“Thank you,” I murmur, and lifting on my toes, I press my mouth to his.
We kiss for long minutes, languidly as if we have all the time in the world. Kissing him takes me to a place where all my dreams are within reach. I just have to wish them, and they materialize.
A low groan reverberates in his throat, eyes burning up with uncontained passion. “Let me take my woman out before I forget my damn mind and bring you to bed and lose myself in you.”
Hiswoman. That’s the only thing my mind gets stuck on, repeating it in my head like a heavenly symphony.
My hands itch to play, to create a different type of music. I know what my gift will be. While he has inspired all my compositions, this one will have a different tune—more love, less heartache.
The suite has a piano I barely touched. I don’t want to lose myself in music. For now, I just want to lose myself in him.
Guiding me toward the door with his hand firmly planted on my exposed back, warmth rushes through my body, heating me from the inside.
I am insatiable for this man. Absolutely gone—mind, body, heart.
Outside the hotel, the driver opens the rear door for us. Once inside, he takes my hand in his, interlinking our fingers. He rests them on his thigh, rubbing his thumb up and down my palm.
“Am I dreaming?” I ask, still not sure.
He leans into me, brushing his nose along my cheek. “Does it feel like you’re dreaming?”
If he could, he’d make all my wishes come true, dissolving my insides into a puddle.
“Yes,” I smile, being in a playful mood.
He arches a brow. “Then I better give you the proof that you’re not.”
His words linger between us with the promise of decadence—in and out of bed.
I should forsake wearing underwear as I am constantly drenching them in his presence.
“You’re incorrigible,” I chastise, but my teasing tone betrays me.
As our eyes lock, I forget we’re in Paris. That I should gaze out the window to not lose a single moment, but no sight compares to him, trapping me in his gray orbit.
We don’t break eye contact, our souls having an entire conversation. We remain silent while the love transpiring between us blasts for acknowledgement.
We tear our gazes away only when the driver says, “We’re here.”
Craning my head, the tower appears to kiss the clouds bathed in glittering lights.
Hand in hand, he brings me to the elevator and up to the restaurant. Inside, I come to an abrupt halt, my eyes widening. There’s no one else but us.
“I didn’t want interruptions,” he says as if reading my confusion.
My heart leaps out of my chest as if searching for a secret door to escape to him.
From the panoramic view, Paris spreads all around us in a golden halo. The maître d’ welcomes us, bringing us to a table by the window.
Placing the menus in front of us, he returns with a bottle of wine Mika approves of with a nod. After filling our glasses, he retreats—silent, making himself unseen like a shadow.
He raises his glass in a toast. “To an unforgettable night.”
Clinking them, a sound brimming with delight escapes my mouth. “Every moment with you is unforgettable.”
He does everything right. So thoughtful. Romantic. Present. I get high on his undivided attention. If I ever overdose on needing him, it’s fine by me.
In the background, dim music makes the atmosphere even lovelier.
