Blame It on Paris (4 page)

“Waited for what?”

“To taste you,” he said. And then did.

With his first taste of her, the first kiss…Will heard the music. It was a woman singer with a low, smoky voice belting out a haunting ballad. All the other sensory details around him suddenly came into focus. The endless lights of Paris rippling in the black waters of the Seine, the waves lapping at the boat. He turned to Kelly, as if he were spinning her in a waltz. And kept turning. With his lips glued on hers.

She tasted like the rich, warm wine they'd been drinking.

And like innocence.

Her hands climbed up, up his arms, then up around his neck and hung on, as if she were dizzy from all the spinning. Or from him.

Will thought this had to be the stupidest thing he'd ever done…and then went back for another taste.

S
WALLOWED UP
.
That's how she felt. Wrapped in Will's arms, absorbed in his kiss, the scent of him, taste of him, look of him.

In some part of her brain, Kelly recognized they were still on the boat, that the music had stopped playing, that the engines had quit, that the other passengers were noisily gathering their belongings and descending the gangplank.

And still, she seemed to be dancing with Will. To unheard music.

To scents she'd never experienced before. To textures she'd never imagined—like his tongue.

His wicked, wicked tongue.

Her fingers fisted around his neck, not clenching so much as holding on. Her balance felt increasingly threatened, as if she was precariously a blink away from falling, awash in silver dizziness.

The image of silver dizziness almost made her laugh. How ridiculous was that? She'd never been fanciful. She'd always been practical, the kind of woman who ran her life on facts, numbers, reality. For darn sure, she didn't go around looking to do wrong things. She suffered enough guilt day by day trying to do the right things.

Only just then her conscience couldn't seem to scare up any sense of doing wrong.

And the silvery dizziness made perfect sense to her.

And so did kissing Will. Being taken in by Will. The scent of him swarmed her, surrounded her, mixed with the silky black water of the Seine and the lights of Paris and just him. Her stranger. Her clean, warm, sexy stranger. Her exotically sexy stranger…

“Monsieur? Mademoiselle?”
A staff member patted Will on the shoulder. His expression was tolerant, gentle, as if he was used to regretfully interrupting lovers—this was Paris, after all. The vision of two people lost in each other was nothing new to him.

But it was new to Kelly…and judging from the dazed, dark look in Will's eyes, it wasn't an everyday occurrence for him, either. Finally, Will stopped moving, as if realizing that the only two people still swaying to music were them.

The night had turned downright chilly, midnight chilly, except when she was circled in his arms. And when he dropped his arms, he still didn't look at the uniformed guy, but only at her. His voice was thicker than smoke, lower than blues. “We're going back to my place.”

“Yes,” she said, as if it were the only word she knew, the only word she could say.

Even at that moment, she knew he wasn't referring to her having no other place to stay. He wasn't offering her his couch.

And she wasn't leaping to offer excuses—too much wine, too much dinner, too much of an exhausting, terrible day, too much Paris.

She knew what he was inviting.

She knew what she was saying yes to.

Where it had taken almost an hour to get to the port where the cruise began, it seemed only minutes before they were back at Will's place, hauling her suitcases from his trunk. He'd left no lights on. She plunked one case right inside the hallway; he dropped the other two. He'd barely closed the door before leaning her against the hard surface and leveling another kiss on her. This one happened to be a whole-body kiss, involving his chest, his knee, his tongue, his hands, his erection. His soul.

And hers. It wasn't totally her fault she couldn't stop kissing him. Lonesomeness poured off Will in waves. This just wasn't about horniness or chemistry or that kind of nuisance stuff. He tugged at something in her, something huge. A loneliness. A yearning. A need to
be
with someone—someone who filled up the emptiness. Someone who mattered. Someone who touched her. Not on the outside, on the inside.

He did stop for breath once, but only to grumble, “If you say no now, you'll kill me.”

At that moment, her thin sweater was flying somewhere over her head. His right shoe was gone. Her knee had regretfully connected with a wall. Neither had turned on a light yet, but the glow of streetlights below was starting to infiltrate the darkness. She could see the fierce shine in his eyes. Feel, see, the tension in his body, in his face.

“What if I want to say no?”

“Then say it. Just know, you'll kill me.”

“And what if I say…take me right here, right now, Will. Only love me like no one has ever loved me, or don't mess with me at all.”

He muttered a curse word. Or a prayer. “Not a smart thing to say if you want a guy to stop, Kel.”

“No?”

“No. So don't say it to any other guys. Ever. Okay?”

Well, hell. He didn't give her a chance to answer. Next thing, he was walking her backward down the dark hall, stopping once to yank his shirt over his head, then to heel off his other shoe. Eventually they bounced off enough walls to pass the bathroom, past all the rooms she'd seen before, into one that she definitely hadn't. Still, even in the dark she knew it was his bedroom. It smelled like his soap. Like the fresh air blowing in the cracked window, like…like him.

Like an exotic, sexy, unbearably masculine man. A fantasy man.

A lover.

She didn't get naked easily. There'd only been Jason for her, and it had taken him four years to talk her out of all her clothes. Her procrastinating hadn't been about morality so much as prudishness. She liked her clothes on. She didn't like messiness.

All in all, she'd long figured out that she just didn't have that big a sex drive. Everybody couldn't, after all. She thought sex was important—like meat and potatoes. A staple of life. Needed. A serious thing.

But certainly nothing on a par with cyclones and tsunamis.

Yet that seemed to be how it was with Will. All explosive risk and wicked need and unbelievably soft romance.

He kissed a slow path all the way down to her toes, then trailed back up again, lingering between her thighs—and embarrassing the devil out of her. He gave her no time to work up a royal prudish fit, which she'd always been very good at.

The feather bed was all rumpled and warm, like him. Beneath, the mattress was hard as a board—maybe it even was a board—but thankfully there were all those soft covers to melt into. Or possibly that was Will she was melting into.

“Maybe you better hold on to the headboard, Kel. I think this could get a little wild.”

“Um. Did I mention ahead of time that I only do good-girl sex?”

“I don't think you mentioned that today yet, no.”

A breeze fluttered in the dark room, chilling her overheated skin when he flipped her on top of him. They weren't joined yet, but she could feel how it was going to be. Scary. Delicious. “You get a thrill on roller-coaster rides?” she murmured.

“Nope. But I'm going to get a thrill when I ride you. You ready?” He raised an arm, fumbled in the bedside drawer.

“Condom?” she asked. And got the first serious tone from him she'd heard in hours.

“You don't have a problem with that, do you?”

“Hey, don't insult me.”

A flash of a smile in the dark. And that was it…the last time she had a coherent thought.

A zillion sensations bombarded her senses. The sterling shadows on the wall, the profile of him riding her, the strength and bold, primal sexuality of him. How she felt…beguiled…spun into a whispery web of touch and taste and need. The texture of their skin, shiny as wet varnish, silky with sweat. Her lungs gasping for breath. The howl of a siren outside. A flash of lights inside, deep inside her, when this crazy, lofty, silver-sharp climax took her over, took her under.

When it was over, he fell back, pulling her half on top of him as if refusing to be separated even for an instant. She lay there, slaked, eyes closed, still trying to catch her breath. She felt him pulling up the covers, the stroke of his hand on her back, the cuff of his knuckle when he tucked the sheet around her neck, sealing all the airholes. He murmured something silly and throaty and low, like, “Who knew?”

As if he never expected she'd be such a red-hot mama.

Before dropping off to sleep, she remembered thinking,
Damn, I was. I really was.

At least with him.

 

S
WEET
,
WARM RAIN DRIZZLED
down the windows. Horns and sirens heralded the new day below. A child's laughter echoed from the street. Beneath the feather comforter, she couldn't remember feeling snuggled so safely, so securely. Her cheek seemed embedded in Will's shoulder. Her arm was loosely, possessively, draped around his bare waist. His chest hair nuzzled her very warm, very bare breasts.

But none of those things were what woke her up.

Guilt woke her up.

Huge, sharp, ear-drumming, shame-sucking heaps of guilt.

Silent as sin, she inched out from under the covers—praying not to wake Will—and then tiptoed, shivering, into the hall. Her two suitcases and carry-on were still lying in a jumble by the front door, but right then, she only had one thing on her mind and it wasn't remotely her stuff.

Grabbing a towel from the bathroom to cover herself, she hustled into the living room, grabbed the telephone and found a spot to sit upon the carpet behind the couch.

She dialed Jason.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And then rang some more.

She hated using Will's phone, partly because she'd have yet another bill to clock up on Will's balance sheet, and partly because it just seemed the height of wrong. But without her purse or her cell phone or any of her phone cards, there was no other choice. And this call wouldn't wait another minute. Another second.

But there was no answer, even after seven rings. She hung up, bit her lip, then dialed the number all over again.

It was seven hours earlier in South Bend. That meant it was somewhere around two in the morning there. Heaven knows, she didn't want to wake Jason up, but she needed to reach him. Now. And at this hour, he simply had to be in their new apartment, asleep.

Where else would he be on an early Saturday morning? Even if he'd gone out with the guys, he'd have been home hours before this.

On the ninth ring, she clicked off again, frustrated and anxious, but she just couldn't quit. Surely he was just sleeping hard. Sooner or later he'd hear the ring.

She started punching in the numbers again until she suddenly noted a tousled blond head peering at her from over the couch. “I don't know if the customs have changed in America, but over here, we're allowed to sit in a regular chair to make a call,” Will said, his voice thick from sleep. She could hear his amusement.

“I was trying not to make noise. I didn't want to wake you up. I was just calling…” She almost said
my mother,
but the lie stuck in her throat. She'd committed enough sins in the past twenty-four hours. She couldn't add another one to the mound. She sighed. “My fiancé.”

Will's eyes narrowed as if he were sighting in a rifle. “I thought I recognized that strange expression on your face. Guilt. Which is completely wasted, Kelly. Whoever that guy is, you were never going to marry him.”

“I was. I was.”

“See? You said it in the past tense. You already know he wasn't remotely right for you.”

If she wasn't a lady—and if she wasn't struggling with both hands and a phone to keep covered by the towel—she'd have smacked him. “But I thought he was right. Last week.”

“Can't help that,” Will said heartlessly.

“Even two days ago I thought he was!”

“Can't help that, either. Good thing you found out, though, huh? Before you got tied up with a guy who was totally wrong for you?” His face disappeared from sight. “I'm headed in the kitchen to make some coffee, so you're welcome to the shower first. By the time you're done, I should have some scrambled eggs ready. That is, assuming you're not still hiding behind the couch.”

“I am
not
hiding.”

A few minutes later, when she was locked in his bathroom, standing under the shower, which was more a sultry trickle than the exuberant water pressure she was used to in the U.S., she was still feeling defensive.

By the time she'd rinsed out the shampoo, though, her mood had metamorphosed from defensive to morose. Truth was, she would have liked to hide behind Will's couch indefinitely. At least for a few weeks. She didn't know what was happening to her. It was totally impossible that she'd cheated on Jason. It was even more impossible that she'd just made love with a stranger.

More confounding yet, something in her heart, deep down, kept beating the quiet, sure pulse that something about Will was right. Really right. In a way that nothing had ever been this right in her life before.

By the time she'd stepped out of the shower and was pulling on fresh clothes…fresh, wrinkled clothes, straight from the suitcase…she was thinking herself into circles.

Maybe Will wasn't right. Maybe, instead, a massive flaw in her character had just shown up. Maybe somewhere deep inside her, she'd always been a cheater. A piker. A moral-less slut. And the potential had just never shown up before now.