Page 42 of The Paris Trip

‘I see that.’

‘I was concerned for you,’ he said, looking her over. ‘You’re right, I should never have kept you in the studio for so long. I’ll go to bed now. I just wanted to check you were okay.’

‘Of course I am,’ she insisted, and somehow tripped over something in the gloom, falling to her knees.

He helped her up, frowning. ‘Mon Dieu, are you hurt?’

‘Ouch… Maybe a little… I tripped over…’ She peered behind herself accusingly but could see nothing. The corridor was clear of obstacles. ‘I caught my foot on something, I’m sure.’

One brow rose, his expression skeptical. ‘Of course.’

‘Oh, forget it.’ He was still holding her close, she realised, and felt a tiny frisson of electricity down her spine. She could smell his sharp citrus aftershave. A warning alarm went off in her brain… ‘Please let me go.’

‘Liselle said you were dull and ordinary,’ he murmured, their faces mere inches apart in the gloomy corridor.

‘Did she indeed? What a cheek!’

‘She was wrong. Yes, you give a damn good impersonation of somebody sensible and uptight. But in fact…’ He put a finger under her chin and raised her face to his, his gaze intent. ‘I find you quite mesmerising.’

Then he kissed her.

Maeve knew she should not be allowing Leo Rémy to kiss her. She barely knew the man. And what she did know about him was not particularly complimentary. Yes, he was an artist. And yes, she admired artists. They were a breed apart as far as she was concerned. Magical, otherworldly creatures capable of weaving spells and bewildering the senses. At least, it seemed he must be capable of that. Because she didn’t push him away or say no or make any kind of protest at all. She simply stood there, and enjoyed the unusual sensation of being kissed.

Unusual, but not novel. She had dated men in the past. But she’d never let those dates go beyond a certain point. She had no moral misgivings about becoming intimate with a man she was dating. She simply hadn’t felt strongly enough about anyone to allow them to go much beyond kissing and cuddling. But the kissing and cuddling part was surely how a woman decided whether she enjoyed kissing and cuddling with that particular man.

And she never had.

Part of her had thought she must be less interested in sex than other women her age. Not quite wired up to enjoy frisky behaviour as her peers seemed to be, judging by what her colleagues at school occasionally revealed about their love lives, winking and smirking as they did so. And she would laugh back while wishing she was like them. But she wasn’t.

She was boring and uptight, some might say. Liselle, for instance, from what Leo had just revealed. Or perhaps she’d simply never met the right man.

Until now, she thought with a sudden moment of exhilaration, as his arms tightened about her, cradling her close, and his kiss deepened.

Because she liked this.

This was nothing like the horrid, wet, sloppy kisses she had endured from boyfriends past.

This was rather splendid.

And yes, sexually exciting. Because what else could all these warm, funny, tingling sensations she was experiencing mean? Unless she was getting a water infection…

Time to throw caution to the wind, she thought wildly.

Extraordinarily for her, Maeve raised both arms, linked them about his neck, and actually kissed him back.

He made a noise against her mouth, a soft, heartfelt groan which she felt like echoing.

And suddenly they were pressing together in the gloom, and she could feel every inch of him. Every. Incredible. Inch. And there were quite a few inches down there, she felt sure. And that was spectacular too.

Goodness me, she thought, hot-cheeked, her heart hammering away like a piston. And when, a few seconds later, he slipped his tongue playfully into her mouth, she almost shrieked out loud, her whole body electrified and trembling.

Perhaps sensing the powerful charge running through her, Leo drew back, gazing down into her face. His dark eyes were heavy-lidded, a strange intensity in his gaze.

‘You okay?’ he asked softly.

‘I… erm… I…’ She groped for suitable words to fit the occasion. But even her extensive vocabulary failed her, alas.

Instead, she gripped his silky black hair between her fingers and tugged his head back to hers. Their mouths met again and she gave a sigh of contentment, only belatedly aware that he had gently manoeuvred her against the wall of the corridor, and was pressing against her urgently. And she didn’t even mind. In fact, she welcomed it, and was just beginning to wonder if they should segue into the bedroom, or if that would break the spell, when suddenly it was over.

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