A deep male voice came from behind us. I turned to see Florin standing there, a slight smile on his perfect face.
He came forward and leaned close to me. “Oh, you love it rough, huh?” His gray-blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He leaned down and kissed my cheek, completely ignoring Simone’s presence.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my heart doing that ridiculous flutter again.
“My art supply store is across the street.” He gestured toward the shop front visible through the window. “I was there when I saw you through the glass. I could not resist coming to say hello.”
I turned to Simone, who was staring at Florin with her mouth slightly open.
“Simone, this is Florin. Florin, this is Simone—she works with Mark.”
Florin was beautiful in the morning light streaming through the store windows. His hair was artfully tousled, and he wore a semi-transparent linen shirt that showed the defined muscles of his arms and chest.
Simone’s jaw remained open as she took him in. She looked smitten.
“Wait—are you Florin Blanchet?” Her voice went up an octave. “The Florin Blanchet?”
Florin nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on my face.
“Oh my God, I cannot believe I am standing next to you!” Simone gushed. “The most sought-after artist in Paris!”
He gave her a brief, polite smile.
“What are you painting next?” she asked, leaning forward in a way that made her breasts almost pop out.
“I am going to paint my masterpiece,” Florin said, still not looking at her. “The most beautiful woman in the world.”
He delicately planted a kiss on my forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear with such tenderness it made my breath stop.
“I will see you at the checkout line,” he said softly, taking my grocery basket from my hands.
As he walked away, Simone turned to me with wide eyes.
“Are you dating him? Florin Blanchet?” Her voice was filled with disbelief and unmistakable envy. “Women go crazy for him. He is known to be very selective about who he dates.”
I nodded. “Yes. Though it’s nothing serious.”
“How did you find him?” Simone asked, her earlier confidence completely gone.
I smiled, remembering the gallery, the way Florin had looked at me like I was art come to life.
“Actually,” I said, “he found me.”
I left Simone standing there among the vegetables, her perfect facade cracking just slightly, and went to find Florin at the checkout line.
He was waiting for me, my groceries already packed, a smile on his face that made me feel like the only woman in Paris.
Maybe the only woman in the world.
CHAPTER 11
Mark
Lucien stood in front of the mood board I’d spent three days preparing, arms crossed, his expression thoughtful.
“The models are beautiful, of course,” he said. “But this,” he gestured at the images of France’s top models, their lips perfectly painted with our new Femme Fatale lipstick line, “this lacks authenticity. Real emotion.”
