26 Hours in Paris (3 page)

Justin laughed. “A ring on your finger means you already have another man's stamp of approval and are worthy of his efforts, so he'll try even harder.”

“That's fine,” she said, shrugging in resignation. “I deserve some sweet talking and a nice tumble between the sheets.”

“You certainly do.” Justin placed a sincere kiss on her cheek. “Good luck, sweetie, because you deserve so much more than one day. What you need is an amazing lover for many days. Either way, pack the new black teddy and those sexy kitten heels. I can't wait to see that morning-after glow on your beautiful face.”

“Thanks,” she said, hugging the man who, in her college rebellion days, had held her hair away from her face on more occasions than she could remember, and trying to recall when she'd told him about the teddy. “Love you.”

“Love you more.”

She knew he cared. Really cared. They'd been the best of friends since their sophomore year, and they weren't timid on calling each other's bluff, so she didn't mind Justin pointing out the obvious. After all, he'd been there during her Marko roller coaster.

She couldn't help but sigh. Justin had intentionally hit the nail on the head. Marko, her Frenchman with an Italian mother, had proved to be more than hard to resist. She loved the whispered French words and the Italian endearments from his lips. She could still hear him calling her
bella
, and she could feel the tingles spread over her skin at the thought. But after much soul searching and internal turmoil, she'd let him go. They belonged to two different worlds. Years had passed since she had resolved to move on. She simply hadn't accomplished that task yet.

“I already have the best friends a girl could ask for. Now to find my main squeeze.”

“Who will give you all the orgasms you want,” Justin finished.

“Exactly.” Kathryn went up on her toes and gave him a quick peck. “Keep an eye on Charlie while I'm gone. I have a feeling she's going to back down from her trip. She's going to need support.”

“C
an you please stand to the side for a moment?” The female gate agent winked and smiled conspiratorially, then gestured for Kathryn to move to her right. “Your seat has been changed. We need to print the new boarding pass.”

“No problem.” Deciding to send
au revoir
messages to her friends and check Facebook, Kathryn retrieved her phone and connected to the terminal's free Wi-Fi. With a huge grin, she read over a dozen wishes for a good trip on her timeline, and then she got to Justin's post of a picture of the Eiffel Tower wrapped in black lace and laughed aloud.

He'd practically detailed a schedule on her public page, including links to museum passes, Yelp café reviews, and the best lingerie shops in Paris.

You're a huge stinker!
she thumb-typed, shaking her head like a nut.
Looks like a personal ‘Kat Does Paris' ad on my page
.

So did she . . . sort of... but she wasn't getting her hopes up.
Don't think he has my number
.

“Mademoiselle, you're ready to board.” The young woman held out the new boarding pass and waited for Kathryn to approach. “You're going to love first class. Enjoy.”

What?

First class?

“Thank you,” she replied, and then quickly headed through the jet bridge before they decided to change her seat again. Somehow, her measly expense account had morphed into the most luxurious and fancy cubicle-style accommodation.

“Yes,” she breathed, tossing her overnight bag into her very own personal space. “Personal space,” she repeated aloud and dropped onto the soft leather. She propped her feet on the ottoman thingy, and played with the little television screen. This was going to be one fine flight.

An attendant appeared with a bottle of mineral water, and then offered Kathryn an alcoholic drink before takeoff. Tempted to take the edge off her flight jitters, but aware of her deadline and tight schedule in Paris, she accepted the water and opted to wait for dinner to indulge in some wine.

Just as soon as she got some rest, this was going to be the trip of her lifetime.

She hated the idea of wasting the first-class experience on sleep, but she hadn't slept since she'd booked her flight. She was exhausted. A quick peek in her compact mirror showed dark circles had taken residence under her red-rimmed eyes. With that visual, she knew she was beyond exhausted, which explained why she was having a hard time remembering which train to take to which station and even the name of her hotel. Adrenaline had kept her functioning, but it wasn't enough. If she wanted to maximize her trip, she would have to sleep on the plane.

She pulled a travel book from her bag, pushed the extra undies and black teddy back under her laptop, rearranged the only other outfit, also black, and then stowed the borrowed Louis in the proper compartment. Fluffing a pillow and laying a soft blanket on the seat, she decided on a quick nap before dinner and a review of her schedule afterward.

Plan set, she settled in her seat and buckled her belt. She pulled it tight across her middle and leaned back against the headrest.

Kathryn looked to her left and saw the dark bedroom eyes that belonged to the deep masculine greeting. Damn, this ride was getting better by the minute.

“Hello,” she said, observing the lazy manner in which his eyes lowered and his lips smiled. Heat flushed her face, and tingles crawled where his gaze trailed. How the heck had he managed to get such a rise from her body without a single touch?

“I am very pleased you are my travel neighbor,” he said in a distinct French accent, then stepped across the aisle and into her very
personal
space, leaned down, and kissed each of her cheeks in turn. “I am Cyril.”

“Hi,” she breathed. “Kathryn.”

“Beautiful,” he replied and stepped back. That was when she noticed the gold band on his left ring finger. Charming Cyril was married.

Disappointed, but remembering the French flirting etiquette she'd read about, she smiled and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. He was being nice and appreciative. French men did that. It didn't mean he wanted a crazy love affair with her . . . well, maybe just a crazy affair. And that was okay. More than okay. When she'd boarded the plane, she'd climbed over the fence she'd built around herself, and she was ready for new experiences. Cyril was good practice.

“First time you travel to Paris?”

“Yes.” Her fingers tapped a quick staccato over her tummy. “Is it obvious?”

“Of course, my dear. But your nervousness is very endearing.” He sat and stretched his long legs. “You will love Paris. It is very much like you. Beautiful, sexy, and intriguing.”

She couldn't help but hiccup a small laugh. “Thank you.” Her face grew hot again, but she refused to become flustered and shut down. “I'm a writer. A magazine reporter. I'm preparing a piece on why Paris is the perfect place to find love.”

“Very, very true.” Cyril nodded enthusiastically. “I have had much success in finding love in Paris. Of course, I have also had many years there. I was born and raised in our amorous city. My first love found me beneath Pont Marie.” A big smile colored his handsome face in memory.

She sensed she was missing the significance of the location. “Is that an ‘extra' pretty bridge?”

“It is pretty, but my first love introduced me to a sensual custom on that afternoon. It is said that when you stand beneath the bridge, you should kiss the one standing beside you. Josette tipped up my chin and lowered her sweet mouth before she explained why she had kissed me. I fell in love with the first sweep of her tongue over my lips.”

“Aww, that's so romantic.” Kathryn hugged her middle and curled her feet beneath her bum. “It's a perfect first kiss.”

“It was. Josette taught me so much before her fiancé returned that weekend. I had to stop visiting her because he was much older, and bigger, than I was. I couldn't compete with a university student.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen. A good age to experience first love.”

“And Josette?”

“I did not ask and she never said. But she was more mature than I.” He reached across the aisle and, with a tender finger, swept her hair off her forehead. “With your big brown eyes, long waves, and full lips, you resemble my Josette.”

Surprisingly, she didn't recoil from his touch. She actually enjoyed it and hoped he'd linger a bit longer. Kathryn was amazed at how natural it was to speak with such a man. “Thank you.”

“I wish you find all you seek in our lovely city,” he said, as the aircraft pushed back from the gate.

“I believe I will,” Kathryn said, and grasped the armrests.

“You will,” he agreed, taking a business card from his case and writing something on the back. “When you do, bring him here.” He pointed to the address he'd written and handed her the card. “At the door, show Jacques my card. Tell him I have invited you and that you are my guest.”

“What is this?” Kathryn asked.

“It is a surprise. One of Paris's hidden gems,” he explained, adding a quick wink. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

She tucked the card between the pages of her book and didn't pursue the invitation any further. The plane was moving. Feeling the power of the engines beneath her seat, she worried her lower lip. Paris may be an adventure, but a plane leaving solid ground had her stomach clenching into a tight knot.

“Cyril, I have a question,” she said, brushing her hand over his and waiting only long enough for a tilt of his head. “No funny business. I see that you're married and all. I'm just nervous during takeoffs and landings. Would you mind if I hold your hand while we takeoff?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied, closing large fingers over her clenched fist and making little circles on the back of her hand. Comfort and warmth filled her, and she closed her eyes, breathing deep like the
Conquer Your Fears
podcast had instructed.

* * *

The smell of fresh brewing coffee woke her. She looked to the left and found Cyril reading a French newspaper.

“
Bonjour
,
ma chérie
. Did you sleep well?”

She stretched in her bed and managed to cover a yawn as she nodded. “I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep,” she added, licking her parched lips. “That was a smooth takeoff.”

“Yes, you were asleep before we reached cruising altitude. I adjusted your seat to a bed when the seat-belt light went off. You were tired and needed to rest.” He offered her a butter cookie, but she refused. “I also asked the attendant not to wake you for dinner, but they will be bringing breakfast soon.”

“Breakfast?” She'd slept for hours. She wasn't ready for Paris. Had no idea which train to take. Which station her hotel was at. Nothing. Bypassing the material at her side, she stood and reached for her laptop. “We have Internet access, right?”

“Yes, but we will be landing in a little over an hour.”

“I just need to check on a few things.” She lifted the computer's lid and pressed the power button. Connecting within moments, she quickly checked her social networks, and then opened the notes she'd made on her arrival transportation.

A text displayed on her screen.

Her contacts showed only a phone number. No name. She recognized the New York area code.

She glanced at Cyril, but he was engrossed in his reading. Besides, she hadn't given him her new number, and the original message had been in Italian, not French.

She typed out three consecutive question marks.

Kathryn mentally recited the number and held her breath. She knew it. She'd known it very well. But she'd had no idea Marko had kept it all these years.

Were they really doing this, messaging like it was an everyday occurrence? And how had he known she'd just woken up?

Kathryn ran her fingers through her hair, once again unbuckled her seat belt, and looked around the cabin. She stood, placed the laptop on her seat, and searched passenger faces for the man who lit the fire in her belly and set her heart on overdrive.

Cyril looked up and smiled. “We can call for the attendant if you want coffee.”

She shook her head, but didn't move. He wasn't anywhere on the plane—not that she could see . A new message sounded.

She dropped back to her seat
.

She stared at the computer screen. Waited. Realized she was holding her breath and exhaled.

Marko was waiting for her in Paris. It had been years since she'd last seen him. Would he recognize her? What did he look like? Well, she actually had an idea of what he looked like, but she wasn't sure how recent the company photo on the website was.

Every time she'd known he was coming to New York, she'd hibernated in her apartment, ensuring there would be no chance meeting. She couldn't risk having to say good-bye to him again. It hurt too much.

Kathryn bent at the waist and stared at the floor between her knees. Why did he love his career and country more than he loved her? It could never work. He was a European boardroom shark, and she was a New York bohemian. She crossed her hands over the back of her head and moaned.

“
Ma chérie
? Are you feeling ill?” Cyril asked.