Bottles & Blades (Eagles Hockey: Oak Ridge Vineyards #1)

Chapter 38

Thirty-Eight

Jean-Michel

I hadn’t lied.

There was more to come.

A cruise on the Seine. Dinner at Benoit.

And now we’re doing the most Paris thing ever—cramming ourselves into a tiny elevator to make our way to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Tomorrow we’ll head to the Palace of Versailles, another must see.

Monday I’ll take her shopping in the 1 st Arrondissement.

I can’t wait to see what kind of fight she puts up when I buy her something she likes but thinks is too expensive.

And I can’t wait to see her face when I take her to the spa Marie booked for her.

She’ll have an afternoon of pampering while I sit my ass in the sauna and catch glimpses of her in just a robe.

Perfect.

Though, Marie better have booked a female masseuse or there will be hell to pay.

Am I feeling more than a little possessive?

Yup.

Do I give a fuck?

Nope.

The doors open, and we shuffle off the elevator into the glass-enclosed top of the tower. The city’s lights sparkle below us and I guide us over to the bar on the balcony.

The most Paris thing ever? Not just taking the elevator to the top and staring out at the city beyond.

But also having a glass of champagne at the top while cuddling close against the wind and getting lost in the City of Love.

“Here you go, buttercup,” I say, passing her the plastic flute after we’ve paused in a sliver of open space.

“Thank you.” She wraps her hand around mine, squeezes lightly. “How is this real life?”

“It’s the life you deserve,” I murmur.

She leans against me. “Pretty soon you’ll have me believing that.”

“I’ll work on getting you there.”

She smiles and shakes her head as she sips her champagne. “This is perfect,” she says on a sigh.

“It is,” I agree.

We stand there for long minutes, sipping our champagne, cuddling close, people and city watching.

But, eventually, we have to find our way back to the elevator.

The ride down is less crowded, and before long we’re striding back out onto the pavilion…

Just as she begins to sparkle.

“Oh!” Tiff exclaims, her gaze overhead, her mouth dropped open, her expression one of wonder as the lights overhead glitter for long moments. “That’s beautiful.”

“Yes, you are.”

Her head tilts back down, and she smiles. “Charmer.”

“Truth teller is more like it.”

A shake of her head, but then she just sighs and pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Take a picture with me?”

We take a selfie, arms wrapped around each other, bodies pressed close, the lights sparkling behind us, and I know I need a copy of it.

Need a permanent memory of this moment.

“Send that to me?”

She nods, taps on her phone screen, and I feel the buzz of a text message on mine.

I take her hand as we walk through the wide open space to our waiting car.

She’s fading as we drive.

Asleep by the time we reach my apartment.

I rouse her enough to make our way upstairs, thankful that the building has an elevator to get us up to the top floor since she leans heavily against me the whole way.

Then I’m unlocking the door, pushing us inside.

“Go on and get changed, baby,” I tell her. “I’ll lock up and join you.”

Her eyes are half-mast, but she nods, presses her lips to my jaw. “Thank you for today, Jean-Mi. It’s been magical.”

“Anything. Anytime.”

She smiles then turns and shuffles down the hall.

I do a walkthrough, making sure all of the windows are closed, snagging a bottle of water for her from the fridge, in case she gets thirsty in the night, double-checking that the front door is locked.

The light is on in the bathroom, a sliver of glow showing beneath the gap in the door.

I set her water on the nightstand, move to my suitcase to grab out a pair of sweats.

The bathroom door opens with a creak , and I turn, unable to keep my gaze from going to Tiff.

Then freeze as I try to process what I’m seeing.

Freeze as every bit of blood that’s in my body arrows straight for my cock.

She’s wearing…well, she’s not wearing very much at all.

It’s red and lacy and clingy and sheer.

Fucking hell, it’s sheer.

And clinging to her curves. Curves I’ve gotten to know. Curves I’ve worshipped. Curves I’ve never seen wrapped in sexy as hell lingerie.

Until tonight.

“Buttercup,” I rasp as she rubs her fingertips together, worry creeping into her face. “You’re beautiful.”

Her cheeks go pink.

Teeth press into her bottom lip.

“I know you’ve probably seen sexier?—”

I don’t let her finish that statement. I close the distance between us.

Her gasp is quiet.

“You. Are. Beautiful,” I say again.

“I feel ridiculous,” she admits. “I’ve never worn this. I bought it on a whim and…” She shrugs. “I never had a reason to wear it.”

I touch the thin straps that flow over her shoulders, that trail down her chest, crisscrossing over her breasts. Her lips part, back arching, instinctively seeking out more of my touch. “This isn’t why I brought you here.” I slide my fingers lower, tracing over the scalloped edges of lace that form a V that dips low on her belly.

She shivers. “I know.” Her hand covers mine, lifting it from her belly, drawing it higher. “But I want you to take me anyway.”

When she settles it on her breast, we both exhale.

Her nipple is a hard bud pressing into my palm, and I lightly drag my hand back and forth. “I should say no.”

I know I should—it’s late, she’s tired, the trip isn’t about this.

She moans softly, head falling back. “Please.”

“But I’m not good enough of a man to resist you.”