The Virgin Society Collection

21. A Kiss Memory

21

A KISS MEMORY

Jules

The lush green gardens overwhelm me as soon as we step through the gate. It’s a pinwheel of nature’s colors. Rich yellows, glorious oranges, ruby reds. The scent of flowers—maybe poppies, possibly petunias—wafts through the air.

This is my favorite thing, flowers and gardens, and it should be a wonderland here, with its paths and ponds and curves.

But right now, the tourist attraction outside the Latin Quarter is stuffed, sardine-like, with people. It’s clattering with the noise of couples sprawled out on blankets on the lawn, eating cheese and drinking wine while playing music from their phones. Children shriek and chase balloons while tired parents tug on dirty hands. Tourists trudge by with phones, snapping photos and buying souvenirs from carts.

It’s thoroughly lovely but completely overrun.

I’m a jerk for thinking this, so I don’t say it. “Gorgeous,” I say, squinting like I can block out everyone else and keep these gardens all for me. Maybe that makes me terribly selfish.

“Yes, but it’d be better if the gardens were closed just for us,” Finn says, a tease of a smirk crooking his lips.

“I was thinking the same thing,” I admit, relieved we’re on the same page. “I wish it were quieter so I could just…enjoy it the way I want to.”

“And what way is that?”

“Sniffing all the flowers. Then pretending it’s my own private garden,” I say.

“That’s fair. And honestly, a damn good fantasy,” he says.

“It feels selfish, but I was picturing it that way,” I say as we weave through the midday crowds, passing a couple of boys operating remote-control sailboats in a pond.

“It’s funny—I think there’s this idea of certain places being perfect. Fantasy places. Paris, Rome, London, Tokyo, the Greek isles. Then you go to them and sometimes it can be disappointing.”

“Are you disappointed?” I ask. I don’t want him to be bored. Even if we both wished for a little more solitude, I still don’t want him to wish he were someplace else.

“No. Not at all. And never with the company.”

He takes a beat, those eyes journeying up and down my body then lingering on my face. “It’s just…a place can be that way, don’t you think?”

“A thing can be that way,” I agree, soaking in the too-busy atmosphere as we wander deeper into the gardens. “You hype it up in your mind. But I’m glad I’m here. Just because something isn’t perfect doesn’t mean I don’t want to see it.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re here too.”

I try not to read anything more into that comment, but I do let myself enjoy its possibilities.

As we walk along a path beside a huge expanse of lawn, Finn moves closer, the faint remnants of his cologne teasing my nose.

“What’s yours? Your cologne, I mean.” He was so insistent to know mine, and his fire and orchids fill my mind.

“Midnight Dreams,” he replies without skipping a beat.

“Mmm. Now I’ll be sniffing it at department stores and thinking of you when I drift off to sleep.”

“That’s too alluring an image, Jules.”

“It sure is.”

He doesn’t hold my hand or touch me, but his voice feels like sensual fingers caressing my neck when he says, “I bet we can find a place here that lives up to your dreams.”

And I do read into that comment. Or, really, my body does, since I get this buzzy, lovely feeling when I’m with him. “All right, you’re on. Find a place,” I dare him.

He tilts his head, an appreciative grin on his lips. “You doubt me?”

“Maybe I do,” I say playfully. I think he likes the challenge.

“Jules, you know that only makes me want to prove you wrong.”

“Fine. Go. Prove me wrong.”

“All right let’s try the Medici Fountain,” he says, like he just had that suggestion in his back pocket.

I nudge him with my elbow. “You tricked me. You told me you didn’t know the city that well.”

“Hmm. Did I say that? Or did I simply say I’d only been here for work?”

“Fine, you caught me on a technicality.”

“In any case, I have only been here for work, but I read all about Paris on the flight and over the last few days. I wanted to be prepared,” he says.

And damn, that’s fire. That sort of preparation. “Just for the show?”

“Yes. I want to be able to speak knowledgeably about the city with my marketing partners who work here. And that means knowing Paris.”

Why do smart men have to be so sexy? Oh right, because using your brain is hot. I don’t really need more reasons to be attracted to this man I can’t have, and yet, Finn Adams has given me another one.

“So you’re traveling in first class, enjoying a glass of wine or bourbon, and just reading up on Paris on the flight, looking all classy in your tailored slacks and a dress shirt.”

“You’ve got this complete image of what I wore on the plane,” he says, clearly amused.

“Tailored business clothes are hot. What can I say? Don’t ruin it and tell me that you wore sweatpants or a track suit.”

He laughs lightly. “I didn’t wear sweatpants or a track suit on the plane.”

“Is that because you’re an executive? It’s probably forbidden, right?” I adopt a schoolmarm voice. “No executive shall wear casual clothes on a plane. You must maintain the image of an executive anytime you fly.”

“Yes, I wore a dress shirt and tailored slacks,” he says, glancing down at his jeans and polo, which is just the right amount of snug, showing off his strong arms. “This afternoon, I went casual since I didn’t have any meetings,” he says, but his voice is a little distant, almost coolly professional for a moment, and I’m not sure why.

Before I can think more on it, we round the bend past some tall hedges into a quieter section of the park. We’ve stumbled into a small garden that feels almost secret, tucked away. Just beyond the immaculately trimmed rose bushes I can hear the faint gurgling of water. I follow Finn around them till we reach a large fountain with water cascading into an emerald pool below us, like a grotto with an iron railing around it. At the base of the fountain are two carved lovers, twined together.

“The Medici Fountain. For now, we’re the only ones here. Soon we won’t be. But I wanted to show you,” he says, and I love that he planned this for me.

“It’s so different than the rest of the gardens,” I whisper. Trees canopy the fountain, giving us shade that makes the spot feel more intimate. This is not on the list Camden and I made. I’ll add it myself, though, because it belongs there.

It’s as if we’ve left the city and found the country, all alone in these secluded gardens. A sweet floral scent lingers in the air, making me feel like I’m caught in a hazy dream as the afternoon sun shines down on the pool, casting a golden glow. At last, this is the Paris in my mind. “I think even the sun wears rose-colored glasses in this garden,” I say.

Finn smiles, clearly satisfied. He should be. “Did I understand the assignment, or what?”

“You did.” I drink it all in, wanting to remember every detail—like the flower pots next to the statue. I point to them. “That’s sort of quaint. Flower pots in the midst of this,” I say as I head to them then sniff. “Pansies.”

Joining me, he leans in and inhales. “You and your scents,” he says then tilts his head. “What’s it all about, Jules, your love of scents?”

This man pays attention. He listens, but he sees too. He notices me. “They make me happy.” That simple admission is a strangely vulnerable one. But he deserves it. He’s earned it. He took me here.

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” I toss back, but he waits patiently for me to give some kind of an answer. “I’ve always been drawn to scents. Maybe I just have a good nose. But there’s just something about perfume and flowers and gardens that does it for me. I wish I could explain it better. But they speak to me. I close my eyes, inhale, and I feel…transported.”

I draw a deep inhale, catching that fire and leather scent of him, then falling back in time. Earlier today, he must have splashed on cologne at his hotel. Closing my eyes, I see Finn in front of the mirror, freshening up. Did he think at that moment that he might run into me? Was he hoping, as he put on his cologne, to see me? A just-in-case hint of his mysterious scent?

When I open my eyes, I feel wobbly.

“Where did you go a few seconds ago? To a memory?”

Instantly, I’m rooted to the now. “I read somewhere that the sense of smell is the one most closely tied to memory. Maybe that’s why I’m attracted to scents,” I say, connecting the dots inside of me.

“Did you think of the past just now?”

I shake my head. “No. Just a few hours ago. It’s not even my memory. It’s my…imagination…You. Your room. Putting on your cologne. Setting down the glass bottle, adjusting your shirt, leaving.”

His eyes darken, and his smile disappears as he stares at me like he can’t look away. “You pictured it.” He sounds intrigued and aroused.

“And I imagined you wanting to see me,” I admit, since I want it to be true.

He glances down at his clothes. “I didn’t have meetings today. That’s true. But mostly I dressed like this because I hoped to see you. I knew we were staying in the same hotel.” His jaw tightens for a beat before he lets go. “I chose that one because you were staying in it.”

That’s…obsessive. And I like it. I grab hold of the iron railing so I don’t throw myself at him. “Well, it’s a nice hotel too,” I say dryly.

“Yeah. Nice because I wanted to run into you.”

I can barely catch my breath. “Same for me.”

He looks behind him, perhaps checking to see if the coast is clear. It’s still just us here at the Medici Fountain. He stares at me in the way only a lover can. Intense. Passionate.

“Fuck it,” he says, then he drags his thumb along my cheek and comes in for a kiss.

It’s a heady, dreamy one in the middle of the gardens that makes me feel a little lost and a little found all at once.

When he breaks it, we wander through the rest of the tourist attraction as if the kiss didn’t happen.

Like it’s just a memory now.