Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
He drapes his arm around me and pulls me close, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “It was my father, one of the only people in this world that can fuck with my head.”
My fingers press to his jaw, and I ease back to study him, the shadows in his stare thick with history. “Do you need—”
“You?” He leans in again, his hand pressed against my waist, his breath warm on my neck and lobe. “Very much,” he adds.
And as incredible as it would have seemed to me in Hawaii, I believe him. I also believe that it’s as real and incredible to him as it is to me. I don’t know what is happening between us, as I’ve never experienced this kind of connection with anyone. I’m not sure it has him, either. In some things, our experiences are different. In this…
It’s in that moment that the car pulls to a halt at the front door of a building I assume to be the passport office. Ethan releases me and straightens. “We’ll likely be in there at least an hour,” he says. “And we’ll need to return this evening or early tomorrow.”
“I’ll stay close,” Paul replies and reaches for the door.
“We’re fine. Stay put. Feel free to go grab a bite, and I can call you when we’re finishing up.” Ethan opens the door and speaks to me. “You can leave your briefcase. Paul will keep it safe.” He steps out of the vehicle and then offers me his aid.
I press my palm to his, and when his fingers close around mine, I feel as if my hand belongs in his, which is likely romantic and silly, me being over the top into this man. I’m going to get hurt, I try to warn myself, but then he’s wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against his hard body, and I’m fine with tears and heartache in exchange for moments like these. He eases me to my feet, and I want to ask him about the call, but my gut says not now. Instead, I let him shut the door, and when we go to walk inside, I step in front of him.
“Did you know Zoey was my mother?”
“I did.”
“Then you know I have to make Zoey famous.”
He strokes my hair behind my ear, tenderness in his eyes that defies the cold-hearted businessman I know he can be when necessary. “And you will, which means we need to get you to Paris.” He slips the fingers of one of his hands into mine and guides me toward the door. Once we’re in line, going through the motions of checking in followed by sitting in one of any rows of steel chairs, it really hits me that this moment is so far from a hot one-night stand. And yet, he’s still here with me. He’s still right by my side, eager to take me to Paris. I’m not in Hawaii anymore.
This is no longer a fling. He said it. Now I actually feel it.
Chapter Seventeen
Sofia
We end up sitting at a nearby coffee shop for hours, munching on the limited food they offer and hoping my passport is done by end of day.
In that time, we both work, but we also talk, learning small things about each other, like our shared love for banana bread. Ethan tells me a lot about Paris as well and what to expect. “It’s a lot like New York City in many ways,” he says, “with different food and lots of art and history.”
“Tell me about the food,” I urge.
“Chocolate, wine, and pastries are all big. So is butter. Lots of it. Too much of it. Seafood, duck, and tartare are big staples. If you don’t like those things, you’ll eat a lot of steak and frites, as well as quiche.”
“Keep the tartare and duck. I’m not adventurous with food.”
His phone rings, and the minute he eyes the number, I’m certain it’s his father or brother again. “I’m going to step outside for this one,” he says, and he’s already on his feet, walking toward the back door.
There is no doubt he’s still fighting with his family, and my heart bleeds for him. It’s about that time that my cellphone rings, too, and it’s Harper calling. Nerves erupt in my belly, and I quickly answer the call. “How bad is it?”
“Why do you always assume everything is bad?”
Why indeed, I think. “I’ll work on that,” I concede, “but right now, how bad is it?”
“Not bad or good. They have our demands. They’ll talk and get back to us.”
“I get that, but how do you feel about it?”
“I’m not big on feeling, and nothing stands out as different than I’d expect at this point. Is Ethan still there?”
My defenses bristle. “I tried to convince him to leave. I did. I told him I’d meet him in Paris. I even eventually told him why. But he isn’t leaving without me, and before you get upset, he says we need to give him more credit for knowing how to handle himself. And that’s paraphrasing, but you get the general idea.”