Chapter 14
Paris, France
“VOUSavez l’air triste, mademoiselle.”
Marcelle Burgess looked up from her croissant and café au lait, more annoyed than sad. Could she not have a quiet breakfast in a quaint café without some French guy hitting on her? It seemed every man within a five-mile radius felt it was his right to saunter up to her table in his designer shoes just so he could tell her how sad she looked.
Maybe that was because she couldn’t seem to hold her head up.
She didn’t even bother trying to grin. “Je vais bien, merci.”
Her French friend shrugged and walked away. Thank goodness. She was in no mood to humor foreign flirts.
Was it too much to ask that a woman be left alone on her trip of a lifetime? Couldn’t she eat her meals in peace?
Marcelle snatched a hunk of croissant off her plate and brought it to her lips but let it fall to her plate again. All of a sudden, she wasn’t hungry.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked around the café.
Happy couples everywhere. Tourists and Parisians alike kissed and laughed and pledged eternal love to one another over their cappuccinos.
She could have been one of those couples. Truth be told, when she’d booked this trip months ago, one of her aims had been to meet as many men as possible. Her doe had been restless lately, searching. Marcelle had attributed it to wanting to get laid. She’d never had problems in that department, but she’d been unsatisfied with recent encounters.
She’d been hoping Connor would help her out, but that plan fizzled. She couldn’t blame him. He obviously loved Elaine. Marcelle would never have stood in his way. He was a good guy and deserved to be happy.
And what of her happiness? She thought she’d find it in the city of light and love.
But so far? Nuts.
In fact, the last time she could recall feeling any measure of happiness, it was in Dr. Josh Douglas’ presence.
Marcelle wasn’t sure why the doctor affected her so. Sure, he was hot. Every shifter man was hot. No, it was something more. Something about the way he looked at her with those sparkling eyes, about the way his voice changed when he spoke to her. When they talked to one another, his voice got deep and rumbly and so sexy…
Oh, my God. I miss Josh.
But she barely knew him. They’d spoken on two occasions, both of them fleeting. Hardly the basis of a grand romance.
So why was she still thinking about him?
Irritated, Marcelle stood, threw on her coat, and grabbed her purse. She contemplated leaving a tip for her surly waiter but decided against it. If he couldn’t even bring himself to smile when he delivered her coffee to her table, he didn’t get a tip. God only knew she held herself to a higher standard when she worked at the Ursa. She always prided herself on her customer service skills.
As she walked out of the café, she realized she was dragging her feet. The glory of Paris lay before her. Her mood should be much better. Her cheap and cheerful inn was wedged between two fancy hotels, a stone’s throw from the Eiffel Tower. At night, she could look out her window, crane her neck, and just about gaze on the lights below. It was still a bit chilly to take one of the famousbateaux mouchesriver cruises on the Seine, but she hoped to spend a bit of her hard-earned money at some local art stalls. Perhaps she’d even buy a small piece of jewelry as a memento. All in all, this trip should be amazing.
Today should be amazing.
Marcelle grumbled. “Today sucks.”
A tall, blond man brushed past. “Excusez-moi.”
She whipped around. “Josh?”
The man continued on his way.
Of course, it isn’t Josh, you tool.
Marcelle found a quiet spot on the riverbank and plunked herself on a bench. A young, fashionable couple took up a spot not far away and began kissing in the French style.
Marcelle almost vomited the small piece of croissant she’d managed to consume.
