Marrying Mister Perfect (30 page)

“The Eiffel Tower,” Lou whispered,
breathless.

“Not a bad view, eh? And see there? That’s
Notre Dame.”

Lou heard a little squeaking sound she was
pretty sure was coming from her own throat, but she couldn’t form
actual words.

“You can see Sacre Coeur from the other
side.”

Jack’s hands slid down from her shoulders
along her arms, wrapping around her as they went until she was
cuddled in front of him, facing the most gorgeous view man had ever
created. His chest pressed against her back and he gently rested
his chin on her hair.

“Jack,” she finally managed to whisper.

“Do you like it?”

“I never dreamed it would be this beautiful.”
Or that everything would feel this perfect. The most wonderful man
she’d ever met had his arms warm around her and Paris was laid out
at her feet. She wanted to hold onto this moment for the rest of
her life.

At that exact second, the first strands of
La Vie en Rose
drifted up from the street below.

It was worth it.

Whatever came later. Whatever heartache was
in store it was all worth it for this moment. She would never
regret a second of the path that had brought her here—even if the
damn show tore them apart.

“Today is for you, Lou,” Jack said softly,
his breath ruffling her hair. “No kids to distract you, no one
else’s desires to worry about but your own. It’s all about you,
Louisa.”

Lou hugged the arms wrapped around her middle
a little closer, then stepped away, albeit reluctantly. “Then let’s
get started.”

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

“That is the single most beautiful thing I
have ever seen in my life.”

“Ditto.”

Lou glanced over at Jack to find him gazing
steadily back at her. He wasn’t even looking at the sculpture. The
line was cliché, but coming from Jack, it still made her heart
race. Her cheeks heated and she averted her eyes. They fell back on
the white marble in front of her.

“You’re bored out of your mind, aren’t you?”
she asked without taking her eyes off the Canova.

They’d already done a quick visit to the
Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame—though she’d foregone going up in
either one since they were tight on time. She’d debated between the
Musee D’Orsay and the Rodin Museum before deciding to go with the
famed Louvre, and she was delighted with her choice—but Jack had
never had much patience for classic art. She was amazed he wasn’t
climbing the walls.

“Believe it or not, I’m having the time of my
life. You’re so engaged in every moment—to use show parlance. How
could I be bored when we aren’t wasting a single second?”

He came to stand at her back again, wrapping
his arms around her from behind and cradling her close. “So. What’s
so special about this sculpture? I thought we’d be over at the Mona
Lisa for sure.”

“Honestly? The Mona Lisa’s never really done
it for me and trying to see her through five rows of people and
three inches of bulletproof glass just doesn’t appeal. But
this
…” She gestured to the life-size lovers held forever in
white marble just inches in front of them. “This is
Psyche
Revived by Cupid’s Kiss
.”

“And who were they?” he asked. “Remember, I
was a math and science nerd. You’re the one with the classics
minor.”

Lou grinned to herself, glad she was facing
away from him and he wouldn’t be able to see how foolishly
delighted she was that he remembered what she’d minored in at
college. “Cupid was the god of love and Psyche was the mortal girl
he fell in love with.”

“I have a feeling there’s more to it than
that.”

“With the gods, there always is.”

“Why did he have to revive her? Is this like
an early version of Sleeping Beauty or something?”

“Something like that.” Lou settled herself
more deeply into his arms, as she remembered more and more of the
myth associated with her favorite sculpture. “See, Venus was the
jealous type, and she decided Psyche was too beautiful, so she sent
her son Cupid to trick Psyche into falling in love with something
awful. But… something happened, I forget what, and Cupid ended up
hitting himself with one of his arrows and falling in love with
Psyche himself. He has the west wind carry her away and marries
her, but he only visits her at night when she can’t see who he
is.”

“That’s kind of skeezy.”

Lou shrugged. “No one said the gods weren’t
pervy. So anyway, Psyche’s sisters talk her into finding out who
her hubbie is by lighting a lamp after he falls asleep one night,
but the light wakes him and he takes off, mad at her for not
obeying him or something.”

“So he’s not only a perv, he’s a
dickhead.”

“Pretty much. Psyche searches for him
everywhere, but the gods don’t have to be found if they don’t want
to be so she’s out of luck. She decides to go to Venus herself, but
Venus is still pissed because she’s too pretty. Venus gives her all
these impossible tasks that are supposed to kill her, but she keeps
surviving. I think she even goes into the Underworld and comes out
again alive, all in an attempt to get Cupid back. But then she
opens a box—which is always a bad idea in mythology—and an
unnatural sleep rises out of it and knocks her out.”

Lou looked up at the sculpture of a winged
Cupid waking a sleeping Psyche with a kiss.

“That’s when Cupid flies to the rescue. He
still loves her, you see. So he kisses her and she wakes up,
becomes immortal and they live happily ever after for all eternity.
And
this
,” Lou said, pointing to the statue, “is the moment
when she opens her eyes and sees him. The moment when she knows all
the trials are over and love has conquered all.”

Jack bent until his cheek rested next to
hers. “Why, Miss Tanner,” he murmured, “I had no idea you were such
a sappy romantic.”

Lou twisted out of his grip, giving him a
wink as she tugged him by the hand out of the sculpture hall. “I’m
just full of surprises, Dr. Doyle.”

But the truth was, she herself had forgotten
about the part of her with a passion for romance and mythology and
art. It had been a long time since she’d felt this way. Was it
Jack? The reminder of who she used to be?

There wasn’t much demand in the carpool
sector for a minor in classical studies. Her passions had just sort
of faded away in the face of practicality. And that practical side
of her nature had grown and grown over the years until it felt like
that was all she was.

The only outlet for her fierce romanticism
had been her childish infatuation with Jack. But her fantasy of him
hadn’t been any more real than the myth of Cupid and Psyche.

Now things with Jack were all too real—this
fantasy day just brought that home all the more clearly—and reality
was much more frightening than fantasy. Reality could hurt.

Practicality had taught her how to build
walls around her heart, each brick a rationalization, the mortar
made of excuses. She was safe behind them, but she didn’t want to
be safe any more. Love was a risk she had to take, even if it broke
her heart wide open. Jack was worth it.

And maybe it would work out. She had a stamp
in her passport and the world hadn’t fallen down around her ears.
Maybe love could conquer all.

Jack had snuck through the cracks in the
walls over the years, taking up a place in her heart. Paris had
punched an even bigger hole in the wall, making her defenses all
but useless. But did she need defenses with Jack? She could trust
him, couldn’t she?

“What’s next?” she asked as they threaded
through the crowds at the museum’s exit.

“I thought you’d like to see the Arc de
Triomphe, then we have dinner reservations at a cafe on the Champs
Elysees. Sound good?”

“Heavenly,” she admitted. A dream day in
Paris. “Just promise me we’ll go walking along the Seine at
night.”

He grinned and linked their arms. “I think
that can be arranged.”

#

The lights of Paris glimmered, twinkling off
the river. A light rain had started while they were at dinner, but
Jack was as good as his word and took her strolling along the Seine
in spite of the drizzle. Every once in a while, the thin sliver of
the moon would find a break in the clouds and cast a silvery glow
over the already magical city.

The cameras followed them, but Jack was
right, after a day being trailed by them, she’d almost forgotten
they were there. And this was all just practice footage. She didn’t
need to feel self-conscious because why would the show ever use
this material?

Jack’s arm was wrapped around her shoulders
and she was tucked so snugly against his side, she barely felt the
chill. Lou leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed, not
wanting this day to ever end.

They didn’t speak much, but Lou didn’t think
any words could possibly have been more beautiful than the sounds
of their footsteps and the voices of the people passing by. A
couple passed them, walking quickly and arguing, and a giddy bubble
of laughter rose up in Lou’s throat.

“What?” Jack asked quietly.

“Everyone’s speaking French,” Lou explained,
knowing how ridiculous and inane that comment sounded, but too
delighted by being in France, where everyone spoke French, to care.
“I’m eavesdropping in French.”

“Have you thought about going back to
teaching?”

“French?”

Jack stopped them at the apex of a bridge
that arched over the river. He turned Lou to face him, gently
tugging the collar of her jacket up against the rain. His thumbs
brushed along the line of her throat. “You obviously still love
languages. When you love something that much, you don’t walk away
from it, Lou.”

Her breath caught.
Were they still talking
about art?

“I never get to see you like his,” he
murmured. “When you see the magic in everything.”

Lou felt the urge to apologize, as if she’d
let him down by letting the magic in her life get swallowed by
practicality. She opened her lips to speak—

—and he sealed them with a kiss.

It was not the frenzied rush of the Jacuzzi,
nor the tentative, accidental brush from weeks ago. The touch of
his lips was sure, coaxing a rush of warmth through her body from
the top of her head all the way down to her toes. A Parisian kiss.
He took his time with each smooth, slow, drugging pull of his mouth
on hers, drawing her deeper until her entire world narrowed down to
his lips, so much so she almost didn’t feel his arms closing around
her to hold her closer to his warmth.

When he lifted his head, Lou’s eye flickered
open to meet his. The piercing blue was almost as dazed as she
felt.

“Are you ready to go back to the hotel?” he
asked, his voice scratchy and low.

She knew he was asking her so much more than
if she was ready for her day in Paris to end. The entire day had
been leading up to this, a slow, unavoidable slide to the point of
no return.

If she said no, they would keep walking. When
they were ready to call it a night, they would head back to the
hotel and their separate rooms in the penthouse suite.

If she said yes…

Yes meant no more hiding her heart. It meant
risk and kisses and adventure. Yes was leaping into love with both
feet and damning the consequences. Yes was terrifying.

Lou took a deep breath and jumped off that
cliff, free falling and hoping Jack would be there to catch her.
“Yes.”

Perhaps she was pretending again, but maybe
Jack was pretending with her this time.

Chapter
Twenty-Nine

Anticipation was their silent companion on
the ride back to the hotel. Jack sat close, his thigh pressed warm
against hers, as the car zipped through the late night Parisian
traffic. Lou wanted to savor every moment; she was almost
disappointed when the car pulled up under the awning of the Hotel
Pont Royal.

Jack quickly stepped out, extending his hand
to help her from the car. She set her fingers on his palm, feeling
that small contact far more than she should have. He didn’t release
her hand as the doorman held the door for them, nor as they waited
for the elevator, or rode in silence up to the top floor. The
entire time, his thumb traced patterns on the back of her hand, and
she felt each swirling touch keenly. Four years of foreplay could
do that to a girl.

He had to release her hand to unlock the
door. He held it open, his palm grazing the small of her back as he
guided her inside in front of him. Neither of them reached for the
light, leaving them in the ambient glow of the city lights through
the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall.

The camera crew had followed, but now—just
like with the overnight dates on the show—they stayed outside as
the door clicked shut.

The sound of the door closing was unnaturally
loud in the hush.

Lou waited, her breath short and her heart
hammering noisily in her chest. Want stretched like a tether
between them. She felt the connection through his hand on the small
of her back, like he’d wrapped his hand around the most essential
parts of her and would never let go.

Lou hesitated, unsure what came next. Should
she step farther into the room? Turn to him and kiss him? Perhaps
they should have a glass of champagne on the balcony first? That
had certainly loosened things up in the Jacuzzi.

But she wasn’t certain she wanted to be
loose. She liked the delicious tension coiling in the room too much
to want to do anything to dissipate it. Lou leaned back slightly
against the palm splayed across the small of her back. That was all
the encouragement Jack needed.

Suddenly he was there, spinning her, his
hands cradling her face, holding her steady for his kiss.

And what a kiss. Lou’s toes curled in her
shoes. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her breasts
suddenly felt heavy and her nipples tightened, though he hadn’t
even looked at them yet.