“Voilà!” The waiter appeared with a covered tray and lifted the lid with a flourish, effectively scattering the sad clouds hanging above their heads.
After a delicious meal of coq au vin, triple chocolate fudge cake—one could never have too much chocolate—and one too many bottles of French wine, they stumbled out of the restaurant into the soft Parisian night. The air was heavy with threatening rain. The city lights sparkled and danced as if they knew they resided in one of the world’s most romantic cities.
And Mark? Oh, Mark looked good in his leather jacket and distressed jeans. His body was hot enough to fog an elderly nun’s glasses, and he seemed much older than his mere twenty-four years. More than that, he was enigmatic and a touch dangerous.
Sonya knew that to protect the innocent, the Mossad sometimes did things that blurred or obliterated the lines of civilized behavior. What, exactly, had Mark done? What secrets did he keep locked away inside his razor-sharp mind? What dark deeds had those big, strong hands been tasked with?
The possibilities were endless, a little bit frightening, and a whole lot exciting.
“Can I walk you home tonight?” He glanced at her from beneath hooded lids. He had the prettiest eyes. So chocolaty brown. So inscrutable.
“Of course,” she told him. Instead of heading toward the nearest subway stop, they turned down a narrow cobbled street that led to the Montmartre neighborhood where she lived.
For a while, they strolled in silence, each occupied with their own thoughts. Each intensely aware of the other. Then, he shocked her by asking, “Are you seeing anyone, Sonya?”
Her heart thrilled at the question.
Is this it? Is he finally going to drop his me-Mossad-you-Interpol, hands-off policy?
She’d done everything she could to give him all the right signals, to let him know she was interested. Well, everything short of flashing him her boobs. And honestly, she’d made up her mind if he didn’t pick up what she was laying down soon, she might try that too.
“No.” She smiled at him, intentionally catching the heel of one of her red-as-the-devil’s-underpants pumps between two cobblestones so she’d have an excuse to stumble into him and grab hold of his arm.
Yes. She was shameless.
Don’t judge me! She shook an imaginary fist at the universe.
“Why?” he asked, placing his hand over hers.
“Why what?” She wrinkled her nose. “Why am I not seeing anyone?”
“Yes.”
He had the most beautiful voice, all deep and melodic. Even one tiny syllable was enough to have her imagining all the things she could do to his manly parts. With his manly parts.
“Frenchmen are notorious flirts,” he added. “Surely you’ve had plenty of opportunities since you’ve been in Paris.”
“I guess I haven’t met anyone I wanted to…uh…s-see.”
She hated the way she stuttered. It made her sound unsure of herself, and that’s the last impression she wanted to give him. He always seemed so certain. So composed. So ridiculously confident!
Before she could stop herself, she added, “Until now.”
He stopped in the middle of the street, turning to look down at her. She did so love a tall man. And a man who was still taller than she was even after she’d packed her five-foot-eight frame into a pair of sky-high, take-me-big-boy heels? Well, that was about the best thing ever.
She hoped to fake a brashness she didn’t feel by pasting on a cheeky grin. “Was that too forward?”
“No.” His dark curls caught the light of the streetlamp on the corner, glowing with health. “It was just forward enough.”
Cupping her chin in his warm, callused palm, he bent toward her. Her lungs seized when his hot breath puffed against her eager, waiting lips.
Then the sky opened up…
Sonya shook her head at the memory of how they’d run to the nearest doorway and crowded inside in an attempt to escape the deluge. It had been too late. They’d both been soaked to the bone. Water had beaded on his inky eyelashes and dripped from the center of his delectable bottom lip.
She had shivered with the cold and he, being the consummate gentleman, had wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. His body heat, and the hunger burning in his eyes, had chased away the chill while making everything inside her go liquid.
Even back then, at barely twenty-two, she hadn’t been a virgin. And that, by no means, had been her first kiss. But she had been so nervous and shy that both things might as well have been true.
