One Summer in Paris(62)

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He gave a shrug that was as cute as it was awkward. “Morning after. Things look different in daylight, no?”

If anything, he looked even better than he had the night before.

She wished she had sprinted to the bathroom and at least brushed her hair. “I had fun last night.”

“Me, too. I don’t know what you like for breakfast, so I made a selection.” His chest was bare, but he’d pulled on a pair of shorts. They rode low over his hips and she felt her mouth dry.

They hadn’t said much to each other the night before, but what if he suddenly wanted to talk? What if he picked a topic she knew nothing about? She didn’t want to look stupid. She felt more self-conscious about conversation than she did about sex.

She sat up in bed, holding the sheet across her breasts.

“Your apartment is like a hotel.”

“My parents’ apartment.” He put the tray on the bed. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with warm croissant. His hair flopped over his forehead and his jaw was dark with morning shadow.

He was so unbearably cute her stomach clenched.

“So they’re like mega successful, I’m guessing.” She reached for a croissant. “Should I use a plate? I don’t want to get crumbs everywhere.”

“If you do, I’ll lick them off you.” He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re incredible. Your hair looks as if it’s on fire.”

No one had ever told her she was incredible before.

The way he looked at her made her feel incredible.

The croissant was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Buttery, flaky and still warm. “Where did you buy this?”

“At the bakery next door.” He slid off his shorts and joined her in bed, making a grab for the coffee before it spilled everywhere. “Are you tired? We didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

“I feel great. Are your mum and dad away all summer?”

“They get out of Paris and go to the beach.” He was casual about it. “My dad’s an investor, so he works from home.”

She had no idea what that was, but it obviously paid well if this apartment was anything to go by. “That sounds good.”

“How about your parents? What do they do?”

His family was obviously normal. If she told him the truth about hers, he would stop thinking she was incredible.

“My mum is an office manager. She works for a bunch of lawyers. She’s just married again.” It was a part truth. Her life was full of part truths. Hiding a chunk of your life led to a type of isolation that was hard to describe. The fact that no one really knew her created a particularly acute brand of loneliness.

“You have a stepdad? Does he beat you?”

The thought of Ron beating anyone made her smile. “No. He’s pretty cool, in fact. I bet your parents have been married forever.”

“Yes, but that’s enough boring talk about parents.” He pulled the coffee mug out of her hand and put it on the bedside table. “I don’t want to think about my parents just before I do all the things I’m planning to do to you.”

“I was drinking that!” She squealed with laughter as he tumbled her back on the bed. “What’s the time?”

“I don’t know. I’m a lazy student, remember? I never look at the time in the mornings.”

“But I’m supposed to be working.” This close she could see the pinpricks of dark stubble on his jaw and the sleepiness of his eyes as he smiled into hers. She felt the weight of him, pressing down on her, the roughness of his thigh against hers. Her heart kicked against her chest and desire almost punched the breath from her body.

She’d never done this before. Never laughed during sex. Never woken up in someone else’s bed feeling as if she belonged there. Sex had always been its own thing for her. Never part of something else. She’d never been held. Never nestled and nuzzled. It felt good.

He lowered his head to hers, and his kiss was so gentle she wanted to cry. He didn’t make it all about him. He took time to find out the stuff she liked, too. It wasn’t just about passion; it was about feeling.

He murmured something in French, coaxed her mouth open with his and deepened the kiss. It made her dizzy, the taste of him, the erotic slide of his tongue against hers.

His hands were sure and skilled, so different from the inept fumbling she’d experienced before. Etienne didn’t rush. He didn’t want to just “do it” and then get the hell out so that he could boast to his friends.

“I like you.” He kissed her jaw and her neck. “I like you a lot.”

It made her feel special to hear him say it.

She ignored the fact that he didn’t know her. Did anyone ever know anyone? She knew for a fact there was a ton of stuff Ron didn’t know about her mum.

“I like you, too.” It felt a little weird to say it aloud. What did it mean exactly? Like wasn’t love. It was way too soon for love.

But like was nice. It felt special.

He shifted above her. “Am I too heavy?”

“No.” She liked it. She like feeling him. He was a hard, muscular barrier between herself and life.

Afterward, she fell asleep again and woke disorientated and panicking.

Sun spilled through the window so she knew it was late. “Shit. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. What time is it?” She reached for her phone and swore again. “I’m late. I’m totally stuffed. Fuck—I mean darn.”