But I tamped down that whispering voice. I couldn’t allow meself to consider such a too-fast feeling. Not yet. Not until I proved to her over the next couple of days that I was nothing like her ex, even though it might look that way on paper.
“A’right, then, Kayla,” I said, climbing into the back seat with her. “Tell me all about your day, starting with the Louvre.”
CHAPTER15
Kayla
Okay,Zephyr gave Aziza an ever-summer garden filled with fireflies as a wedding gift in Chapter 3 of the latest Clara Quinn book. But I’d be darned if I wasn’t swooning way more than she did when I found the limo’s sideboard bar filled with flowers, a bottle of champagne, and perhaps, most importantly, a ginormous charcuterie board covered in meats, cheeses, bread, vegetables, and both fresh and dried fruits.
And Mick really did seem interested in what I had to say about my day. As we ate the shockingly filling meal of small bites, he listened intently as I told him about hitting the Louvre, along with a couple of cafes.
To my further delight, the limo took us for a bit of a ramble next to the Seine, stopping along the way at a few “tourist trap” monuments that were on my list of places I might want to check out while I was here in Paris.
Mick patiently watched me take picture after picture of the elegant arches and intricate stonework of the Pont Neuf, which, despite its “New Bridge” name, was actually the oldest standing bridge in Paris, having been built in the 1600s.
“That probably feels like no big deal to you since you also have a really old quote-unquote new London Bridge to look at,” I said when we climbed back into the limo. “But there’s almost no major infrastructure in L.A. built before the 1900s.”
“Actually, the current London Bridge is pretty young. Less than a hundred years old. The old quote-unquote new bridge that replaced the one from the nursery rhyme song's been moved to America now,”,” he said, settling back into the limo seat next to me.
“You’re joking!”
“How many times do I have to tell ya I don’t joke? Look it up on your phone if ya don’t believe me. It’s in some retirement community or somethin’ like that in Arizona. Is this not common knowledge where you come from? I mean, that state’s right next door, innit?”
To my shock, Mick totally wasn’t kidding.
“In my defense, America is a crazy-big place with lots of crazy-big history,” I told him after confirming that the early 1800s London Bridge that replaced the one I used to sing about in preschool was, indeed, relocated in 1968 to Arizona—less than a five-hour drive from Inglewood. “I’ll have to go see it when I get back home.”
We both grew quiet at the mention of me going back home, and I wondered if Mick was feeling as sad about the notion of never seeing each other again as I already was.
But I’d pasted back on a sunny smile by the time we stepped out of the limo to briefly view the Pantheon from afar. I didn’t follow or know much about architecture, but even I could sense the rich history of the former church lit up underneath the Paris night sky.
“Wow! Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas are interned there!” I noted after a quick scroll of its history on my phone. “I’ll have to make sure to stop back here before the end of my trip. I've never read anything by Victor Hugo, butThe Count of Monte Cristowas the only book in my AP Lit class that wasn’t totally boring.”.”
Last, but not least, we took a selfie—or an “ussie,” as Mick referred to them?—
across the river from the equally lit up Musée d’Orsay.
At the last moment, though, Mick turned and blew a raspberry into my cheek, causing me to burst into surprised laughter right as he pushed the red button.
“No, wait, take another one!” I demanded when he immediately repocketed the phone and headed back toward the limo.
“Nah, love, that one’s mint. I’ll text it to ya!” Mick answered.
Then he ducked back into the limo before I could insist.
Still, after he finally gave the limo driver instructions to head back to the hotel, I had to give credit where credit was due as I slipped off my coat in the overly warm car.
“That was the best, most romantic date ever!”
“Glad ya liked it, but…” He leaned over, and the next thing I knew, his mouth was on my lobe, tugging at it before he whispered in my ear, “Date ain’t over yet.”
His hand moved down underneath my dress, then slipped between my legs to caress my sensitive inner thigh.
My breath caught at his erotic touch. But… “We can’t. Not with the driver right there.”
His hand inched even closer to my womanhood, so close I could feel the outside of his index finger against the seat of my panties.
“Yes, right there, behind a tinted partition. If we’re quiet, he never has to know.” Mick’s voice became a challenge in my ear. “Let me see if I can make you come before we get back to the hotel.”
