Chapter 12
To Do:
- Go to Paris!!!!
- Set out of office message
The sun was risingover the city as Claire and Luke stepped onto French soil. Nearby buildings were bathed in gold light, adding to the inherent charm of the City of Love. Cars, Vespas, and taxis honked and fought for a position along the road in front of the airport, even at this early hour.
Claire blinked, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes. She followed Luke blindly, stumbling as they joined the taxi line.
“You good?” he asked with a smile.
She squinted in the morning light, yawning as he tucked her into his side. Even thousands of miles away from home, he still smelled like freshly mowed grass and musky warmth. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, and she smiled.
“I can’t believe you’re not brushing up on some conversational French or digging through a map right now. It’s very uncharacteristic of you,” he said, regarding her with fake surprise.
“My clients are asleep. And that’s what Google Translate is for.” She stifled another yawn as she snuggled in closer to him.
People of all ethnicities bustled by them, speaking a myriad of languages. Drivers honked impatiently as the sun crept higher into the sky.
“You gave up control. You know what this means, don’t you?”
“It means you owe me a generously buttered croissant and a brief nap before we start this adventure,” she said.
“Yes, but that’s not all. This means that you trust me.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” She cracked one eye open to stare up at Luke.
“It does, though. You, Claire the Great, independent, and sassy, have handed me the reins. This might be the first time it has happened.” He looked around as if this was new territory for him.
“I have merely accepted the fact that you know more about this city than I do, and I don’t want to step on your male ego by suggesting your planned activities aren’t a good enough use of our time.” She peeled herself away from him and attempted to smooth her hair, which had gone all wonky during the flight.
“You did plan activities, didn’t you?” she asked, regarding him sternly. “We’re not just going to wing it like backpacking college students taking a gap year, are we?”
“Please. It’s going to be a great day.” He leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth.
She flushed in pleasure, then drew back. Did she have red-eye breath? But his warmth and presence filled and energized her. Maybe, just this once, red-eye breath didn’t matter.
“You know, you can’t just take me to Paris every time we have an argument,” she said, adjusting her backpack.
“Of course not. This is just stop number one on our apology world tour.”
“I believe what you meant to say was ‘Claire, I understand how important honesty is to you. I will not lie to you ever again, and I will make you a PowerPoint with a complete list of my family tree going back at least three generations, including footnotes that denote whether or not I am estranged from them.’”
“Honesty, got it. I’ll add it to my to do list,” he said as a taxi finally pulled up. “By the way, what did you tell your mom about the note?”
Claire frowned in silence. She had only told Alice that she was taking a trip and had omitted the reason why.
“That’s what I thought. I am sorry, though, you know. For not telling you about George. I’ll do better.”
“Family is tough,” she conceded as Luke took her bag. “I’m sorry for not being more up front about my bio-dad.”
“You’re forgiven.” He kissed her hard and fast on the mouth and tugged her into the taxi.
Claire perked up as they wound through the city. She plastered herself to the window, pointing every few moments when she saw something she recognized.
“Luke! There’s the Louvre.” She gestured at the glass pyramid. “Are we going to go there? I’ve always wanted to see the Mona Lisa.”
He smiled mysteriously. “Maybe.”
Endless storefronts flashed by, windows full of colorful macarons and fashionable clothing. Her stomach audibly growled.
Minutes later, they pulled up in front of their hotel.
“Holy shit,” she whispered as she stepped onto the cobblestone street. The tip of the Eiffel Tower was visible behind Hotel Lemont.
“I love it,” she said. Maybe it was just the little pink cylinder in her luggage, but she was practically vibrating from head to toe.
Luke tipped the taxi driver and carried their suitcases inside. She listened in wonder as he checked them in, French pouring from his mouth as naturally as English.
God, that’s sexy.
“Where did you learn to speak French?” Claire inquired as they loaded into an elevator.
It was rickety at best, and it lurched upward inch by inch. Just like the nightmare shaft in her apartment building. She instinctively tightened her wrist to draw Rosie close before remembering that she wasn’t here.
“I had a buddy in the Navy whose family had emigrated from France. We had a lot of boring, late nights together in the hospital.”
Luke put his arm around her again. His eyelashes were thick and dark, and he looked insanely sexy in his black leather jacket and jeans. Something in Claire stirred despite her near-starvation and jet lag.
“What floor is our room on?”
“Fourteen.” He glanced at the old-school arrow that currently pointed at the number 3.
“Good.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and grabbed Luke by the jacket, yanking him roughly to her. Her suitcase toppled to the floor as her hands fisted his collar. It was hard to tell if it was the charm of Paris or her body betraying her with hormones, but she wanted—needed—Luke.
His tongue explored the inside of her mouth, and he gripped her so tightly that she nearly cried out. He reached down and cupped her ass, clad in her skintight jeans, lifting her up so that her legs wrapped around his waist. He pressed her into the corner of the elevator. She wondered briefly if there was a security camera in the shaft.
Ha—shaft.
It felt like the first time again—their first kiss in Luke’s library. Her stomach somersaulted. His hands were magic. She threw her head back with a moan of pleasure, and Luke greedily sampled her neck, softly nibbling and kissing in equal measure. One hand moved from her back to her front and began a slow ascent, burrowing under her lace balconette.
She arched against him, desperate to be close. Between her former fiancé sleeping with her nemesis and the recent stabbing, Claire’s trauma had prevented her from opening herself—emotionally or physically—for months. But suddenly, she was open. She wanted Luke now.
The elevator dinged softly, jerking to a stop. Shit. Claire flailed, trying to withdraw her legs from around Luke. He set her down and her knees buckled. She landed hard on the faux marble floor of the elevator.
“Ahem.” A soft-spoken protest preceded the entrance of a smartly dressed woman, clad in black from head to toe.
Claire sheepishly righted her suitcase. What did she care if a French stranger caught her in a compromising position on an elevator? She would never see this stern Rachel-lookalike again. Luke grabbed Claire by one arm and pulled her to a standing position. She crammed herself into the corner of the elevator and tried to smooth her hair back down. Her tailbone ached from the impact.
Luke couldn’t hide his smile as Claire shifted uncomfortably. He checked his watch while they climbed another three floors before mercifully reaching the fourteenth.
“Well, that was embarrassing,” she said as she rolled her suitcase into the hallway. The hotel was more modern than the exterior and elevator suggested. Black and white were the predominant colors, with bold geographic designs claiming much of the wall space.
“Are you hurt?” Luke laid a gentle hand on her rear end.
“Just a mildly broken tailbone. Nothing that’ll get in the way.” She smiled as he unlocked the door to their room.
The black-and-white theme continued in their room. Heavy curtains decorated in fleur-de-lis covered the windows, and a thick white rug cushioned her feet.
Claire threw her backpack on the floor and shoved Luke backward onto the bed. She leaped on top of him and continued what they had started in the elevator.
He flipped her onto her back and planted a trail of kisses from her neck to the button of her jeans. When he arrived at her stomach, it growled like a feral cat.
“Ignore it,” she said, reaching to pull him back to her.
He laughed and dropped a kiss on her hand. “I believe I owe you a croissant.”
“But sex!” She wriggled and tried to pull her T-shirt over her head.
Luke stopped her. “I can’t concentrate with your stomach rumbling like a volcano. I need you to be in fighting shape. Croissant now. Sex later.”
Claire frowned and shoved him off her. Fighting shape? Was he going to ask her to run some type of obstacle course beforehand? “Fine. And some ground rules for when this does happen. Are you up-to-date on your STI screenings?”
He nodded. “Clean as a whistle.”
“Good. Same. I’m on birth control, but we’ll use backup protection regardless because a baby is not in my two-year plan. Understood?”
He nodded again and smiled. “Are you going to make me sign a contract? A non-disclosure agreement, maybe?”
“Shut up. I’m going to shower before we go. I’m still sticky from the ginger ale and Xanax cocktail that helicopter mom dumped on me on the flight.”
“Go ahead.” He set his toiletries bag on the dresser. “I have to make a call.”
She fought with the shower for a moment before figuring out how to adjust the temperature. For once, she didn’t think about her clients or the mysterious note as the warm water washed over her. Her attention remained on the fact that this was her first shower in France, which made it all the more enjoyable.
She opened the door a short time later in nothing but her towel. Surely Luke couldn’t turn her down if she was already naked. A sliding door she hadn’t previously noticed was open, leading to a tiny balcony with a table and chairs.
He stood at the railing, speaking on his phone.
She paused for a moment, simply admiring him. He was bathed in the golden light of the early morning, his button-down shirt rolled up to expose his devastating forearms. His jeans hung low on his hips, weighed down by the keys he carried even though his car was thousands of miles away. His shoulders were tense, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the railing.
She came up behind him and planted a soft kiss on his neck, right on top of the long, thin scar that disappeared below his collar. How did he get that scar? Even if she asked, he probably wouldn’t tell her the truth. But good lord, it was intriguing.
“I have to go, Pete. I’ll send you the final details on Sunday. Yes, I understand. Bye.” Luke ended the call and tucked his phone back into his pocket.
“Trouble with work?” she asked.
Pete was a producer for both of Luke’s documentaries. He was an odious man, but he allowed Luke free creative control of all his projects.
“Pete’s just hardballing me on the documentary. Toying with my funding. Nothing unusual,” Luke said, turning to face her. He looked tense and distracted.
Great. Sex was definitely off the table now.
“I’m sorry.” Claire pulled him into a hug and rested against his chest. His heart was beating faster than usual. Pete was ruining her chill Paris vibe. And she still wanted that croissant. “What did he want?”
“They want me to come to California for a few weeks.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she drew back. The note under her pillow surfaced in her mind as if dredged up from the bottom of a well. Luke had entered her life barely two months ago and had been a grumpy, judgmental annoyance from their first interaction. He had also concealed his theory that she was the next target of the Widowmaker and interfered with her painstakingly crafted proposals. They were polar opposites on the romance scale, and he repeatedly rolled his eyes at her life’s work. So why was the idea of this cocky nuisance leaving so unsettling?
She had never truly felt like she needed anyone before. Jason was more of a semi-mobile pile of potatoes who occasionally burned frozen pizzas than a life partner. But Luke was something else entirely. And she could never ask him to jeopardize his career to stay behind for her.
Oh, right. She needed to say something. “For what?”
“There’s been a lot of interest in the documentary, and there are some people I need to meet with. Other producers, financial backers. Animation, photography, narration, all kinds of things. They’re getting impatient. But I’m not going. Not while you’re in danger.”
Her insides squirmed, and guilt settled over her like a gravity blanket. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a deep, shaky breath.
“You have to go. No one knows more about the story than you. I’m going to be fine. The person who left the note was probably just a bored asshole. I’m not in danger. Besides, I have a small army of people in West Haven who are borderline as obsessed with my safety as my mother.”
He cupped her chin in his hand. His eyes were soft, like a Caribbean cove on a cloudless day. “You could come visit. Think about it. Long weekends in wine country, toes in the Pacific.” A worry line creased his brow.
“You know I can’t. Between proposal season and my multitude of trials and lawsuits, I can’t leave. I wish I could. But you have to go. I’ll miss you, though.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she had even given the feeling a name. Yikes. She was going to miss Luke. When Jason had gone on week-long hunting trips with his dad, she never missed him. She had relished the extra space in the bed.
Luke raised his eyebrows. He looked amused.
“Shut up. I’ll be fine. I’ll be so busy with work that I’ll barely even notice you’re gone. End of discussion. Now can we go get a croissant? And then sex?” She took a step back and thrust the door open. It banged off the frame, but for once he didn’t comment.
He followed her and smiled, and the mood in the room lifted. “Sounds like a plan.”
Claire opened her suitcase and, for a moment, thought it was empty. Then she realized everything Mindy had packed for her was black. Black shoes, black tops, black skirts and pants. The funeral-chic attire really should have clued her in to their destination, but she had been too distracted to analyze the clothing choices.
“I hope she packed you enough shoes,” Luke said, peering over her shoulder.
“There are four pairs in here,” Claire said, drawing out a pair of knee-length boots. “I really wish she would have left me a few more options, though. I just ordered these perfect strappy sandals?—”
“Enough shoe talk. Breakfast now.”
“Fine, fine.” She disappeared into the bathroom with an armful of clothing.