Running Back

I let out a snort of laughter.

Rach smeared more brie across another slice of bread. “You stink.”

Bri narrowed her eyes. “No. No bad puns. That’s why you’re dating Ryan, so I don’t have to put up with them.”

“I don’t know why you think they’re bad. They’re clearly brilliant.” Rachael appealed to me. “Don’t you think they’re brilliant?”

I held up my own hands, unable to stop grinning. “I just make bad analogies.”

Rachael grinned. “I can work with that.” Then her face closed down a little, to a simple polite smile, and I looked over my shoulder.

A woman with a press badge smiled winningly, a man with a camera beside her. “Pardon... Vous n’etes pas lie a Tamara Bocharov, etes-vous?”

I had forgotten how much the eyes were done up.

I had forgotten my mother had thrived in this city.

Because she had thrived here. And I should be proud of that. I smiled up at the woman. “C’est ma mere.”

“You’re an American.” The woman passed a surprised glance to her friend. “I forgot Tamara married an American.”

He smiled winningly at us. “How about a photo?”

He arranged us in a trio, and I watched with interest as Rachael and Briana angled themselves like this was second nature. The photographer snapped away, thanked us, then they were on their way.

I watched them go. “That was weird.”

Bri shook her head. “It wasn’t weird. She writes for a women’s magazine, and you’re a supermodel’s daughter. It’s weird that no one shares gossip with me.”

I liked them. I liked it even better when Mike came back, and the six of us sat in our own circle. I was super awkward at first, because each time my gaze caught on the elegant planes of Malcolm Lindsey’s face or the shocking beauty of Ryan Carter, I felt like I had, as Briana’d said, fallen down the rabbit hole. If Ireland was emerald as Oz, this was strange as Wonderland, but wherever I was, I didn’t want to leave.

We returned to the hotel after three in the morning. They’d turned the Eiffel Tower off, which I didn’t know was possible, but it was black metal as our taxi wound back through the streets. We slipped into our room and then he was tugging my dress up over my arms, and I was pulling his shirt out of his pants and pushing at the buttons with more enthusiasm then helpfulness. These nice shirts of his were the bane of my existence.

His mouth descended on mine, his eyes dark and wanting, and I shuddered against him, gasping into his mouth and allowing his kiss even deeper. “Did I tell you,” he asked, as I pushed the shirt down his arms and started to blaze kisses across his sternum, “how beautiful you are today?”

I laughed up at him as my hands traced the defined planes and ridges of his stomach. “Because of my eyes?”

His hands gripped my shoulders, his thumbs playing against the tops of my breasts. His hands slid to my bra and undid it, and then he pulled me up and flush against him. “Because you are beautiful.” I reacted with a small moan. “You are strong, and smart, and stunning. You are absolutely everything —” He broke off and kissed me, a burning, intoxicating kiss. Fire spread through every part of me, and then I was boneless, thoughtless, running my hands over every part of him I could touch.

“Oh, God, Natalie,” he groaned, and he ripped my hand away and his dress pants off, and backed me against the wall. I needed him now. I needed to love him the way we were supposed to. His hands cupped my bottom and lifted my hips as I wrapped my legs around him. I could feel him trembling, his entire body shaking with the same need I felt. I flattened my breasts against him and pressed my lips to his. I poured myself into the kiss, all the emotions I didn’t know how to say, all the desire and joy and beauty he made me feel, and he lost control. I let out a shout and we rocked together, losing ourselves in fire and heat and each other.

Chapter Twenty-Two

In the late morning, we met up with the other four at a chocolate room on rue Rivoli. The boys grumbled about fitting their long limbs and broad shoulders into the limited space, but I noticed they ate plenty of the food.

Afterward we strolled through the Tuileries, the royal gardens that had become a public park before the Louvre. They seemed to stretch on forever, filled with manicured bushes and graceful statues and low pools of glinting water. Rachael had extremely strong opinions about what to do in Paris, which mostly consisted of art and food, and the rest of us were content to drift after her as she argued with Ryan about directions.

So we followed her down through the glass pyramid and back up into the palace. Bright wooden floors matched up with marble walls and grand arches, while high above egg-and-dart crownings lined the glass skylights. Endless art and people filled it, so much it was hard to know where to begin. We went heavy on the Egyptian, Near Eastern and Classical work, and then did a hit-and-run tour of the rest.

A crowd milled in front of The Mona Lisa, which, as I’d been warned, was kind of small and dark, but it was worth it, especially for the two girls who took one glance and then buried their heads in their phones in order to make it their statuses.

But I liked the next chambers better, light and airy despite the burgundy walls. If I turned around I could see a straight shot back to the Winged Victory, framed through a series of arches. These rooms were all filled with paintings I’d studied in art history classes. There was The Coronation of Napoleon and another portrait of Josephine reclining on a moss covered rock, as she was likely wont to do. Now I studied a suspiciously white Dido of Carthage as she chatted with Aeneas, pre break-up and suicide.

To my surprise, Ryan Carter came up as I stared at the huge expanse of paint. “So, archaeology.”

“Um.” I glanced at him a little nervously. Ryan was the golden boy of the New York Leopards, a triple threat quarterback. I’d never spoken directly to him, and despite spending the past couple months in close confines with one of his teammates, the fame and celebrity still shell-shocked me. “Uh-huh.”

“That’s what I wanted to do as a kid. Egyptology. Bet you get that a lot.”

I peeked at him quickly, but he still looked dead ahead at the painting. He was right, of course; half the people I encountered told me they’d wanted to be an Egyptologist. It was the kind of thing I usually just grinned and bore, though sometimes I wanted to jump down their throats and explain there was a huge difference between thinking and starting to do something and actually, say, doing it.

Not that I would ever say anything like that to Ryan Carter. “It’s not uncommon.”

He let out a breath of laugher. “Nice way of putting it. You finding a lot over there? At Kilkarten?”

Oh, boy. He knew about Kilkarten. “Not yet. I mean, we’ve found the basic stuff you’ll find digging anywhere in Ireland, but no burials or building remains.”

He nodded at the painting. He kind of looked like one of the busts we had walked past earlier, an idealized youth from the Classical Era. “Rachael really likes you.”

What did I say to that? “Thanks?”

“Because you’re smart and focused and dedicated to your work. That’s what matters to Rachael.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound like it boded well. “And I’m guessing you’re telling me this because you value other things.”

A small smile slipped out. “I figure it makes sense to check up on anything not part of the pattern.” He paused. “And so I wanted to know if you’re dating Mike out of convenience.”

Because I wasn’t part of Mike’s pattern. I turned so I stared straight at Carter, and waited until he turned and faced me. He stared me down, blue eyes cool, and I could see why opposing teams faltered under his steadfast gaze. Instead, I locked my shoulders and lifted my chin. “It’s not out of convenience.”

His eyes didn’t even twitch as they studied me, just scanned back and forth, like he was trying to read every move I’d made in the past and everything I planned for the future. “Good.”

I let out a breath. “Okay. I’m just gonna, go...” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder.