One Kiss in... Paris. Robyn Grady

how in love with her he is.”

      “Legend has it that Venus was jealous of Psyche’s beauty,” Mateo said, wrapping his arms around her from behind. “She sent her son, Cupid, to scratch Pysche with an arrow while she slept. When Psyche awoke, she would fall in love with the first man she saw: a hideous creature that Venus planned to plant in the bed. But Cupid woke Psyche and, startled, he accidentally scratched himself as well. Under the arrow’s spell, they fell instantly in love.”

      “And lived happily ever after?”

      “They had a spat and Venus put some more obstacles in the way. The last sent Psyche into a dead sleep, that only Cupid’s kiss could cure.”

      She sighed. “Like in Sleeping Beauty.”

      “Like you in the mornings,” he murmured against the shell of her ear.

      She smiled and admitted, “I’m not the lightest of sleepers.”

      “Waking you is my favorite time of the day.”

      He brushed his lips down the side of her throat and the backs of her knees turned to jelly. But she was well aware of their public surroundings.

      “You want to get us thrown out.”

      He chuckled. “We’re in France.”

      While Mateo continued to nuzzle her cheek, she thought again of the sculpture and its legend. “What happened at the end of their story?”

      “Our old friend Zeus blessed their union and gifted Psyche immortality. She and Cupid had a daughter, Voluptas, the goddess of sensual pleasure.”

      Bailey’s eyes widened. “Voluptas. Bet she has a story or two of her own.”

      Laughing—his old self again—he led her away.

      They cruised around the exhibits until the museum closed up at ten. But outside they found the city sparkling and very much awake. Making their way along the Seine, they drank in the river’s shimmering reflections and music floating over the cold night air.

      He released her hand and drew that arm around her waist. “What would you like to do tomorrow?”

      “That’s easy.” She cuddled in as they walked. “Everything.”

      “In a single day?”

      “We have a day and a half,” she corrected. “And I put myself entirely in your hands.”

      “Entirely?”

      “And exclusively.”

      He growled playfully, “I like the sound of that,” then turned her in his arms to steal a bone-melting kiss that sparked a wanting fire low in her belly and kept it burning.

      They found a warm place to enjoy coffee and share a pastry, then walked again. When dawn broke—a palette of pink and gold soaking across the horizon—cold and worn out, she yawned and couldn’t stop.

      Mateo raised his hand to hail a cab. “Time to turn in.”

      “But—”

      “No buts,” he growled before opening the back passenger door of the cab that had pulled up. “We have another big day coming up.”

      She didn’t like when he was bossy. Even if he was right. Nestled in the back seat, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. Smiling drowsily, she found she couldn’t keep her eyes open. As her lids closed, all the sights and sounds and smells of their day in Paris flooded her mind. She snuggled more against his warm hard chest and murmured, “I loved our night. Love it here. I love … I love …”

      Mateo waited for Bailey to finish. But, with the sun rising—with the full day they’d had—she was asleep before her last words were out. After pressing a kiss on her brow, he too closed his eyes.

      When they arrived at the hotel, he roused himself and eased away. But Bailey didn’t wake, so he carefully scooped her up in his arms and, entering the lobby, asked the doorman to follow him to an elevator and help him into his suite. A few minutes later, the concierge swiped open the suite’s door and, on Mateo’s orders, hurried to draw back the bed’s covers before bidding him a hushed very good morning.

      Searching Bailey’s contented face, Mateo carefully laid his sleeping beauty upon the sheets. She stirred when he removed her coat and shoes but after he stripped and lay down to join her, she curled up against him and huddled deeper as he drew the covers up around her chin. His body cried out for rest but he didn’t want to give into sleep.

      The view was too good.

      As he stroked her hair and watched growing light play over the contours of that button nose, the curve of her lips, Mateo’s chest grew warm. Despite lingering memories of the Chapelle earlier today, he’d never known this depth of peace. The feeling that he had what he needed to survive, to be happy, was right here with him now in his arms.

      He’d mulled it over before. Now his mind was made up. No more wondering if Bailey was anything like his manipulative ex. When they were home again in Sydney, he’d make it official. He would make their current living arrangement more permanent. No contracts. No rings. Just an agreement to share each other’s company.

      And his bed.

       Twelve

      At nine the next morning, a soft caress at the shell of Bailey’s ear stirred her from her dreams. Smiling, stretching and sighing, she rolled over and remembered where she was and with whom. In Paris with the most incredible man.

      Mateo dotted a kiss on her nose, on her cheek.

      “You were sleeping soundly.” His voice was deliciously husky the way it always was first thing in the morning, and she found herself sighing at her body’s reaction to the desire evident in his hooded eyes and slanted smile. Coiling her arms around his neck, she brought his lips to hers while his hot palm trailed up her side. Within seconds her heartbeat was racing.

      She couldn’t remember the last of that cab ride last night. Couldn’t remember how she’d arrived back in this suite. She did know, however, that this minute she felt amazingly snug, wonderfully safe. She remembered their agreement … today she was entirely, exclusively his. How she wanted to pull the covers up over their heads and spend the next few hours in bed.

      Reluctantly breaking the kiss, he murmured against her lips. “It’s time to get up.”

      Groaning, she dragged the back of her hand over her tired eyes. Bossy again. “What time is it?”

      “Time to see Paris.”

      A second passed when she could have smoothed her fingers over his muscled shoulder and drawn his mouth back to hers. But this was their only full day left in France. She couldn’t pass that up, even for such a compelling reason.

      With not nearly enough sleep, Bailey was slow to shower and dress. But the moment they were back on the Parisian streets, coats pulled up around their ears, she was bubbling with excitement.

      They visited Notre Dame, the legendary home of the hunchback, then went on to an artist’s paradise, Montmatre et Sacre Coeur, situated on a hill in the north of Paris. It boasted the famous Moulin Rouge at its base and the famed Sacre Coeur Basilica, with its inspirational equestrian statue of Joan of Arc, at its summit. She made sure Mateo took plenty of snapshots.

      After changing for dinner back at their suite, they took the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower where they caught the last of the sunset. Gazing over the city’s buildings and monuments draped in a coat of gold, Bailey tried to imprint her mind with every inch of the breathtaking panorama. Mateo circled his arm around her waist and handed his camera to a German tourist who ensured the moment was captured.

      He thanked the man then asked her, “Are you hungry?”

      “I’m