26 Hours in Paris (5 page)

D
ressed and composed, Kat accepted Marko's hand and stepped from the privacy of the car. She welcomed his possessive hold when he closed his fingers over hers and folded his arm behind his lower back, keeping her snug against him as she turned and admired architecture and history she'd pictured in her mind's eye for years.

She listened to his authoritative tone instructing the driver in French, but wasn't in the least bit concerned about what he said. Marko would take care of everything and she could actually take in the splendor that surrounded them. She could enjoy the experience without worries. The realization that she'd left Kathryn behind and accepted the remaining twenty-five hours as Marko's Kat filled her with a sense of empowerment, strength, freedom, and joy. She inhaled the cool air and smiled. Before her stood the oldest church in Paris.

“I've dreamed of this place,” she said aloud, snaking her hands around him and leaning her chin on his broad shoulder. “This is really it. The bustling spirit and grandeur of Saint-Germain-des-Près.”

“Up until a few centuries ago, the Abbey owned the majority of land on the Left Bank. Right to the Seine. It's survived fire, war, and so much more. As you know, artists and intellectuals from all walks of life have always flocked to Paris. This is where your Hemingway and Picasso gathered in the cafés. These are the streets you had pictured on your walls in school,” he said, gathering her in his embrace and pointing beyond the massive boulevard and tourist traffic.

“Can we walk from here to the Seine after breakfast?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, raising her hand to his lips and kissing her palm. “Anything you want,
bella
.” He turned for the infamous café with the white and green canopy, her hand once again tucked against his warm body. “You'll love the old bookstores and quaint shops.”

Kat moved toward a table beneath a propane heater, but Marko insisted the glass-enclosed terrace afforded the same views and wouldn't disappoint. He led her past the café patrons sitting outside.

“It offers needed shelter from the wind,” he explained.

Without an objection, she followed and sat at a small table in the corner. They didn't speak, simply sat together and looked out the window at the pedestrian traffic. It took no time for a middle-aged waiter to approach and take their order with brisk efficiency. Marko ordered their drinks and suggested an omelet for her. She agreed and the waiter jotted the order on a tiny pad, gave a curt nod, then maneuvered over the suitcase at the neighboring table with an explicit phrase on his narrow lips.

“He doesn't seem to enjoy his job,” Kat observed.

“Not necessarily so,” Marko laughed. “It's just his way of acknowledging the tourists. That attitude is as expected as the lighting of the Eiffel Tower at night.”

“I guess,” she replied, watching the other waiters interact with patrons. They weren't rude or nasty; however, they all wore blasé expressions on their faces.

Marko pulled his chair beside hers and rested his arm across her back. Awareness prickled up her spine as his fingers caressed her nape.

“I'm guessing you've been in contact with Paul and Justin,” she said. “Did they update you on my whole itinerary?”

“Yes,” he replied, meeting her gaze, clearly unabashed with the admission, but pulling away for the first time since they'd met in the terminal. His jaw set hard, he dropped his arm from the back of her chair. “Why didn't you come to the Empire State Building as we'd agreed?”

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away and worried her lower lip. She couldn't find the words to express why, but she had to be honest. “I went early,” she whispered. “I couldn't stay.”

“Why?” He leaned forward, but didn't reach for her.

She replayed the night in her mind. Every thought. Every hope. Every picture she'd seen of him over the years. They lived in two different universes, and fate had chosen very different paths for them. Every morning he woke in a posh home or a luxury hotel in any corner of the world. On almost every morning of her mundane life, she woke on a futon, in a shared rental, in the same state she'd always lived in.

“It wouldn't work,” she breathed, and managed to glance into his dark eyes. “I couldn't stay and deal with it if you showed up. Even more, I didn't know what I'd do if you didn't. I did what you accused me of doing after my father died. I ran away.”

“From me,” he said, catching a solitary tear that escaped from the corner of her eye. “From us.”

Nodding, she dropped her shoulders and clasped her hands in her lap. She tried to swallow the knot lodged in her throat. Tried to miss the disappointment in his face, but she couldn't lie to herself or to him. She owed him that much. “I'm sorry, Marko. I couldn't face the possibility of an us and the hurt that would follow.”

Their drinks arrived at that very moment. They fell silent.

“I'll let that go for now. I share in the responsibility for us being apart all this time. We made our choices. Our choices have made us.” His chest expanded, and he reached for her intertwined hands and pulled them into his own lap. “I have a few important decisions to make in the next few days. Tomorrow will be very telling. I'm scheduled to meet with a New York–based firm for a position in Manhattan. I also have a few offers in Europe to consider. Once we've caught up, I'd like your input. Your opinion means everything to me.”

Kat licked her lips and nodded. “Anything I can do to help, I will.”

“There's one thing that will help. Only one. And since we are together right now, I won't allow a single doubt to come between us. You've agreed to the next twenty-four hours together. I won't let you run. There's no choice. Understand?”

She understood. She didn't have any desire to run. She wouldn't grow old regretting that she'd walked away from the best day of her life. “I don't want to run.”

“Good,” he said, sweeping his thumb over her cheek and wiping away the tears. He gave her lips a quick kiss. “I'm happy you're here, and I'm so proud that you're finally following your dreams. Tell me about the research you need to do.”

Taking a deep breath, she accepted the olive branch he'd offered and returned to the moment. “The guy who was supposed to write the Valentine's Day feature left
City Wings
on a rather sour note. Actually, Paul kicked him out on his ass when he found questionable expenses on his corporate card and deleted his proposal for a story. He's history. The douchebag's spot is up for grabs, and so is the byline.”

“So Paul gave you the assignment?”

“Not quite.” She leaned back and waited for the waiter to place her omelet on the table. “This looks heavenly.”

Marko smiled and spooned whipped cream on her hot chocolate. “Go on.”

“In typical Paul fashion, he pitted my story idea against Charlie's proposal. That's my roommate and best girlfriend. She's been there for over two years, has a point to prove to her family, and also wants her own byline more than anything else. Paul wants a catfight. He thinks that we each want it so bad that we'll turn on each other.”

“I doubt that, sweetheart.” He laughed and shook his head. “That's just Paul.” He adjusted her plate and cut into her eggs. Forking a mouthful, he presented it and waited for her to accept.

She closed her lips around the small bite, and didn't question the ease with which she'd reverted to speaking to and confiding in the man who was destined to break her heart. Instead, she gave in to the feeling. Damn, she deserved some happiness.

“Anyway, he's not getting the fight. I told Charlie to write the best feature she can, because that's exactly what I'm going to do.”

“Hence, your Paris research.”

“Exactly,” she replied, sipping the hot chocolate and licking the whipped cream off her upper lip. “I have a list of all the best places to fall in love. I also made a schedule.” She retrieved her folder and placed it in the center of the small table.

She continued eating while he flipped through the stapled sheets. Each grin, smirk, or shake of his head had her perching on the edge of her seat. He didn't look up until he'd reviewed the whole file and anticipation was pushing at her calm.

“Well?”

“Impressive list.” He cocked his head in an amused tilt. “If we start right now, we'll be done two minutes before
City Wings
hits the stands. I'm sorry, Kat. You either need to remain in Paris for much longer or return to the city for weeks to cover that list. It's impossible to see all those places in one day.”

“You promised,” she reminded him. “You can do whatever you set your mind to. Are you backing out on me, Marko Renard?”

“No, sweetheart.” He smiled and touched her chin. “I'm absolutely doing what I've set my mind to. As far as your research, we've started with the perfect spot. Not to fall in love with Paris—but to find love in Paris.”

She wrinkled her nose, but let him guide her to look past the window and at the pedestrians outside.

“I introduce to you the sidewalk café. These are the places to see and be seen, to meet new and old people, and to fuel your heart's desires for any adventure. Whether a tourist trap or a local gathering spot, large or small, expensive or affordable, a Parisian café is at the core of all relationships.”

“I see.”

There was a young couple snuggled together at a table beneath the same heater she'd spied earlier. They fed each other a decadent-looking chocolate cake and shared long kisses between bites. A grandmother played with a baby, while a younger version of the woman motioned a young man to the table and offered him a chair to join them. Two men laughed as they exchanged animated stories. An older couple shared a cup of tea in silence, but with hands intertwined beneath the table.

“I like the café angle,” she announced. “It's romantic.”

“It may be romantic, but it's not an angle. It's a way of life.” He looked over her head and nodded to someone. “Now what about the bridges?”

“There are so many. At first, I wanted to see the Pont des Arts and envision all the lovers who had left locks there through time, but a man I met on the plane mentioned a different bridge that piqued my interest.”

With a grimace, he held up a finger and requested she hold the thought. Kat turned to see a messenger approach them. Dressed rather fashionably for someone who made his living on a bicycle, the young man greeted them, then handed her a luxurious black and silver shopping bag.

Marko thanked the deliveryman, and placed a bill in his hand as he returned the signed slip. The other fellow gave a slight bow and tipped an imaginary hat. “
Adieu
.”

“So which bridge intrigued you?” Marko asked, taking the bag from her hands and pulling on the silver tie.

“The Pont Marie. He . . .”

Marko produced a red cashmere wrap. He fit the oversized garment around her shoulders and arranged the way it flowed down her body.

Swaddled in pure luxury, she raised the soft material against her cheek. “Thank you. I love it.”

“You're welcome.” He rolled the edge between his fingers. “It was a self-serving gift. At least you'll be warm while we stroll through Paris. Tell me, why Pont Marie?”

“Cyril, the man on the plane, said it was the first place he fell in love because an older girl kissed him beneath the bridge as legend requires.”

“Okay. That one is easy,” he said, a shadow crossing his handsome features. He reached for his espresso and looked at her with a bright twinkle playing in his eyes. “We'll have an afternoon picnic there.”

“Not fair. You've taken over planning the whole schedule.” It was a fail of a scolding. Marko was efficient and complete in everything he did, and she had no reason for concern. Just because she was relieved didn't mean she couldn't protest for fun's sake. “Please remember it's
my
research, dear friend.”

“Kat, I haven't seen you or spent any time with you in over five years. You no longer hold a friend card over me.” He sipped the remainder of his coffee. “You agreed to my terms. Therefore, I arrange the schedule. I keep you warm, and I make all our plans. I assure you will have the material for your article. You don't argue.”

“Sounds like I'm supposed to surrender my will and do everything you want.”

No verbal reply. He raised a dark brow and cocked his head.

“You're serious?”

“I am.” He tucked a stray lock behind her ear and caressed the side of her neck. “Let me spoil you, Kat. Allow me to make decisions and plans.”

Her insides went soft and a molten pleasure spread through her chest. It would be such an indulgence to let go.

“For once in your life,” he continued in a soft voice, “live in the moment and don't worry. Relax and enjoy. Trust me to take care of you and all your needs.”

“I do trust you,” she said, studying his expression and wanting more than anything to simply be with him. “Okay. No more arguments from me.”

He sealed the agreement with a coffee-flavored kiss. “Good choice,” he said. “Eat up. You need your energy for the day.” He pulled a small piece of bread off a baguette and popped it in his mouth while she finished her eggs and followed his advice. She relaxed into the moment.

“Why the grin?” Kat asked, heat sparking her insides at his expression.

“I'm thinking of how the cashmere will keep you covered and warm when we visit the highlights on your list. But mostly, I'm imagining how it will feel against your bare skin when you cry my name as I make you come, at the location of my choice. ” He stretched out his hand and turned up his palm. “Give me your panties.”