Summer Kisses (325 page)

At that exact second, the first strands of
La Vie en Rose
drifted up from the street below.

It was worth it.

Whatever came later. Whatever heartache was in store it was all worth it for this moment. She would never regret a second of the path that had brought her here—even if the damn show tore them apart.

“Today is for you, Lou,” Jack said softly, his breath ruffling her hair. “No kids to distract you, no one else’s desires to worry about but your own. It’s all about you, Louisa.”

Lou hugged the arms wrapped around her middle a little closer, then stepped away, albeit reluctantly. “Then let’s get started.”

“That is the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.”

“Ditto.”

Lou glanced over at Jack to find him gazing steadily back at her. He wasn’t even looking at the sculpture. The line was cliché, but coming from Jack, it still made her heart race. Her cheeks heated and she averted her eyes. They fell back on the white marble in front of her.

“You’re bored out of your mind, aren’t you?” she asked without taking her eyes off the Canova.

They’d already done a quick visit to the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame—though she’d foregone going up in either one since they were tight on time. She’d debated between the Musee D’Orsay and the Rodin Museum before deciding to go with the famed Louvre, and she was delighted with her choice—but Jack had never had much patience for classic art. She was amazed he wasn’t climbing the walls.

“Believe it or not, I’m having the time of my life. You’re so engaged in every moment—to use show parlance. How could I be bored when we aren’t wasting a single second?”

He came to stand at her back again, wrapping his arms around her from behind and cradling her close. “So. What’s so special about this sculpture? I thought we’d be over at the Mona Lisa for sure.”

“Honestly? The Mona Lisa’s never really done it for me and trying to see her through five rows of people and three inches of bulletproof glass just doesn’t appeal. But
this
…” She gestured to the life-size lovers held forever in white marble just inches in front of them. “This is
Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss
.”

“And who were they?” he asked. “Remember, I was a math and science nerd. You’re the one with the classics minor.”

Lou grinned to herself, glad she was facing away from him and he wouldn’t be able to see how foolishly delighted she was that he remembered what she’d minored in at college. “Cupid was the god of love and Psyche was the mortal girl he fell in love with.”

“I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.”

“With the gods, there always is.”

“Why did he have to revive her? Is this like an early version of Sleeping Beauty or something?”

“Something like that.” Lou settled herself more deeply into his arms, as she remembered more and more of the myth associated with her favorite sculpture. “See, Venus was the jealous type, and she decided Psyche was too beautiful, so she sent her son Cupid to trick Psyche into falling in love with something awful. But… something happened, I forget what, and Cupid ended up hitting himself with one of his arrows and falling in love with Psyche himself. He has the west wind carry her away and marries her, but he only visits her at night when she can’t see who he is.”

“That’s kind of skeezy.”

Lou shrugged. “No one said the gods weren’t pervy. So anyway, Psyche’s sisters talk her into finding out who her hubbie is by lighting a lamp after he falls asleep one night, but the light wakes him and he takes off, mad at her for not obeying him or something.”

“So he’s not only a perv, he’s a dickhead.”

“Pretty much. Psyche searches for him everywhere, but the gods don’t have to be found if they don’t want to be so she’s out of luck. She decides to go to Venus herself, but Venus is still pissed because she’s too pretty. Venus gives her all these impossible tasks that are supposed to kill her, but she keeps surviving. I think she even goes into the Underworld and comes out again alive, all in an attempt to get Cupid back. But then she opens a box—which is always a bad idea in mythology—and an unnatural sleep rises out of it and knocks her out.”

Lou looked up at the sculpture of a winged Cupid waking a sleeping Psyche with a kiss.

“That’s when Cupid flies to the rescue. He still loves her, you see. So he kisses her and she wakes up, becomes immortal and they live happily ever after for all eternity. And
this
,” Lou said, pointing to the statue, “is the moment when she opens her eyes and sees him. The moment when she knows all the trials are over and love has conquered all.”

Jack bent until his cheek rested next to hers. “Why, Miss Tanner,” he murmured, “I had no idea you were such a sappy romantic.”

Lou twisted out of his grip, giving him a wink as she tugged him by the hand out of the sculpture hall. “I’m just full of surprises, Dr. Doyle.”

But the truth was, she herself had forgotten about the part of her with a passion for romance and mythology and art. It had been a long time since she’d felt this way. Was it Jack? The reminder of who she used to be?

There wasn’t much demand in the carpool sector for a minor in classical studies. Her passions had just sort of faded away in the face of practicality. And that practical side of her nature had grown and grown over the years until it felt like that was all she was.

The only outlet for her fierce romanticism had been her childish infatuation with Jack. But her fantasy of him hadn’t been any more real than the myth of Cupid and Psyche.

Now things with Jack were all too real—this fantasy day just brought that home all the more clearly—and reality was much more frightening than fantasy. Reality could hurt.

Practicality had taught her how to build walls around her heart, each brick a rationalization, the mortar made of excuses. She was safe behind them, but she didn’t want to be safe any more. Love was a risk she had to take, even if it broke her heart wide open. Jack was worth it.

And maybe it would work out. She had a stamp in her passport and the world hadn’t fallen down around her ears. Maybe love could conquer all.

Jack had snuck through the cracks in the walls over the years, taking up a place in her heart. Paris had punched an even bigger hole in the wall, making her defenses all but useless. But did she need defenses with Jack? She could trust him, couldn’t she?

“What’s next?” she asked as they threaded through the crowds at the museum’s exit.

“I thought you’d like to see the Arc de Triomphe, then we have dinner reservations at a cafe on the Champs Elysees. Sound good?”

“Heavenly,” she admitted. A dream day in Paris. “Just promise me we’ll go walking along the Seine at night.”

He grinned and linked their arms. “I think that can be arranged.”

~~~

The lights of Paris glimmered, twinkling off the river. A light rain had started while they were at dinner, but Jack was as good as his word and took her strolling along the Seine in spite of the drizzle. Every once in a while, the thin sliver of the moon would find a break in the clouds and cast a silvery glow over the already magical city.

The cameras followed them, but Jack was right, after a day being trailed by them, she’d almost forgotten they were there. And this was all just practice footage. She didn’t need to feel self-conscious because why would the show ever use this material?

Jack’s arm was wrapped around her shoulders and she was tucked so snugly against his side, she barely felt the chill. Lou leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed, not wanting this day to ever end.

They didn’t speak much, but Lou didn’t think any words could possibly have been more beautiful than the sounds of their footsteps and the voices of the people passing by. A couple passed them, walking quickly and arguing, and a giddy bubble of laughter rose up in Lou’s throat.

“What?” Jack asked quietly.

“Everyone’s speaking French,” Lou explained, knowing how ridiculous and inane that comment sounded, but too delighted by being in France, where everyone spoke French, to care. “I’m eavesdropping in French.”

“Have you thought about going back to teaching?”

“French?”

Jack stopped them at the apex of a bridge that arched over the river. He turned Lou to face him, gently tugging the collar of her jacket up against the rain. His thumbs brushed along the line of her throat. “You obviously still love languages. When you love something that much, you don’t walk away from it, Lou.”

Her breath caught.
Were they still talking about art?

“I never get to see you like his,” he murmured. “When you see the magic in everything.”

Lou felt the urge to apologize, as if she’d let him down by letting the magic in her life get swallowed by practicality. She opened her lips to speak—

—and he sealed them with a kiss.

It was not the frenzied rush of the Jacuzzi, nor the tentative, accidental brush from weeks ago. The touch of his lips was sure, coaxing a rush of warmth through her body from the top of her head all the way down to her toes. A Parisian kiss. He took his time with each smooth, slow, drugging pull of his mouth on hers, drawing her deeper until her entire world narrowed down to his lips, so much so she almost didn’t feel his arms closing around her to hold her closer to his warmth.

When he lifted his head, Lou’s eye flickered open to meet his. The piercing blue was almost as dazed as she felt.

“Are you ready to go back to the hotel?” he asked, his voice scratchy and low.

She knew he was asking her so much more than if she was ready for her day in Paris to end. The entire day had been leading up to this, a slow, unavoidable slide to the point of no return.

If she said no, they would keep walking. When they were ready to call it a night, they would head back to the hotel and their separate rooms in the penthouse suite.

If she said yes…

Yes meant no more hiding her heart. It meant risk and kisses and adventure. Yes was leaping into love with both feet and damning the consequences. Yes was terrifying.

Lou took a deep breath and jumped off that cliff, free falling and hoping Jack would be there to catch her. “Yes.”

Perhaps she was pretending again, but maybe Jack was pretending with her this time.

Anticipation was their silent companion on the ride back to the hotel. Jack sat close, his thigh pressed warm against hers, as the car zipped through the late night Parisian traffic. Lou wanted to savor every moment; she was almost disappointed when the car pulled up under the awning of the Hotel Pont Royal.

Jack quickly stepped out, extending his hand to help her from the car. She set her fingers on his palm, feeling that small contact far more than she should have. He didn’t release her hand as the doorman held the door for them, nor as they waited for the elevator, or rode in silence up to the top floor. The entire time, his thumb traced patterns on the back of her hand, and she felt each swirling touch keenly. Four years of foreplay could do that to a girl.

He had to release her hand to unlock the door. He held it open, his palm grazing the small of her back as he guided her inside in front of him. Neither of them reached for the light, leaving them in the ambient glow of the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall.

The camera crew had followed, but now—just like with the overnight dates on the show—they stayed outside as the door clicked shut.

The sound of the door closing was unnaturally loud in the hush.

Lou waited, her breath short and her heart hammering noisily in her chest. Want stretched like a tether between them. She felt the connection through his hand on the small of her back, like he’d wrapped his hand around the most essential parts of her and would never let go.

Lou hesitated, unsure what came next. Should she step farther into the room? Turn to him and kiss him? Perhaps they should have a glass of champagne on the balcony first? That had certainly loosened things up in the Jacuzzi.

But she wasn’t certain she wanted to be loose. She liked the delicious tension coiling in the room too much to want to do anything to dissipate it. Lou leaned back slightly against the palm splayed across the small of her back. That was all the encouragement Jack needed.

Suddenly he was there, spinning her, his hands cradling her face, holding her steady for his kiss.

And what a kiss. Lou’s toes curled in her shoes. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy and her nipples tightened, though he hadn’t even looked at them yet.

Her entire body responded to the call to action in that kiss. He commanded. He consumed. And she was right there with him. Her hands burrowed into his hair, clinging to his scalp. Her tongue tangled with his, stroking into his mouth. When he applied a little suction to the tip of her tongue, drawing it between his lips, Lou felt the tug straight down to her womb. Heat pooled between her legs in a sudden rush.

Their jackets hit the floor and he kicked them aside, backing her farther into the suite with his hands bracketing her hips. Lou couldn’t stop kissing him. She didn’t care where he was leading her, everything she needed was right here in front of her, driving her to distraction with each touch.

They stopped moving and his hands brushed over her back and her sides, the quick skimming touches so teasingly erotic it took her a moment to realize he was searching for the fastenings on her dress.

Lou broke the kiss and pushed back out of his arms. She bumped into the back of the sofa, her hands falling to either side to brace herself.

“Lou?” Jack took a step toward her, but she put her hand up to stop him. He obeyed instantly, though confusion scrunched his brows.

Lou reached beneath her arm and drew the hidden zipper down the side of her dress. It wasn’t exactly the sexiest way to strip, but Jack didn’t seem to mind. His eyes stayed locked on that zipper like his life depended on it, even as his hands went to work unbuttoning his own shirt.

When the dress was loosened enough, Lou shimmied it off over her head, relieved she’d given in to Kelly’s demands to wear the sexy lingerie when Jack’s eyes went dark and his fingers froze on the next to last button.