That seemed to perk her up and she looked out the window eagerly. “A crepe? A real crepe?” she whispered with excitement.
He smiled at her eagerness. “Have you never had a crepe made from a street vendor?”
She shook her head, those corkscrew curls dancing around her cheeks and his fingers itched to catch one, feel its texture. In the dim light of the palace, her hair looked auburn-brown. But in the sunlight, there were sparks of red, and he was fascinated by the difference. She continued to spark his interest in unexpected ways.
“No. I’m from Georgia. We don’t really have street vendors where I come from. There might be some hot dog vendors in Atlanta. And we have some interesting foods at the state fair, of course. But nothing like handmade crepes!”
He chuckled. “There are some who think of the hot dogs in New York as a delicacy.”
She squinched up her nose. “I’ve read about what goes into hot dogs. No thank you!”
“I agree, but they do seem iconic.”
“I’m not even sure that there’s actual meat in a hot dog. At least, not meat that I’d eat if it were put on my plate. So no, I’ll pass.”
The SUV driver pulled up to the curb and Tarin stepped out, then turned to hand her out. Rachel hesitated, but he didn’t relent, waiting patiently for her hand. When she placed it in his, he tightened his fingers around hers, watching her reaction. Sure enough, just as had happened up in the tower, her expression changed, her lips softened and her eyes brightened with awareness.
Excellent, he thought. He hadn’t planned to seduce the lovely woman, but when she looked at him like that, he knew that she burned with the same desire he felt. Tarin vowed not to rush her though. He’d take things slowly and if she felt pressured in any way, he’d back off.
With that plan in place, he tucked her hand onto his arm and led her over to one of the street vendors. “Duex crepes au chocolat, s’il vous plait,” he said to the vendor.
Rachel watched the vendor, utterly fascinated, and Tarin watched Rachel as the man scooped the egg mixture onto the flat heating surface, then lifted a wooden tool and smoothed the egg mixture into a large circle. The crepe cooked quickly and the man flipped it over, then added real chocolate pieces to the center.
Tarin watched as Rachel licked her lips, leaning forward like a small child eager for candy. Once again, she’d surprised him with her eagerness, her lack of guile. And especially, her appetite. He couldn’t stand it when women picked at a pile of lettuce leaves, looking like skeletons. Rachel was slender, but she obviously didn’t starve herself.
When the vendor handed her a crepe, Tarin watched as she took her first bite, holding his own as he waited for her verdict.
“Oh, this is amazing!” she whispered reverently, licking a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth.
He watched as she ate, his thoughts once again off into a sexual fantasy. Would it always be like this with her? Wasn’t there anything she could do that would keep his mind away from making love to her?
Probably not, he sighed and ate his own crepe, not really tasting it since he was still focused on that mouth of hers.
“Let’s go,” he groaned, taking their trash and tossing it into a nearby trashcan. With that, he took her hand. “Ready?”
Rachel looked up at the long hillside. There were two ways to get to the top. Up those stairs or via the trolley-like thing that toted people up the hillside. There was a long line for the trolley, so she glanced back up the stairs. “I should have worn different shoes for this, but…” With a smile, she nodded up at him. “Ready!”
With a grin, he started up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, she was gasping for breath. He seemed like he’d just strolled around the block. He wasn’t out of breath, not even sweating a little.
“You could at least pretend that you’re a bit winded,” Rachel grumbled as she glared up at him.
He laughed. “Sorry, honey. You could always join me for a workout in the morning.”
Rachel looked up at him, wondering if it was a sexual workout. Or was that just where her mind had gone?
Fortunately, Tarin didn’t give her much time to wonder. “Come on inside. It’s beautiful!”
They walked along the courtyard and Rachel looked around, stunned by the crowd. People were sitting and picnicking, laughing, talking, debating or just milling casually around. For some, it didn’t appear as if they were doing much other than reading or relaxing. “Seems like a lot of tourists,” she commented.
“A lot of them are students who come up here to sit in the sunshine or artists who want to sketch the city,” he replied.
Inside, the cathedral was quiet and dark, but astonishingly beautiful. In the narthex area, there weren’t pews, but instead, moveable chairs were lined up, as if waiting for parishioners to arrive. And yet, the main draw of her gaze was the enormous mural on the domed ceiling.
“It’s beautiful!” she whispered, walking alongside him.
“Montmartre is actually the name of the hill and the surrounding area,” Tarin told her as he led her through the cathedral. “This church is called the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, or Sacre-Coeur.”
“I like it,” she smiled up at him. “And you have an amazing French accent. How did you learn the language?”
“Again, one of those princely lessons we all have to learn.” He took her hand and led her down one of the pews to sit down. “This place was built over eight hundred years ago.” He shook his head in amazement. “How did they do it? With all that we’ve learned
