26 Hours in Paris (11 page)

* * *

With reluctance, Marko lowered beside the woman in his bed. He ran his fingers over her face in concern. Sultry eyes peeked from beneath her long lashes, and she reassured him with a smile before wrapping her leg over his thigh. Kat burrowed against him and slept.

He took her hand in his, kissed the center of her small palm, and then tucked her closer. Cuddling her body beneath the white down comforter, he relished the sound of her soft breathing and the manner in which it swept over his bare skin. Male satisfaction turned up the corners of his mouth in a heartfelt smile. He was truly happy.

He released a content breath and rested his chin atop her head.

Marko breathed in lavender and vanilla, nuzzling closer to the source of the sweet scent. Kat also burrowed closer to Marko, moaning sensually and fitting the plush white comforter to just below her nose. In contrast to the warmth of her naked body, leather smoothed over his thighs.

Dark clouds rolled through the sky, promising the arrival of torrential rain within minutes. He needed to make a fire and adjust the temperature controls before all the heat in the room was gone.

Careful not to wake her, Marko untangled himself from the shapely limbs, and rose from the comfort of Kat's warmth. With a glance under the covers at her booted feet, he smiled down at the gorgeous, almost-naked woman and made a mental note to properly undress her once the fire was going.

He dropped a kiss atop her head, then quietly moved to the limestone mantel. When she woke and saw how it stretched to the ceiling, she'd love it. He squatted, quickly built the fire, placed an additional blanket over Kat's shoulders, and collected his cellular off the side table. If she was going to adjust to the time change without much of a problem, she needed to eat properly and remain hydrated.

Marko scrolled through his contacts, hitting the number for the
boulangerie
. He spoke with Antoine, ordered a fresh baguette, and asked his friend to do him the favor of delivering a picnic of sorts to the apartment.

“Was that the beautiful Katerina I saw you with at the café?” Antoine asked.

“Kathryn,” Marko corrected. “And yes, she is beautiful.”

“It's about time, my friend. I've heard so much about her since the day you moved in. Now, I see why you are so taken with her.” Antoine's booming voice was full of understanding and held no judgment. “When will I have the pleasure to meet your lovely woman?”

When she realizes she's my lovely woman
, Marko thought. “She is here only for the day,” he replied a little hesitantly.

“Well, then. You must convince her to stay longer. I will prepare a nice snack for the two of you, but a nicer dinner in our city is in order. Make those plans,
mon ami
.”

“I'm on it,” Marko said, gathering the discarded clothing off the furniture. “See you in a little while.”

“
D'accord.”

Nourishment would arrive in thirty minutes. He grinned like a cat that had discovered a bowl of cream. There were so many seconds in those thirty minutes, and he wanted to spend each of them with Kat.

Marko hung their coats in the foyer, collected the packages that had been delivered before they'd arrived home, then placed them beside the remainder of the clothes he'd folded on the staircase. He'd carry them to the bedroom when he returned.

He started a fire at the hearth in the living area before heading to the kitchen. The opulent space finally felt like home, and he knew it was because Kat was there. He'd purchased the property because it was exactly what would make her happy.

With more satisfaction than he'd thought possible, he poured a mix of fresh squeezed juices in a tall glass. He carried the red concoction back through the living room, hooked the packages in his fingers, and secured the folded clothing beneath his arm, then started up the stairs and back to Kat.

Curled on her side, Kat slept soundly.

Placing the glass on the nightstand, he sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed back the damp hair at her forehead. He remained as quiet as he could manage and admired the treasure in his bed. Kat's soft breathing made him smile, and he lowered his head to taste her lips. Sweet. Addictive.

He dipped lower and suckled her nipple, allowing it to harden between his lips and circling his tongue on the tight bud. Even in her sleep, she was so beautiful and responsive. She moaned and writhed beneath his touch.

Her eyelids lifted and she smiled, a bright twinkle in her dark eyes.

“
Ciao, bella
,” he whispered.

She stretched her arms and pressed an open palm to his heart. “Hello to you, sir.”

He wanted her to rest comfortably, so he needed to remove her boots.

“You can wear these to bed again,” he whispered, caressing the sides of her thighs. “And the boots. I want the leather over my shoulders.”

At his words, her eyes opened and her seductive gaze swept over him. He unzipped the boots, slid them from her feet, and dropped them to the floor with an unintended thud. Her eyes closed, but an appreciative sigh escaped her lips as she extended her other leg. She smiled, placing her small foot in his hand.

“My feet ache bad. How about a massage, handsome?”

More than willing to oblige, he rubbed each of her dainty toes, smoothed the arch of her foot, then trailed up her calf, and settled on the heat at the apex of her thighs. He moved over her naked skin and to her garters. She squirmed as he touched the sensitive area and hooked his fingers on the material. He rolled the decadent garment down her legs, and released the silk stockings, brushing his lips over the tip of her hips.

“You were made for me,” he said, clasping her wrists with long fingers and pulling her hands over her head. Her back arched and her chest lifted to him. He kissed the underside of her breast and licked the creamy flesh. He slid his fingers between her swollen folds and slipped inside her, leisurely coaxing her body back to surrender. Claiming a pretty nipple between his lips, he tasted her desire.

Another sigh escaped her lips as a second finger joined the first, and he caressed her tight moisture and watched the need for release spread over her flushed skin.

“I want to reach for you. Want to give you the pleasure you're giving me.” Her breath grew ragged as she spoke. “The heady sensations in my mind and your hold on my wrists imprison my abilities,” she confessed, twisting beneath his touch. “You're driving me wild with longing, Marko. I can't find the energy to move.”

“Then accept the pleasure,” he said, kissing down the flat length of her belly and plunging his fingers deeper inside her heat.

“Good. Accepting. Offer,” she rasped.

A sense of accomplishment surged in his chest, as he realized it was the first time Kat had accepted freely. His tongue dipped into her belly button, and his thumb circled the raw desire pulsing between her legs. She curved off the bed and against his hand. Stroke after stroke, her sweet moans pleased him, and when her heat squeezed his fingers so tight and her thighs trembled with need, he called for her climax.

She cried out his name.

Marko loosened his fingers from her wrists and lowered her hands from over her head. He held her close, feeling the pleasure roll through her body and straight to his heart. Everything she felt, everything she did, everything that was Kat was what really mattered to him.

The doorbell chimed. Kat sighed and looked at him.

“Wait in bed,” he said, rising and tucking the comforter around her shoulders. “Keep the sheets warm. I'll be back in a minute.”

“Just the sheets?” Kat teased, cupping his groin and spreading teasing fingers over his already erect shaft.

“Wait. In. Bed.” Marko forced himself to step away. She'd passed out after the previous orgasm, and he wasn't about to let her deplete her energy. She needed her strength. “Wait.”

A
ntoine had the code for the front door, and he'd never send a regular delivery boy. He was a true gentleman and rather discreet, so Marko knew he'd come himself. After all, Antoine was doing him a favor by bringing much more than fresh bread.

The bell chimed . . . again.

“
Attendre!
I'm coming,” Marko hollered, buttoning his jeans as he rounded the stairs. He opened the door and could barely see the big man behind the numerous paper bags and packages. He took the first bag, and patted his friend's back in appreciation. “Looks like you brought a lot of food. Don't even think about joining us.”

“
Hé là
,” Antoine said in greeting, laughing and moving past Marko to the dining table. “
Tout est fin prêt. Une baguette.
” He unwrapped paper from a crisp loaf and the scent of fresh bread wafted in the air. “
Le Beurre Bordier, fromage, jambon, brandade de morue, croque monsieur, et croque madame. Bon?”

“Oui
,” Marko said, clasping Antoine's hand and shaking it gratefully. Typically, Marko limited his friends, but the local baker had proven to be a loyal and good choice. He knew that such friendships were rare. “It's perfect. You've thought of everything. Thank you.”

“So, do I get to meet your Katerina?”

Marko shook his head. Negative. He wanted to return to bed and keep her to himself. Food, sex, shower, sex, more sex, and by then the rain should have subsided—

“Of course,” a female voice sounded. Kat stepped off the last stair and extended her arm in greeting. “Hello. I'm Kathryn.”

“What happened to waiting where you were?” Marko grumbled, pretending annoyance. He liked how she made herself at home. Kat parading through the house in his underwear did great things for his ego.

“
Faire la bise
.” Antoine ignored her hand and pulled the tousled woman close, placing the traditional set of kisses on her pink cheeks. “I would be an insult to men in all of France if I pass the opportunity to kiss a beautiful woman—even if it is Marko's woman.
Je m'appelle Antoine
. I am Marko's friend.”

“Ah, Antoine.” Her bright smile lit up the room. “You're the man responsible for the most delicious croissants in the world.”

“
C'est moi.
” Antoine puffed out his chest and pounded his fist in the center. “I am happy you enjoy them. Now, you must try my baguette.”

“Thank you so much,” she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, conscious of the fact that the French rarely hugged when just meeting.

Back at university, it had taken Marko more than a few attempts to grow accustomed to skipping the kisses and giving her a hug in greeting. He grinned at the memory and at the way she'd insisted on wrapping her arms around his shoulders and counting to ten before releasing him. She'd claimed that was the only way he'd grow used to being hugged.

Truth was, he may have stretched the need for training a bit longer than necessary. No one could blame a man for wanting a woman like Kat wrapped around him.

“Please join us for some lunch,” Kat said, walking around the room and looking between the warm hearth and the darkening sky. “Looks like it's pretty nasty out there. Please stay for a bit.”

“He can't. Antoine needs to get back to the
boulangerie
for the afternoon rush. Parisians need fresh bread for their dinner.” Marko squeezed the other man's shoulder. “Thank you for bringing this by.”

“
Non, non
,” Antoine insisted, giving Marko a mocking look. “Thanks for the concern, my friend. It is my pleasure to join you for a glass of wine. I'd like to get know Kathryn a little before I go.”

The damn man was doing it on purpose. The gleam in his eyes and the smirk on his face were more than telling, but Marko couldn't blame him. He, too, would want to spend more time with Kathryn.

“Just great,” Marko muttered, turning his back and pretending to read over the labels of the wine selection on the granite counter. There was no need for any real study, because each of the bottles was from his vineyard. But, he wasn't going to give his friend the satisfaction of witnessing his possessiveness over a woman. He'd even make a trip to the wine room to prove how easygoing he was. Maybe.

What was the big deal about having company for a glass of wine? Other than the fact that Kat had dressed in one of his white undershirts and a pair of his boxer shorts, and the woman looked too good to be looked at by another man, there was no problem. Right? Plus, she had finished off the outfit with a pair of black Merino socks.

Marko kept reading the labels. He couldn't suppress a grin at the pretty vision Kat created. He wanted to see that image every day.

“I have been looking forward to meeting you, Kathryn. Marko has told me a lot about you and the times you shared in New York.” Antoine pulled out the chair nearest to the fireplace and gestured for Kat to have a seat. He sat beside her.

“He has?”

“Oh, yes.
Many
stories.” Antoine stretched the pronunciation of many.

Marko closed his fingers around the neck of a favorite vintage and brought it to the table, along with three glasses. He'd spent too many late hours refurbishing details of the apartment with the other man, who had a talent for woodworking, to let him speak alone with Kat about their conversations. He'd definitely changed his mind about heading to the wine room for a different bottle.

“My Aimee especially likes the one about how you saved the kitten from beneath a car's tire. You used your weekly spending money to buy cat food and supplies for the animal to
weewee
, only to find out you are very allergic to cats.”

Kathryn giggled. “I had to move out of my room until I found a home for her. I couldn't breathe, let alone sleep, with a cat living under my bed.”

“Those hideous welts on your body didn't do much for your coed image, either.” Marko took the seat across from Kat, uncorking the bottle and placing it in the middle of the table so the wine could breathe.

“Ha, ha.” She feigned annoyance, waved a hand across her face, and turned to address Antoine directly. “Do you know that your friend made it practically impossible for me to soak in his tub? It wasn't like the dorms I lived in had bathtubs, and Marko was the only one I knew who had a ‘private' bathroom. He had the nerve to try and persuade me not to use his ‘private' bathtub.” She had used air quotes with each mention of private.

“My
private
bathtub was shared with two soccer players. You wanted to sit where they placed their grimy feet.” She'd come to his apartment at three o'clock in the morning and begged for a soak. Of course, he'd spent an hour scrubbing and sanitizing the communal tub before he'd let her step foot in the thing.

“They were nice guys,” she said.

“What was nice was sitting with a naked woman for two hours and pretending to help her study for her midterm, while her skin got all wrinkly in an oatmeal bath that kept draining and exposing more blotches than she realized.” He cocked his head and winked. “Rather fun Saturday night.”

“Yeah, but thankfully those soccer players had more than a few boxes of oatmeal.” She tapped a finger on the back of Antoine's hand for emphasis. “Marko was the perfect gentleman. I think he was more embarrassed by our situation than I was. He added oatmeal each time we added water.”

“At least that's what I made you believe,” Marko said.

Laughter filled the comfortable space, and Marko leaned back in his chair. Life was good when Kat was in it. With her brilliant smile and teasing laughter, her spirit and beauty were palpable in the atmosphere. Even his sullen friend had fallen to her charm. Usually, Antoine only smiled for Aimee. Today, the corners of his mouth were in a perpetual upturn and his eyes held a mischievous vividness. Kat chased away the melancholy.

“So what else have you and Marko spoken about?”

“A lot.” Antoine put down his glass and reached for the baguette. “Honestly?” He paused and broke off a piece of bread.

“Always,” Kat replied.

“Meeting Marko has helped me more than it has helped him. He is a late-in-life friend. A true friend.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Marko said. “You and Aimee have been a big part of transforming this apartment into a home. Maybe Kathryn can meet your princess soon?”

“
Absolument,
” Antoine agreed. He closed large fingers over Kat's small hand. “My daughter would enjoy meeting you very much. She lacks feminine influence, and it would be good for her to know a strong and attractive woman.”

Clearly in tune with the sadness in Antoine's tone, Kat looked to Marko in question. He nodded.

“If I may be so bold to ask such a personal question, what about your wife?”

“My wife passed a few months after she gave birth to Aimee.” The burly man gazed at the fire, tears shining in his eyes. “My daughter doesn't remember her mama.”

Kat leaned over and wrapped her slender arms around his shoulders. She pulled Antoine into a hug, regardless of French etiquette. “I'm so sorry.”

Inhaling loudly, Antoine dropped his head. “We went to the doctor because Talia was having problems sleeping through the night. Her breasts hurt too much. We were trying to have a baby, so we were hopeful that was the reason. The day we learned that my wife was pregnant, we also discovered that she had a very aggressive form of invasive carcinoma. The surgery was done immediately. We fell from clouds when we learned it was a cancer too aggressive for hope.”

“I'm truly sorry,” Kat repeated, rubbing his back. “It must be very difficult.”

“Before I met Marko, when I was left alone and Aimee visited her grandparents for a few days, I would spend the nights with a bottle of wine . . . or two . . . or three. The dark became very ugly when vodka replaced the wine. Since Marko came, I have been preoccupied and more productive with those nights. Manual labor helps men.”

Marko nodded and agreed with his friend. “Yes. It does. However, you helped me as much as I helped you.”

“The place is to your liking, no?” Antoine asked Kat.

“Very much. It's exactly what I've always thought Paris would be like.”

“
Bon
,” Antoine said. “Marko was very specific in all the renovations.”

She glanced at Marko, who simply shrugged. “I bought the place last February. I had professionals in for the major work, but as Antoine said, manual labor helps a man. I did what I could, and Antoine did even more with the woodwork.”

“Unbelievable. This place is perfect.” Kat splayed her arms in a grand gesture and spun on her heels. “The views are surreal. The flooring exquisite. And even if the kitchen is loaded with every amenity, it looks like royalty has lived here forever. Very authentic. Right down to the two fireplaces—

“Three,” Marko corrected. “You haven't seen the third level.”

Kat had always had a thing for cozy fireplaces. He remembered how she used to tell him that if he was going off campus to live, he had to find an apartment with a fireplace. She'd warned she'd move in with him if he did. He hadn't been able to land an apartment with a fireplace—and it wasn't for lack of trying. But on more than a few occasions, he'd pick her up in her room and walk across the quad just to sit by a fireplace and study.

“First, we drink to the love of my life. My beautiful Talia.” Antoine poured the wine and handed them each a glass. They raised them high in the air and clinked them together. “To Talia.”

“Second, we drink to friendship.”

“To friendship.”

They drank and ate, laughing over memories and speaking about the must-see Paris attractions. It was too bad the rain had ruined the afternoon picnic at the Pont Marie quay, but a house picnic worked. Contentment and joy filled the room, and Marko was actually glad to show Kat a little of his local life. He also wanted to show Kat off to every person in his life. He wanted to share everything with the woman he loved.

“Marko said you are here for work. How long can you extend your stay?”

Taken aback, Kat shook her head. “I can't. I need to present my article in a few days. I'm heading home tomorrow.”

“When will you return?” Antoine asked.

“I'm not sure.”

“She's not leaving,” Marko said, stretching his legs beneath the table and nudging her with his foot. “Not if I have anything to say about it. You can fly out Monday and be back in plenty of time.”

“And Aimee won't be home until Sunday night,” Antoine added.

“You have to give Aimee her present, sweetheart.” Marko grinned and turned to the other man. “While we were visiting the Eiffel Tower, we picked up a pair of earrings for your little one.”

“I wish it was possible. Unfortunately, this is an important deadline.”

“I remember. You are a writer.” Antoine trailed a finger through the air, as if signing his name. “Marko says a great writer. What about your novel? Did you finish?”

Her gaze flitted to Marko. Her novel was a secret. She hadn't told anyone other than Marko about her publishing dreams.

She didn't answer. She sucked on her lower lip and looked down at her empty plate. Marko cut a piece of cheese and placed it there. Antoine offered her the crisp corner of the baguette. Her hand shook as she raised her glass and sipped on her wine. Antoine didn't ask more questions, and neither man spoke. They waited, like people who really cared, and allowed for courage to build, for her to speak.