“Yep.His.” Standing in front of her, as she sat on the railing, I gripped her thighs, massaging. “You said put respect on your name, Doctor Sweet Cheeks. Today, I gotta put some respect on who you belong to. Even if it’s for a month.”Is it for a month, bébé?
Later, the fading sun touched Zuri’s golden skin, and the possessiveness in me wanted to leap out. She sat on a stone bench. The river stretched beyond. I swore she was the only landmark worth remembering. The gilded dome of les Invalides caught the light in the distance, barges drifting by. None of it compared to the way her lashes brushed her cheeks as she sighed, spooning ice cream.
My chest tightened again. Had to know her. My own Berthillon ice cream melted in the cup in my hand. Done faking it for fans, I asked, “Tell me. You got big friends somewhere?”
“What?”
I bent to press a kiss on her bare shoulder. Her skin trembled beneath my lips. Damn straight I looked for every chance to touch her. Camera, no camera. “Your passport.” I pressed. “Curtis got it like that.”
“Do we need to have this conversation, Montana?” Zuri stabbed her spoon into the smooth ice cream.
“You real cryptic for someone who wants money.”Wrong move, bruh.
She shoved my chest. “Watch it. I’m not a gold digger.”
“That’s why I—” My mouth clamped up. I hated this part. We were in the city for lovers. We resembled strangers who felt a spark on a plane and decided to see where it led. That spark was gone. Around us, Paris glowed while we squabbled like an old married couple. Divorce? Not an option. If I married …
Can’t be with Zuri. You don’t even know her full government, Montana. She’ll ghost you, bruh.
I watched her attack her Berthillon. One creamy bite after another. The Seine sparkled with the dying sun, while lovers walked by without a care in the world. Me? I was tryna pry the truth from a woman who guarded her past like classified intel.
My ice cream cup sweated in my palm. “You hate pistachio ice cream. Vanilla. Chocolate. Guess I can add lemon sorbet to the list of what you love.”I’m falling for you, bébé. Give me a piece of you!
Something.
She mumbled, “I moved around a lot.”
“No fam?”
Her head shook.
I nodded. “Washington is a juvenile judge. Foster youth. Probation. He had me come down and talk a couple times. Those kids”—I scratched the back of my neck—“really needed it. I mean. He’s even the foster youth judge for one of the kids who tried to rob us. Damn, just realized I?—”
“Oh, they found the kids? Did you decide to press charges? And what did you realize?”
“A detective called me while we were avoiding each other in the hotel. Nah, just community service. But I justrealizedI was comparing Wash’s knuckleheads to you.”
She smiled softly.
“Here I go, tryna relate.” My attempt to connect with her had me out here looking like a sax player after 3 a.m.—flustered, outta tune, and wondering why I didn’t give up. “I get that Curtis and Deidre help when they can. They’re struggling with infertility—was that the real reason you left?”
Silence.
I laughed low, frustration biting. Did she leave to protect her friends from her baby daddy? Man, she had me guessing wild. “Zuri, your friend has skills. Clearly, Curtis got government clearance—or the brotha can hack. That’s the limit of his help.” My hand squeezed her thigh. “Why not askmefor help, chère?”Here I was. Still trying because every blue moon she kissed me as if I were the only man. “What are we up against?”
“We?” Zuri’s eyes snapped toward me. She choked on the word, eyes glassy. “Montana, you’re frustrated. I’m frustrated. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Let me in, girl.”
“If I gave you Darius’s dad’s name? Would you leave it alone?”
“No!” Too soon. Too honest.
“You have baseball.”
I care, damn!
“No altercations, Montana.” She glanced at the river. “That sums up your probation until April, right?”
