Kelly looked up, startled, and then simultaneously seemed to realize their heads were damp, rain sluicing off their jackets. How long had they been oblivious to the weather? She suddenly started to laugh.
And darn it, because her laughter was so infectious, he started to laugh, too.
Then, of course, they found their wits and ran for shelter. Or that's where he thought they were running…
EXHAUSTED, LAUGHING, soaked to the skin. Kelly burst into the flat as soon as Will unlocked the door. Although it was only early evening, the apartment was midnight dark. Outside, the sky was still grumbling with thunderclouds. Traffic hissed on the wet streets below. Streetlights swayed in the wild wind.
'Good grief! I feel kin to a fish!' she yelped, as she pushed out of her soggy shoes. Pulling off her light spring jacket made rain spatter everywhere, including on Will, who jerked upright when he heard her sneeze.
'We've got to get you to a shower before you catch your death.'
They both seemed to reach the same decision-that it was better to peel off their soaking clothes right there, in the dark, not waiting. There was no point in dragging the ocean of wet stuff all through the apartment. And Will's teeth were chattering as hard as hers were.
Still, she was exhilarated. 'I can't believe how much we saw!'
'Yeah. well. I should have listened to my better sense and dragged you home hours ago.'
'But you said you were stuck doing some work tomorrow. And even if it's Sunday. I still have to push through the passport nightmare. And this way, we had the whole day for you to show me Paris.' Her mind was still reeling with the wonders. Ile Saint-Louis and the Hotel de Ville. Sacre-Coeur. The Eiffel Tower. The Jardin du Luxembourg.
'You
'But it was perfect. All rain-clean. And nobody else there but us-oomph.' Her fanny seemed to connect with his elbow. It would have helped if they both weren't fumbling to get off wet things in the cramped foyer.
Her head shot up at the same time he tried to get out of the way. And then her head seemed to somehow bump into his chin.
They both let out a responsive howl, and Kelly was inclined to convulse in laughter again. She'd shucked off both shoes, where he still had one on. Both their jackets were draped and steaming on chairs. She'd managed to pull off her damp sweater, but she couldn't wait to get the clammy wet socks off, and it was impossible to do anything fast. Both of them had chilled-clumsy fingers, and every time they bent down, they seemed to collide again.
It was such an easy problem to solve.
All they had to do was turn on a light.
Move into the larger space of the apartment.
Instead, in their shivering, laughing scuffle, there was an instant-at least for Kelly-when she suddenly remembered the night before. Remembered him as a lover, naked, evocative, demanding, challenging. Lusty.
It wasn't as if she'd forgotten that for a second all day.
It was just that all day she'd been good at blocking it out.
Denial was a learned skill. She'd practiced her whole life. And she was safe, she'd thought, because neither of them could possibly be in the mood. They were both cold and tired and had sore feet. He couldn't possibly want her. She looked like a drowned rat.
And she was about to sneeze again.
Then in the blink of a second, his eyes met hers.
There was a second of silence. A second when the laughter died. A second when the shivers and exhaustion and rain pelting the windows in torrents seemed to fade out, as if they were all background colors in an old picture.
He was all foreground. Even in the shadowy foyer, she caught the clear shine in his eyes, heard his breath catch, could swear she actually saw the sudden arc of lightning between them.
She didn't mean to suck in a breath, but he seemed to take that as an invitation.
Maybe it was.
She was in his arms like that. As if she'd die if she couldn't touch him that very minute. As if she'd die if she couldn't have him. As if nothing in her life had created need like this, fire like this, a hunger to live like this. Until him.
She surely accumulated a dozen bruises navigating the hall toward his bedroom, and him probably more. Darkness and dampness were only two of the obstacles. She refused to stop kissing him-to stop being kissed- refused to be severed from him for even a second.
'We're going to kill ourselves,' he muttered against her mouth.
'You can always say no.'
And then, when they finally reached the bedroom, when she finally had him naked, he mentioned, 'You know, we don't have to go this fast.'
'You want slow?'
'No.' His voice turned thick, just like that. Thicker than honey. Thicker than molasses. Thicker than a bluesy sax on a hot night in Paris. 'I want you now. Totally. Every which way. Total dominion over you.'
'You got it,' she murmured, in a voice that wasn't hers. Kelly-the Kelly Rochard she saw in the mirror every day-had a voice meant for a church choir. A voice that giggled with children, that played family diplomat in touchy moments.
The woman's voice talking to Will was a slut's voice. A bad, bad woman's voice. Conscienceless. Greedy. Wicked.
It was all a trick, she thought. A trick her heart was playing on her. A trick that made it okay to be a brazen hussy-not in life, not in general, but with him. Will Maguire. Here. Now. In Paris.
And that was the last coherent thought she had.
CHAPTER FOUR
Somewhere around ten the next night, they both woke up. hungry. It wasn't the first meal Will had brought back to bed. This time he made melted cheese sandwiches, and carted them in with chips and cookies.
She laughed, knowing they were going to sleep with crumbs, not caring any more than he did. Still, something was different when she woke up this time.
It was as if. in the past twenty-four hours, she'd been Will-drugged. Still was, when he carried in the tray, buck naked. The man didn't have a modest bone in his entire long, strong, deliriously male body. But suddenly she felt different. Different enough to tuck the sheet securely under her arms. It seemed silly, when he'd obviously seen every inch of her body in exquisite, thorough detail, but somehow she felt the odd need to hide all the love bites and nuzzle marks he'd left.
He plunked down beside her and they dove into their makeshift meal. She didn't try talking until she'd devoured a second sandwich, but after that, she swiftly ducked under the sheet, pulled up his fluffy comforter and snuggled into the pillow.
'Will…' Outside, it was still pouring, lightning spearing the sky. wind howling through the cracks. 'What are we going to do?'
'As soon as we're both done eating, I'm guessing we're going to sleep. You wore me out, woman.'
'That's what I've been trying to grapple with. It's not possible that we've been doing this. That I've been doing this. It's seriously wrong.' She recognized that her entire behavior had led him to believe otherwise. Hell's bells, her entire behavior had led
He lowered his empty plate to the floor, switched off the lamp and eased down next to her, pillow to pillow. He didn't brush her off. He could have. Didn't roll his eyes at her sudden attack of regretful guilts, either, and for damn sure, he could have done that.
'Just for the record,' he said. 'I've never gone near a woman who ever took me under before. Not like this. I mean it. Ever.'
