26 Hours in Paris (9 page)

“I'm looking forward to trying your local bakery,” she said, eyeing the pastry. In what she knew to be a very non-French move, she opened her mouth wide and sank her teeth into the prettiest and best-smelling croissant she'd ever seen. Once the flaky dough met her tongue, she closed her eyes and savored the taste of every chew. She swallowed and looked up at him. “This one is divine.” She took another bite and slowly repeated the delicious experience. When she opened her eyes again, she licked her lips. “It's better than sex.”

Marko narrowed his gaze and cocked a brow.

“Present sex-company excluded,” she added quickly then gave him a sultry wink.

“I would hope so. You beat down my manhood with a mass-produced-for-tourists croissant,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He lowered his mouth and licked at the corner of her lips. “Not bad. But maybe it's the tasting method.”

Kat laughed, happy to see his pompous play. He'd been serious and intense after their stroll, and she craved his smile.

“Hurry,
bella
. We have a tower to visit.” Marko took a big bite and smacked her ass. “Then, we'll see what you think about present-company sex.”

She popped the last piece in her mouth, smacking her gloved hands to shake off the golden flakes. “In that case,
allons-y,”
she said, taking his hand and pulling him toward the line at the lift.

* * *

Waiting in line wasn't something Marko generally did or liked, but if it meant he did so with his arms wrapped around Kat, he'd stand as long as possible. Her small frame fit perfectly against his chest, and he couldn't get enough of the sweet scent of her hair. Lavender and vanilla. Same as always. He held her tight, taking deep breaths, and sending up a prayer of gratitude for the second chance that had come his way.

“You made your papa proud. Not many young women could have handled his business the way you did,” he said, rubbing his chin on her hair and swaying her in his hold. “You were probably the busiest aluminum-siding company in New York.”

“The busiest?”

“With such a beautiful boss at the helm, I'm sure every contractor wanted to work overtime and bring in as many new jobs as possible.” He pressed his right leg against the back of hers and stepped forward. Left leg next. “There's no doubt I'd do anything to spend as much time with you as humanly possible.”

She turned her head toward the metal staircase. “You know, the faster we see this landmark, the faster we'll be at your place.”

“Stairs,” he said. “The stairs will be faster.” He pulled her through the crowd and directly to the metal staircase. Speaking with an attendant in rapid-fire French she couldn't understand, he motioned for her to start up. “Stay on your toes, sweetheart. Not sure those heels will do well on over seven hundred metal stairs.”

“How many?” Kat asked in a high voice.

“Seven hundred and four to be exact,” he replied. “Get going,
bella
.”

“Maybe we should wait on line,” she offered. “Seven hundred and four steps is a long way up.”

“No way you're issuing an invitation to get you alone faster and then making me wait.” He playfully swatted her bum and growled. “Climb.”

She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. “Okay. You asked for it.”

Marko took the first few flights two steps at a time to keep up to her. The woman proved to be a speed demon on heels. Paris rooftops dropped away and other landmarks came into view as they scrambled high above the ground. They had almost reached the first-floor entrance before he leaned an arm across the metal banister and kept her from taking the final four steps.

“Are you still addicted to your stair-climbing routine?” Marko snarled in order to conceal the effort of catching his breath.

“Sort of,” she said, showing no strain in her composure. “I've added arms and moved onto an elliptical machine since the last time we worked out together.”

“How long?”

“What do you mean?” She darn well knew what he meant, yet she batted her eyelashes like an innocent bystander.

“How long do you spend on the stair machine each day?” He tightened his arm and pulled her against his chest. “Checking for stamina, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” she puffed, feigning a shocked look. “About seventy-five minutes daily.”

“Good. I'll carry your coat. Take it off now.” He allowed her just enough room to maneuver the wrap and wool coat off her shoulders and down her back. Cupping her ass, he slid his palm over the tight globes and down her toned thighs. “If I'm marathoning up these stairs, I'm going to maximize the view.”

“You are horrible,” she said, laughing and draping the coat over his forearm. “How much further?”

“A few more steps,” he said, laughing as he drew back his arm and let her pass. “This is the renovated first floor. The restaurant has a line of reservations as long as the line for the lifts. It's a mecca for lovers to connect . . . or reconnect.”

He briskly walked her through the level, pausing only for a few seconds so she could take some photos with her phone. While she studied the bustling city, he spoke to Jean-Luc and instructed him to arrange for quick access to the lift to the third floor.

“What an amazing sight,” she said, her voice full of admiration. “Seeing Paris above the rooftops is like seeing over a forest's canopy.”

“There's a gift shop on this level as well.” He pointed to the establishment, but didn't enter. “The transparent glass flooring is a very popular part of the renovation, allowing visitors to appreciate where they stand while looking directly at those beneath them.”
Hence the reason for the return of your panties
, he added silently. Being able to see down meant others were able to see up. Marko had never been good at sharing.

Releasing a slow breath, he also silently and unwillingly acknowledged that he would give her anything she needed to be fulfilled. Including sharing her, even if it didn't meet his needs.

“Let's go. The second floor awaits.” He directed her to enter the stairwell ahead of him, and marveled at the ease in which she managed the numerous flights.

He reviewed the attractions on the second floor, pointed to the historical landmarks, allowed her a few more minutes for pictures, and headed to the front of the line for the lift.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” he said, once the attendant nodded for them to enter.

Nobody seemed to notice their obvious shortcut, but neither did he care if they did. He wanted the tour done and Kat to himself. The elevator doors closed and they rode to the top of the Eiffel Tower with only a recorded female voice for company.

“Do you know Gabriel?”

Her sweet voice pulled him from his thoughts. Shit, he royally sucked. Here was Kat, willing to share one of her life's dreams with him, and he was rushing her through the experience so he could get her in his bed.

“No, not really.” Guilt swelled in his gut. “I had Jean-Luc speak to his supervisor on the ground level. He informed them of our time requirements.”

“Time requirements?” Her big dark eyes filled with confusion.

“Fine. I lied and finagled my way past the lines.” He shifted his weight away from her and looked everywhere but at her eyes. “You're an international dignitary, on a really tight schedule, and you can't afford to be recognized because of security reasons. I'm a pompous ass that is too impatient to wait on line and wants to get you to the top observation deck as soon as possible.” Basically, because he wanted to get her down as soon as possible.

She smiled and wrapped her fingers around his forearm. “That's sweet.” Leaning closer, she brushed her lips over his jaw. “It's flattering to have you throwing your influence around to make this good for me.”

“Sure. That's what I did,” he said in a low rumble he hoped she couldn't comprehend. He managed to meet her gaze, clear his throat, and smile. “It's my pleasure, sweetheart.”

Marko placed a palm in the small of her back and led her out to the observation deck. Being the man Kat needed meant meeting all her needs, not just the ones that suited him. At the moment, she wanted to bask in the glory of Parisian dreams. He wasn't about to disappoint her.

“The view is absolutely breathtaking,” she exclaimed, taking a few steps onto the platform and throwing her arms out at shoulder level, twirling like a dancer.

“It certainly is,” he agreed, admiring the spirited woman before him. “Paris has never been so beautiful as it is today.” He reached for her and skimmed his fingers over her waist as she turned. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

She stopped before him, arched her back over the curve of his hold, and looked up at him. Lush lips curved into the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen. The twinkle in her eyes lit up the skyline, and the swirl of her thick hair, brushing against his cheek as she pressed a kiss on his neck, called for him to proceed with caution.

His heart was on display for all of Paris to see. He loved this woman with every fiber of his being.

He fit her coat over her shoulders, wrapped the cashmere around her throat, and guided her along the metal railing. Marko made a conscious effort to fuel her enthusiasm with tales of the romantic city and its sights, taking care not to rush through her first experience on the tower.

The way she leaned on his shoulder and lifted on her toes for the perfect view between the upper fence grids made him smile. The upset little circle of her mouth, when he explained how vulnerable Paris had been to foreign invasion, made him want to hold her tighter. The wonder and awe of her every comment and observation warmed his soul.

“I'm honored to be joining you on your inaugural tour of the Eiffel Tower,” he said, lifting his champagne flute to hers. “To my
bella
and her Paris.”

They drank and he studied her questioning gaze over the rim of the plastic glass. Her dark eyes asked so many questions. Bewilderment and concern filled the space between them, but she didn't protest. She was his, whether she admitted it or not.

“I don't have a single picture of the two of us. Can we take a selfie?” she asked, snapping out of the reverie and sliding up against his chest. She settled her head next to his cheek and waved her cell phone before them. “Please.”

“Let me.” He took the phone from her hand and tucked her tight against his shoulder. “My arm is longer.”

He glanced behind them, making sure to have the Seine and the Notre Dame in the background, then pressed the button. Smiling like a doting tourist. He dropped a kiss on her hair. And finally, he rested his cheek against her head.

“Now we have a few,” he said, flipping through the photos and forwarding each one to his number. He returned the phone and brushed his lips over her forehead. “I promise we'll take more.”

“Do you mind if I post these? I won't tag the staunch businessman. Won't even mention your name.” She teasingly waved the phone. “Friends back home will enjoy them, and it proves I'm in Paris with a devastatingly handsome man.”

For that alone, he'd definitely break his rule of no personal pictures on social media. He wanted everyone to know she was with him. “Post away, sweetheart.”

K
athryn snuggled close to Marko and enjoyed the ride through the city as he continued to point out the attractions. “You're the perfect tour guide,
monsieur
.”

“Thank you,” he replied, placing a finger beneath her chin, and tilting her face to his to seal her mouth with a kiss. When he broke away, she kept her eyes closed and her lips pursed. He chuckled and urged her to open her eyes. “Take in the sights,
bella
. We're almost there.”

“Your home?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Are you up for an afternoon café and one of Antoine's croissants?”

“
Oui
.” Her mouth watered in agreement. She had a definite soft spot for croissants. When Jean-Luc drove onto the quaint island in the middle of the river, it was like stepping into a fairy tale. She didn't speak again until they were seated at the picturesque café, looking directly at the elaborate elegance of the Notre Dame.

“We're so close, I can practically feel the curves of the arches and the details of the sculptures,” Kat breathed, holding out her hand and pretending to trace a finger down the stunning Gothic lines of the cathedral. “It's magical.”

“I'm glad you like it.” Marko stretched out his arm and closed his fingers around hers. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed inside her palm, his lips warming her heart and making the moment truly magical. “It is pretty.”

“Pretty?” She pulled her hand away in protest and pointed to the magnificent church. “It's surreal. Your choice of adjectives is maddening. We're sitting on an island that has been frozen in time, in the middle of the Seine, enjoying
café crème
and yet another chocolate croissant, and the best you come up with is pretty.”

He shook his head, and his relaxed laughter filled the air. She liked seeing him relaxed. Being with this man was a comfort and thrill. She didn't want their time together to end. She rubbed the heel of her hand in the center of her chest, massaging the foretelling knot of heartache.

Their time would end. Unfortunately, what made him the powerful and successful Marko Renard didn't mesh with Kathryn's life goals. If their time together didn't end, one of them would be lost. The ache spreading through her chest confirmed it would be Kathryn. After years of living on autopilot and taking care of responsibilities she hadn't asked for, she'd just managed to get her shit together. She couldn't lose herself.

Staring at Marko and all he was to her, she battled with her desire to try and claim her dream of living with real love. Living a life with Marko. Unfortunately, love made you vulnerable. Exposed you to hurt. And fate had a way of taking away joy, and the people one loved, at the most inopportune times.

Kat wasn't sure she was strong enough to take the risk of having everything stolen from her if she chose to reach for happiness. She couldn't leave her predictable and boring life. She didn't dare try to fulfill her every dream with the man of her heart. In the same way, she couldn't ask him to alter his plans or life. He'd offered just that after her father had died. There was no doubt he loved her, no doubt he believed he could make it work, but there was always the possibility he'd end up resenting her if it wasn't all they hoped. She let out a long breath and stared at the rays of sunshine dancing on the river.

“What's wrong,
bella
?” He tenderly swiped the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone and brushed his mouth over her temple. “Why so contemplative?”

She took another deep breath and forced her lips into a smile. “Nothing. I guess the sentimentality of the setting is doing a number on me. Not only is Paris at our feet, but the activity at our backs feels like history come to life. There are bakeries, butchers, cheese shops, and even eccentric craft places woven into these streets. It feels like a village from hundreds of years ago in the middle of a modern city.”

“That's exactly what Île Saint-Louis is, sweetheart. It a little slice of peace set in the middle of the Seine, which runs down the middle of a bustling city. There are no large department stores or food giants to alter the flavor of the island. People escape to the island and enjoy the simplest and best things in life.”

“Is that why you live here?”

“Partly,” he said, trailing a finger down her face and across her jaw. Fingers caressed behind her ear and sank into her hair. “It's the closest thing to home. It may not have the rows of almond trees and the carefully sculpted vineyards, but we do have Antoine's croissants and the soft jazz drifting over the bridge from the Right Bank.”

The tender intimacy tugged at her heart and amplified the ache. Pulling away and reducing the physical contact, Kat turned her attention to her plate. In a cowardly gesture, she swept her hair forward and covered her ear. Chewing on the flaky croissant, she considered her next question carefully. For years, she'd wondered why Marko hadn't returned to claim his position in the empire his grandfather had built, but she'd never thought it appropriate to probe into his family life. He'd never seemed willing to offer the information.

“If I'm out of line, please let me know,” she said, glancing sideways and meeting his gaze. “If I remember our old conversations, your father should be retired by now.”

“He is,” Marko confirmed.

“Your uncle only wants to work the land. Château de M is your legacy. It's so obvious that you adore your home and everything about it. Why aren't you back in Provence and at the helm of Château de M?”

He folded his hands on the table and looked downstream. A tiny muscle at his jaw clenched. She feared she'd overstepped and upset him. Reaching for his hand, she rubbed his knuckles and asked him to forget she'd asked. It was none of her business.

“No,” he insisted, shifting and covering her hand with his. “It's a legitimate question. The answer is a bit long, though.”

She leaned forward and looked into his eyes. She didn't speak.

“When we first met, I had every intention of doing exactly what you describe.” He released her hand and combed his fingers through his hair. “The plan was to get a graduate degree and acquire all the skills and knowledge necessary to grow the family business and succeed in a global economy. It didn't matter if the name of the school was famous or not, because I was planning on going home and implementing what I learned with Château de M. Bringing our wines to tables in every corner of the world had always been my father's dream.”

“So what made you change your mind?” Kat detected a tone of mourning in his voice. Something terrible must have happened.

“It's not that I changed my mind—I changed the methods necessary to achieve the goal.” That was a major difference between them. Marko always had his sights set on the goal and would do anything to achieve it. Kat was more into making the journey worthwhile. He gave her a quick wink. “Remember our discussions on Machiavelli's ‘the ends justify the means'?”

She nodded. Of course she remembered. That simple statement had given her opportunities to stay and be with him for many nights. She smiled at the memories.

“Well, to make a long story short, my family isn't the typical Mediterranean family with many children. On my paternal side, there are three siblings. My father, Marcel, is the oldest and married my mother, Angelique. My mother miscarried three times before she gave birth to me. She insisted on stopping at one child.”

Kat remembered that Angelique had been born and raised in Italy. Marko had told her his
grand-père
had belittled her peasant upbringing at first. He hadn't believed she would be a suitable mother for his grandchildren. However, Marcel loved Angelique, and he'd threatened to leave Provence and his family if they didn't accept her as his wife. Needless to say, not only had Marko's
grand-père
accepted Angelique, but he had grown to love her as his own daughter.

“Uncle Maynard is the second son. He married my aunt Laurel and had my cousin Martine. She's more like a twin sister than a cousin to me. She was born just weeks after I was, and we spent our childhood playing in the same backyard.” At the mention of his cousin, his eyes filled with pride and he smiled tenderly.

“Are you still close?” Kat had wished for a little sister or a baby brother, but her parents had stopped at one child as well.

“Very close. She's always been there for me, listened to every concern, and given me all sorts of honest advice. Unfortunately, she went through a lot these past few years, but Martine is one of the strongest and smartest women I know, and she's come through the turmoil like a champ. The two of you will be good friends.”

“Maybe,” she said below her breath.

Apprehension spread through her like wildfire at his assumption. She'd known about the family business and about his mother and the difficulties she'd originally had with his grandfather, but Marko had never really opened up about other family dynamics before. He was painting a mental picture for her, and not only did she like what she saw, but she also craved it like a junkie.

She wanted to tell him to stop dangling dreams that were unattainable in front of her, but she couldn't. For Marko, anything was attainable. He wasn't exactly spoiled, but luxuries were part of his daily life. He didn't flaunt his affluence; rather, he lived it with ease, all the while making no secret of how important the simple pleasures of his home and family were to him. She didn't doubt he valued people more than things. That was what made it easy to accept the materialistic stuff he offered—money and wealth weren't his priority. Family and home were. Kathryn had set herself up for a day of bliss to be followed by much longer devastation. She didn't know if she could truly handle being with him and walking away.

“My aunt and uncle were the topic of much town talk. They were the first and only people in the family to ever divorce.” He went on with his story, not breaking to acknowledge her hesitation. He shook his head as he spoke about his uncle and aunt, but an approving twinkle lit his eyes. “They remained very close friends after, and they even lived in neighboring homes. Better friends than when they were married.”

“I've heard of such relationships. Sometimes, people may truly love and care for each other, but they may not be good together as a couple. Did you say they lived in neighboring homes?”

“They did. They do,” he corrected. “They still share a vegetable garden, and Aunt Laurel babysits my uncle's young twins, Michel and Morell, on Thursday nights so he and Cecile can enjoy ‘private' couple time. The whole family, including both of my uncle's wives, gathers every Sunday for dinner. It's a unique relationship.”

“Wow. That is unique,” Kathryn said. It took a lot of courage for people to go for what they really wanted regardless of how it would seem to others. “It's nice to hear that there are divorced couples that remain close and co-parent their children. How did it work out for Martine?” she asked.

“Great. She now has two little brothers to spoil. The boys just turned nine. They are something else. Loud, active, and very identical.” He held out his cell phone and scrolled through the pictures. “Here they are with my aunt Michella after a concert last month. Michel is on the right and Morell on the left.”

An attractive and regal blond woman, dressed in a black gown, sat behind a grand piano with the two dark-haired boys at her side.

“My auntie Michella never had any children. She is the baby of the family. She's also a renowned pianist and married to her music. Due to her traveling, she's the only one missing from our regular Sunday dinners. She tries to make it when she's in town, but she always finds a way to call when she's not.”

“Your family sounds great,” she said with admiration, understanding the need for him to be close to home. No wonder he was so proud of his heritage. It wasn't just the family business that grounded him and kept him so close to Provence. It was the people and their connections. “It's much bigger than my family. Since dad died, it's only been me and my mother.”

“And Ralph,” he added.

“And Ralph,” she agreed, shifting her thoughts to the happiness her mother had found. “I'm so glad for her. They both found love again, and they really do look like a young couple in love. I think Mom looks fifteen years younger because of Ralph.”

“Do you have a picture of them?”

Surprised at his interest, but happy to share, she swiped through her pictures and showed him one of Ralph and her mother on a sailboat with two other couples. “Ralph's brothers are avid sailors. The
Sea Princess
is their weekend lover, or so their wives claim.”

“Do you go out with them on the boat?”

“I do,” she said, filling her chest with cool air and straightening her shoulders. “Who do you think took the picture?”

“I see,” he replied, drawing a finger down her nose and leaning forward to place a kiss on the tip. “Your family is bigger than you thought.”

She hadn't thought of it that way before, but Marko was right. Her family had multiplied when her mom and Ralph had married. They too shared regular dinners, even if they were at the local seafood restaurants.

“What's the story behind that smile?” Marko asked.

“Our dinners are usually at Fisherman's Wharf or a little Italian restaurant in town. No one is willing to take a chance on going hungry with a homemade meal.” She chuckled at the charred attempt at barbecuing a specific catch last Labor Day. “They're all horrible cooks. Can't even get the charcoal right to grill.”