady drumbeat. All the stores were closed except for a cafe at the far end, still bustling with patrons drinking wine and chatting into the night.

  Michelle gasped, and he followed her gaze. She was pointing at a shop. The windows were lined with glass perfume bottles in all sorts of colors—rich emerald green, bright vibrant gold, and sapphire blue. “Remember I told you about the perfume shop in Montmartre? This is just like it. I wonder if the store moved here?”

  He shrugged, not knowing the answer, but remembering the conversation in his apartment perfectly. “They exist solely because they’re pretty,” he said, repeating her words from their chat in his kitchen..

  She beamed at him, her smile so inviting, then she tugged him into the stone doorway of the shop. Off in the distance, he heard the click of shoes on the marble floor fading. Someone must have left the cafe and headed out the other end of the passage.

  “Admit it. You’re still trying to avoid spending the night with me, aren’t you?” he teased.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head, looking him in the eyes. “I want to so much.”

  His heart beat faster. “Why were you so resistant then?”

  “Because I needed to stay separate from you,” she said, her fingers threading their way through his hair. God, he loved the way she touched him. “To protect my heart.”

  He circled his arms around her waist. “And now you no longer need to protect it?”

  “I can’t protect it anymore,” she said, tilting her chin up at him, keeping her gaze on his. “It’s too late. I can’t fight this any longer.”

  He should be terrified; he should shut down. But he did none of those things. He feathered his hand across her back, sneaking it under her shirt. She arched into him.

  “Don’t fight it,” he told her.

  “Jack,” she murmured, worry in her tone.

  “Don’t protect it. I’ll protect it. I want to,” he said, moving even closer to her, spreading his palm across her smooth skin.

  “I don’t know that you can.”

  “I don’t either. But I want the chance. I want you. I want all of you,” he said, never looking away. He couldn’t. He was too far gone. His heart thudded painfully, beating out a new rhythm. He half wanted to shout at it to stay cool, but he wanted to embrace it as well. To revel in all that he felt for her. This living, breathing mix of everything he never expected to feel, but was powerless to stop. She had stolen into his life in a random coincidence, and now he was driven with need for her.

  “Don’t you realize? You have all of me. I am yours. Completely,” she said, taking her time with every word, and each of them landed deeper and deeper inside him. Hooking into him.

  He moved his hands to her cheeks. He held her face and stared into her brown eyes. They were so inviting, so trusting, and he could barely hold back anymore. He felt so much for her. It was bubbling up, overwhelming him, threatening to spill out.

  “Michelle,” he whispered, his voice as ragged as the beating of his heart. “I love everything about being with you.”

  “I love being with you.”

  “I don’t want to think about not being with you.” He brushed her cheek with his calloused fingertips; her skin was still wet from the rain. He pressed his groin against her, grinding as he kissed her, pushing her hard against the stone wall of the doorway, where they were concealed from any patrons at the café. His mind was on one thing—getting her back to the hotel room as quickly as possible. But she was faster. Her hands were on his zipper.

  “Make love to me now,” she said to him, a soft but oh-so-clear command.

  Like a straight shot of desire, his body thrummed with need from her heated request. Lust took over, even as he glanced down the hallway. They were all alone, but the risk was palpable. They could be caught, seen, spotted. Or they could be seen and ignored. The more likely option. But as his zipper came undone and she reached into his boxers, wrapping those soft, talented fingers around him, nothing else mattered.

  He didn’t care about anything but her. He couldn’t care. His need for her was all he felt. Not having her now felt like the bigger risk.

  He reached under her skirt, palming her. “Your panties are drenched,” he said, yanking them to the side, revealing her, so wet and ready for him. He hitched up her thigh, wrapped her leg around his waist, and guided his cock into her. She drew a sharp breath and moaned loudly.

  Instantly, he covered her mouth with his hand. “I’m going to fuck you in public, and you’re going to be quiet. Nod if you understand.”

  She nodded, and he kept his hand over her lips as he thrust into her. Her wet heat coated his cock. “Oh, beautiful, your pussy is soaking wet. You love Paris, don’t you?”

  A muffled yes.

  “And you love being able to fuck me in public, don’t you?”

  Another nod as she grabbed his hip bones, holding on tight.

  “And you love needing me so badly that you can’t even wait for the hotel, don’t you?” he said, releasing his hold ever so briefly to let her speak.

  “Yes,” she moaned.

  “Quiet,” he warned, covering her mouth once more. With his other hand, he held tight to her hip, his thumb digging into her flesh as he pumped. “You love that I want to fuck you anywhere. That I want to be inside your beautiful body everywhere. That I can’t ever get enough of you.”

  She bit down on his palm, and he yanked his hand back. “I love needing you,” she said on a pant, her erratic breaths telling him she was so close to coming. She dug her nails into his skin. He could feel them deeply, like daggers, starting to draw blood. The possibility that she was going to come so hard she’d break his skin made his dick throb harder inside her.

  “Come on me,” he whispered harshly. “Come on me in public. Mark me with your nails.”

  He felt her tighten around his erection, clenching against him, her body drawing him deep into her. She shuddered, and trembled violently, then shuddered again and again, her cries muffled by his hand.

  While still covering her mouth, he dropped his face into her neck, tasting the slightest bit of sweat, mixed with rain. He drove into her, the pressure in his body building, his balls drawing up as his climax started to overtake him. “Michelle,” he said on a groan as his orgasm plowed through him relentlessly. Crashing through him, pulling him under.

  He gripped her body harder, probably breaking skin too, needing to be as fucking close as he possibly could as he released himself in her, biting back his own groans of pleasure. He collapsed against her, and he was vaguely aware that he might be crushing her against the wall. He managed to slide away an inch so he wouldn’t hurt her. She looked more beautiful than she had earlier.

  Finally, he released his hold on her mouth. “I need you so much,” he said, and it was the barest truth. He had to be with her.

  “I need you too, Jack,” she whispered, looking up at his eyes. Never breaking the hold. “I’m falling in love with you.”

  The second the words made landfall, he tensed. Like a coil, tightening inside him, locking him up. A warning bell that this was the moment he needed to prevent. This was the line in the sand that neither one of them should even come remotely near.

  A little voice told him to bolt, to run, to get the fuck away. Because saying those words could change everything.

  But then just as quickly, he quieted that fear. He’d come far. He’d made progress, hadn’t he? He had to let go of the grip the past had on him. He had to let go of anything but his deep and absolute need for this woman who gave herself to him so completely.

  He could give her what she’d given him.

  Surely, he could.

  He parted his lips to speak, but an invisible hand gripped his throat. Came down hard on his mouth. The dark cloak of regret was like a silencer that choked all the words he wanted to say, turning them into dust on his tongue. The old familiar standby had resurfaced inside him, wormed his way through his conscious with the reminders of where words could lead. Right words, wrong time. Wrong words, wrong time. They were one and the same, and held too much possibility for pain.

  He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her he was so afraid of saying the wrong thing, of hurting the right person, of loving the wrong way. Most of all, he was terrified of not loving enough. He wanted her to know all that was true and dark and painful inside of him.