Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
M allory did a mental scan of her week. “Fun. Tomorrow until Tuesday?” She nodded cheerily. “I’m in.”
Dylan’s eyes brightened and he smiled. He looked away and then back at her. “There are things you have to know first.”
Mallory raised her index finger. “True. Like do we even have chemistry?” She raised a second finger. “Will you buy me pink daisies? Will you realize that I actually don’t intend to try a dry Bordeaux while I’m here?”
“Yes, I will buy you daisies. I’ll treat you to whatever drink you want. That’s not it.” Dylan leaned forward and held his mouth above hers. He stilled.
Her heart rate picked up. Her skin warmed. She wanted to press up against him. Kiss me.
“Yes, we have chemistry,” he said.
Mallory shivered. True. She stretched, bridging the distance so her lips brushed his. Flickers of heat flushed through her.
Dylan cupped her jaw. His hand was warm and masculine, that added to the sensation. He deepened the kiss, then lifted his lips and dropped his forehead to hers, breathing unsteadily.
“Agreed,” Mallory said, her voice husky. “What are your conditions?”
“We can’t be public.” Dylan closed his brown eyes briefly, then opened them again, staring straight into hers. “No hand-holding. No longing looks. Nothing the media can pick up on. And no one can know.”
No drama worked for her, but she was no poorly behaved troll to be stuffed under a bridge. “Why?”
“Texk policies around their artists’ romantic lives are archaic.” He shrugged. “They have their reasons. They are what they are.”
“Ah. Are you… Would we…”
“We’d be exclusive while we’re together. Meaning you and Ollie are a no-go.”
He sounded jealous, which was crazy. She and Oliver were work colleagues. While she and Dylan…
Actually, all of this felt surreal. One margarita, lingering jetlag, and him. This was a fuzzy dreamworld. A fling in France…with a rock star. Who was she?
Dylan eased to his feet, then held out his hands and pulled her up. He gave her a quick, searing kiss.
All romantic quests should begin with powerful hands and quick, searing kisses. The tingles were unrelenting from her palms to her heart, from her lips to her toes. Her lips actually throbbed, and every pulse pushed her to take a step closer into his embrace.
Dylan released her hands. “I’ll go. Think about us. Let me know when you decide.”
Oh, she’d decided with his kiss. She placed her hand on his arm, asking him not to leave yet. “One more thing.”
His eyes searched hers. “Yes?”
“I’m agreeing to this, but I have one more condition. No, not condition. Suggestion.”
Dylan grinned an easier, alluring grin. The flash of intrigued delight on his face charmed her, and she wanted to see him smile more.
Dylan slid his arms around her waist and pulled her body close.
The sensation was drugging, taking her from relaxed and intrigued to really into this in a flash. Where their bodies made contact, molten heat spiked. In his arms, she felt a heady combination of cherished and turned on.
“Yes?” Dylan asked, his voice deep and intent.
Right. What had she wanted to say? Temporary. This was a fling. “I’m not into drama. If we work until Tuesday, great. If at any point you want out, use a code word.”
He arched his dark eyebrows. “At any point?”
“Yep.” Her cousin Lena had devised the code word after a date who’d barely gotten to know her had gone on and on and on about her flaws. “Use the code word, and we’ll drop the…” Mallory gestured to the bedroom door of the suite.
Dylan arched his dark eyebrows, and his lips quirked. “Sex?”
“Sex, yes. No need to list each other’s failings or give excuses as to why we’re not working.” Mallory wrinkled her nose. “If we’re not a good fit, we’re not. Listing my faults won’t change that.”
Dylan touched her cheek gently, then brushed her hair off her shoulder. “No lengthy retrospective. Got it.”
“Right. The code word is perpendicular. Say ‘perpendicular’ and the fling ends instantly, no harm done. What do you think?”
“Perpendicular.” Dylan tested the word out, nodding. “Clean break. I can work with that.” He moved his hands to her hips and squeezed.
The gentle but certain press melted her. Mallory lifted her arms, intending to loop them around his neck.
Dylan gave her a quick kiss that transmitted electric jolts of pleasure through her and pulled back. “Text me when you wake up. We can get crepes and saunter around the Louvre.” He slipped away.
A text from Dylan came through after midnight. The company tacked on a morning meeting. They’re bringing in brunch. You’ll have to crepe without me.
Disappointment stirred in her chest, but still, his text made her shiver, as though she could hear his deep voice in her ear. He was a merman waving from the bottom of the ocean, a voice distant in the cave, a treasure winking at her, all luring her to go deeper.
A touch of distance might be good for her rapidly forming crush. She didn’t want to leap into the volcano alone. This was a fling, not an unbreakable ring symbolizing a lifetime commitment. Surely she could survive until Tuesday without falling in love with him.
For a million reasons, Mallory was glad she’d be attending Dylan’s two p.m. event today. The main reason was the location. The Louvre was hosting Dylan’s modeling shoot. The museum alone was extraordinary, massive, historic, and bursting with treasures.
The privilege of watching Dylan pose amid classical statues was an incredible delight. His modern, dark-wash jeans, black jersey shirt, and live intensity contrasted with the pale, unmoving marble of ancient beauties.
She was a heart-fluttering witness to thousands of years of beauty set in stone and online, preserved for the ages. Mallory pulled out a notepad to jot down notes for her novel. Could she add any classical elements to her romantasy? Time travel? Portals to Rome?
Her hero would be the estranged son of a billionaire chairman. And the heroine, a modern gamer with a passion for dragons. Could she capture any of Dylan’s mannerisms for the book? Her lips quirked. Any resemblance to real life was purely coincidental.
“Mallory,” Dylan called to her. “Want to see the galleries with me?”
Most offers failed to top the allure of staying inside her fantasy world. Dylan and the Louvre were a combo that won easily.
Mallory nodded rapidly. She placed her notebook back in her small bag. “The Mona Lisa. Let’s start with her. No. Winged Victory. No. Venus de Milo. I need to go to the gift shop too.” Her cousin Violet would love fancy souvenir honey. She’d get art for Chelsea’s new office. This was the perfect place to buy art. All of her cousins would get art. All of her French souvenir shopping might get completed in one outing.
“Your choice,” Dylan said indulgently.
Ooh, an indulgent lover. Mallory stared up at him helplessly, her lips parting. They could go back to her bedroom at the hotel, draw the curtains, strip off their clothes, and play like entwined statues. See how long they could hold still like that before they had to move. Her eyelids lowered.
“What are you thinking?” Dylan asked.
Mallory whispered her suggestion.
Dylan’s eyes flared open. “Yes. I’ll do that with you.”
Oliver walked over and got between them. He wore an apologetic expression. He adjusted his tie and addressed Dylan. “I know you’re not going to like this.”
Dylan stiffened. “Then don’t say it.”
Oliver shrugged. “It is what it is. Texk has made a minor adjustment to your schedule. They’ve edged in another event.”
“It is what it is?’ A muscle ticked in Dylan’s jaw, and his dark eyes hardened. “You’re an attorney. That’s the best you can come up with?”
Oliver waved toward her. “We won’t hold up Mallory. Francois can interpret.” He flicked a glance toward Mallory. “I’m not interrupting anything else, am I?”
Clearly, Oliver was taking Dylan away from her lovely afternoon delights. Disappointment proportionate to the loss sank through her, but Mallory couldn’t let her reaction show. Not after Dylan’s warning about public displays of affection. “Of course not. We were going to check out the paintings.”
“Good, good,” Oliver said, but he gave the impression that he would have rolled over any real protests. “The art will be here another day. We have a situation that needs Dylan today.” He gave another half-shrug, indicating the upcoming ask was beyond his control. “A meeting we set for tomorrow needs to move to today. That happens.”
Mallory nodded. “Dylan, sounds like you just got a free day in Paris tomorrow.”
“Not exactly.” Oliver took out his phone and checked the screen.
Dylan’s jaw tensed. “What’s happening tomorrow?”
“We had to add in a soiree. It’s one of those favors for a friend of the CEO situation. A fete at a gallery in Montmartre. In fact, the CEO will be in attendance himself.”
Dylan scowled. “That’s not one of the proposed extras you ran by the band.”
“It’s not a performance. It’s an appearance.” Oliver used a placating tone. “All the guys do extra on the road. You know that.”
“I made other plans,” Dylan said.
Oliver opened his palms. “It’s not like we’re in Paris every week. And it’s not like you’ll be a hot commodity forever.”
Dylan put his hand on the back of his neck and squeezed. He gave a sharp shake of his head.
Tomorrow was day four of her week in Paris. Mallory shoved down a disappointed noise. She and Dylan hadn’t defined what they’d do before tipping their relationship to the next level, but in her mind, they’d start with a day focusing on each other. Or at least share a date over a cup of coffee with a heart traced into the creamy foam.
Instead, Dylan was off to a work event, while Mallory hopped on a sightseeing bus solo. Then again, anyone who dated her, even for a week, would soon realize that she was self-sufficient. Leaving her alone to write was one of the best ways a boyfriend could show her his support. Boyfriend? No. They were planning an affair in Paris.
She needed to support Dylan, not cling to him and make his life difficult. Dylan wasn’t on vacation. His making any time for her was sweet enough. A short fling would be fun, like a magic spell that burned itself out after one spectacular use.
Her desire for another kiss and to spend more time with him was coloring her judgment. If anything, this affair would make her grow as a person and help her be a more considerate partner in her next relationship.
Dylan stood silently, frowning.
Mallory wanted to squeeze Dylan’s arm and reassure him that she understood the delay. Her fingers curved in on her palms instead, because rule number one of being with Dylan meant privacy was paramount. The hotel door had to be shut and the lights out.
Dylan in the dark would be glorious. His deep voice would murmur to her and give her reasons to writhe. Then again, he was gorgeous. She wanted the lights on.
She also wanted time to enjoy him, and for him to enjoy her. He performed for hours on stage with his band; he must possess impressive stamina.
Oliver sighed. “I’m only the messenger, Dylan. We also need to get you back to the hotel, to meet with the stylist tonight.”
“Why make a schedule and send it over for my approval if you’re just going to double it? In the future, when I land in a new city, shoot me an email that says, ‘We’ve booked every waking hour.’” Dylan was heating up.
Mallory wanted to hug him, even help argue his point, the way she would for any friend getting justifiably upset, especially because he wanted to spend more time with her. But now that they were going to be secret lovers, she’d lost the ability to publicly defend him.
Usually, dating meant more freedom to show affection in public. With Dylan, it meant less. She didn’t have to pretend to understand the rules he and his band went by. She did have to respect his decision to follow them.
Oliver sighed. “I can get one of the other guys to fly back. If they catch a red-eye, they can cover for you. Rougher on them than you taking the gig.” He shrugged. “I’m sure you have your reasons.” Oliver took out his phone. “I’ll dial Rain.”
Dylan let out a rough breath. “Don’t do that. I’ll go.”
Oliver popped his phone back into his pocket. “You’ll be interested in the gallery where the party is held.” He flipped a switch in his tone as if Dylan had wanted to go all along. “The exterior and interior primarily utilize two geometric patterns. Quite fascinating, and the tech’s next level.”
“Sounds interesting,” Mallory said in a supportive tone so Dylan would know she understood that his canceling on her wasn’t his fault.
Oliver gave Mallory an encouraging grin, as if thanking her for taking his side.
She hadn’t meant to send false signals Oliver’s way. Mallory smiled weakly.
Oliver faced her. “What do you think, Mallory? Want to join us Saturday? I can have the stylist set up a costume for you as well.”
Costume? Like a mermaid gown or fairy wings spun from French silk and Parisian dreams? How intriguing and unique.
“Costume?” Dylan asked with less interest.
“Figure of speech. Black tie, with an avant-garde edge.”
She’d be glomming onto the invite because she was standing here. That made her an awkward clinger. Mallory waved the idea away. “I wasn’t hinting for an invitation.”
Oliver smiled at her. “Really, it’s no problem. I want you to come.”
Mallory looked up at Dylan with pleading eyes. She really hadn’t meant to leech onto their event.
Dylan’s expression eased. “I could use a good interpreter.”
One second into the Montmartre party and the unique atmosphere had Mallory stepping to the side of the incoming flow of guests, staring like it was her first night on the town.
The white walls of the gallery curved as if constructed by the same artist who’d created the arched arms of the Louvre’s classical statues. Within the building, the guests milled about in couture clothing.
Her outfit, which had felt edgy back at the hotel, was on the tame end of the spectrum. Not that she would change an inch. The Texk designer was a weaver of costume magic.
Mallory’s top was in the shape of an inverted triangle connected at her sides with peach silk ribbons. The pointed silk hem ended at her belly button. The miniskirt was her favorite. Iridescent circles in the same peach hue as the top covered the fabric, reminiscent of dragon scales. Her skirt made the faintest of clicks as she walked. Beneath her skirt were peach tights leading down to triangular heels.
For her hair, the hairdresser had completed an updo threaded through with the same peach ribbons that connected her top.
The makeup artist had gone light on the blush and lip color, using peachy-pink tones, and heavy on the eyes, making them smoky with a pretty glitter in the center. The effect made the green in her hazel irises pop.
Her family traveled often and hosted galas at their hotels, but she’d never seen anything quite like tonight. After the costumed guests, the abundance of cubist art was her favorite thing.
Her main character had just developed a fixation for hoarding cubist paintings. Not just paintings—he’d covet all cubed items. Coal heated into diamonds would be his specialty, a party favor for those invited to his cave. Fun .
A waiter wearing a squared-off short jacket offered Mallory champagne in a rounded crystal globe. “Enjoying your evening, Madam?”
“Oh, yes.” The bubbly liquid tickled the back of her throat. Champagne in France. Amazing. What would the world look like without these lovely French delights?
Cello music from the adjacent room encouraged her to explore further. Mallory sipped her sparkling drink and walked along the art-covered walls. There . The image of the French park broken down into cubed pieces stood out. Chelsea would love that. Gifting each other items with park themes was a running joke in their family, but this one wasn’t a laugh; this was a piece to treasure. Mallory motioned to an attendant who arranged the purchase and shipment to the States.
Mallory continued on. At the end of the noisy, vibrant room, she found a spot behind a triangular topiary that took her away from the crowd. From that vantage point, she searched for Dylan. As if the topiary was a wish tree, Dylan showed up directly in front of her in a classic black tuxedo.