Chapter 12
twelve
Three Days Later
I step into the lift and use my keycard to access the penthouse suite.
I lean against the lift’s wall as it climbs, wincing at my aching muscles.
The hotel’s gym is amazing, and I’ve spent every morning running on the treadmill, my music in my ears, and admiring the view of the river and the Paris skyline from the huge windows.
The lift comes to a stop, the doors open, and I make my way to the suite.
The door opens to a familiar silence that makes me sigh a little.
Mac’s been true to his word about this being a business trip.
He’s left early every morning dressed in one of his insanely expensive suits and doesn’t return until late that night.
Despite his obviously punishing workdays, he’s joined me in bed every night. The sex has been as amazing as always—fierce and driven, leaving us both as sweaty wrecks. He’s also been true to his word about not spending the night with me, although I thought I caught a hint of reluctance to go.
Wanting more of his company is a ridiculous desire, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking of him all week on my adventures.
I step into the lounge and hear a sound on my right.
I glance over and swallow a gasp when I see the man himself leaning against the door jamb.
He’s got rid of the pinstriped suit he was wearing this morning and is now wearing old jeans that are worn white in places and cling to his long legs.
He’s barefoot and I notice his white T-shirt has the name of a London rowing club on it, the logo a faded blue.
His hair is ruffled and wavy as if he’s pushed his fingers through it a few times, and he’s holding a tumbler of what appears to be whisky.
“What are you doing back already?” I demand. And then immediately add in an accusing tone, “I didn’t know you had a pair of jeans.”
He raises one eyebrow. “Should I have told you? I didn’t know I had to disclose my denim history.”
“Well, you should.” I walk towards him, loving the way his eyes heat and smoulder. “You were born to wear jeans,” I say in a reverent tone that makes him laugh.
He takes a sip of his drink, the alcohol leaving a sheen on his full lower lip, and I step into him, raising my head and running my tongue over the surface, tasting whisky and Mac. He groans, and I step back, winking at him. “I could get used to drinking alcohol like that.”
He raises his hand and cards his fingers through my hair, his face absorbed. “It could make dining in restaurants rather awkward.”
“What could possibly be more awkward than the restaurants you eat in? They have cutlery I’ve never even heard of.”
“Well, that’s not hard to believe from someone who uses his fists to eat food.”
I smack his hard stomach. “Shut up,” I say, laughing. “I do not. What are you doing back, anyway? I thought you had an all-day meeting.”
“It was cancelled.”
Was it by you? Luckily, I have the sense not to say that out loud.
“That’s brilliant,” I say happily, instead. “So, you’re back for the day? Or are you going out for work again?” My smile slips slightly, despite my best efforts.
There’s a long pause. Mac’s hand tightens on his glass and his gaze flicks toward the window and back to me. “No.” He clears his throat. “It’s our last day. I wondered if you’d like to go for a walk, explore the city, and then grab dinner later.”
Joy rushes through me, so strong I sway on my feet. “Oh my god, I’d love to.” I can’t help the fervour in my voice. How could I? To have a whole day and evening with Mac makes my heart sing.
He inhales slowly, straightening his shoulders. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Go and shower and get changed. I’ll grab a jumper and my jacket.”
His expression turns wry, and I know my smile is far too wide, but I’m too excited to hide it. “Yay,” I say.
I lean up to kiss him, and when I go to pull away, his hand stops me. He deepens the kiss, and our tongues tangle. The usual familiar sweet heat unfurls in my belly, and I hear a thud as his glass lands on the carpet.
His hands land on my shoulders, and he gently pushes me back, his eyes dark and his mouth a little swollen. “No,” he says hoarsely. “I promised myself a day with you, and that’s what we’re doing. Go and get ready. It’s cooler today, so grab a jacket.”
I’m unable to resist giving him another kiss, and I laugh as he swats my backside and sends me off.
I rush through my shower and waste a few valuable minutes deciding what to wear.
Ultimately, I settle for a pair of khaki cargo trousers with a white T-shirt and a navy cashmere jumper, none of which I remember buying, which means I owe Julian.
When I stayed with him, he had a habit of popping expensive clothes into my wardrobe in the hope that I’d wear them.
I should probably have a pair of expensive brogues like him, but they’re just not me.
Instead, I slip into my old Converse, which are comfortable for walking.
I return to the foyer, where Mac stands looking at something on his phone. He’s added a black jumper, Vans, and a jacket in some soft tweedy material to his outfit. I thought he’d look odd in casual dress, but he seems perfectly comfortable and even hotter than normal, if that’s possible.
The white T-shirt peeks from the jumper’s neck, and I wonder about the rowing club. Does he row? There’s so much about him I don’t know. So much to find out if he’d only let me.
Hearing my footsteps, he turns around and looks at me for a long moment. Then he smiles, and it’s crooked with an edge of sweetness, making me stare for a second before recovering myself.
“Ready?” I say brightly. He nods and gestures me into the corridor and presses the button for the lift. I nod at his phone. “Not more trouble, I hope.”
He shrugs. “There’s always trouble,” he says rather wearily. He shoves the phone into his pocket. “But not today.”
“No,” I say quickly. “ Definitely not today.”
That pulls a smile from him, and we step into the lift. He scans his keycard and looks at me as the lift descends. “Where have you been this week?”
“Oh, Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Conciergerie, the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, and the Orsay Museum.”
He blinks. “In three days ?”
“Mac, who knows when I’ll come here again? I had to cram a lot in.” The doors of the lift open, and I nudge him. “I’m a boy with a lot of determination.”
“You’re a boy with many opinions and a determination to always express them.” We step into the busy lobby, and he pauses. “Which did you like best?”
“The Orsay,” I say immediately. “It was so light and warm. I liked the Louvre, but a lot of it seemed dark. I prefer the sunshine.”
A funny expression crosses his face—it’s humour but not directed at me. More like he finds something funny in himself. But all he says is, “Of course you do. So, is there anywhere else you’d like to see?”
“Where were you thinking of taking me?” I ask interestedly. “I need to compare that against my own list and see if it measures up.”
His lip twitches. “Oh dear, and now my competitive instinct has kicked in.” He ushers me out of the hotel, his hand against my back. Outside, the cool breeze hits us. The street is as busy as usual.
I look over the road at the huge Louis Vuitton shop. “Do you want to go and shop?” I fervently hope he doesn’t.
He grimaces. “Good god, no.”
“I thought you liked shopping.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“The fact that you seem to own around five hundred handmade suits.”
He rolls his eyes. “Five hundred? Some babies are granted grace and beauty by their fairy godmothers at birth. Your fairy, however, seems to have given you the gift of overexaggeration.”
I snort and fall in at his side as we edge our way over the busy road and merge with the sea of people moving along, some aimlessly and some with a fierce purpose. I edge closer to Mac, and he smiles at me. He guides me over the bridge that I’ve now learnt is very famous.
My mood lifts like a hot air balloon. It’s lovely to feel the fresh air on my face and be at his side. He has a way of making everything seem more vibrant, and somehow just better, when he’s close.
We stand for a moment by the bridge, looking out over the water. The silence is companionable. It’s a blustery, billowy day. The river is muddy brown, running swiftly along and swirling around the bridge. The sky is porcelain blue, with clouds scudding across it.
“So, what do you think of Paris?” he finally asks.
“It’s so beautiful. I love how tidy it is.” He raises a quizzical eyebrow, so I elaborate. “It all seems laid out very well, and the buildings mostly look a certain age. Not like London, which is a mix of old and new, and sometimes it’s very difficult to get around.”
“Paris underwent Haussmann’s Renovation in the nineteenth century.
Napoleon the Third wanted the city to be airy and light, so he employed Haussmann to get the job done.
He razed a lot of the crowded old neighbourhoods to the ground and built the wide avenues, boulevards, and the parks that now seem so Parisian.
The displacement of all those people was pretty horrific though, and Haussmann was incredibly controversial during his day. ”
“I didn’t know that.” I love the interesting things he pulls from his clever head, like a magician producing white rabbits.
He starts to walk again. His steps are sure as he guides me out of the crowd and onto a quiet residential street.
Full of ubiquitous tall buildings with wrought iron balconies, it’s charming and somehow very Parisian.
“I love the doors here,” I say chattily.
Most of them are quite tall, with ornate knockers carved in fantastical shapes.
He looks at the one I’m pointing to, which is painted black with a snarling lion’s head door knocker.
“It looks mysterious, like anything could be going on behind it. They might be guarding hidden worlds behind that door.”