Page 81 of The Paris Trip

She tilted her head instinctively, her eyes closing as his mouth came down.

Oh goodness, she thought, as fireworks burst behind her eyes and her heart began to race.

His mouth worked persuasively on hers as they stood together, cuddling under a black velvet sky, the balmy night air caressing her bare shoulders. But she didn’t just passively let him kiss her. She kissed him back, as she had done before, her own arms twined about his neck, pulling his sleek dark head down to hers, as if he needed any more persuasion.

It was just as well, she thought at one point, gasping as his hands moulded her body through the silky summer frock, that making love in a vineyard was not likely to be a terribly comfortable experience.

If they had been in an English meadow, for instance, she suspected they would probably have been rolling about in the clover long ago. Instead, they stayed discreetly on their feet and merely explored each other’s bodies by touch and largely through clothing.

Talk about fondling, she thought hazily.

All the same, it seemed like a century before Leo pulled back, also breathless, and gazed down into her face. ‘Wow.’

‘Wow indeed,’ she whispered back, hot-cheeked.

He glanced at the vines they’d been leaning against. ‘I think we may have crushed a few grapes.’

‘Your uncle won’t be pleased.’

‘You think you’re kidding… Henri takes damage to even a single bunch of grapes very seriously indeed. He’d probably send us straight back to Paris.’

‘I like him. And Beatrice.’

‘They’re a wonderful couple,’ he agreed, smiling.

‘Nine kids though…’

‘I know.’ With a sharp nod, Leo ran a hand through his hair, still badly mussed from where she’d been gripping onto it as though planning to yank the hair from his head, strand by sleek black strand. ‘I wonder if they ever worked out what was causing that.’

She snorted with laughter, burying her face in his broad chest. His heart was beating as fast as hers. ‘Probably not,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘Though we could ask them for some pointers. Because I’m not sure I know what’s causing this.’

‘Yes, it’s strange. I thought I had this under control,’ Leo agreed, his voice uneven. He raised a hand to play with her hair as though mesmerized by it. ‘You’ll be going home soon too. It’s insane to be making something out of this… And yet, I can’t seem to help myself.’

‘Me neither,’ she agreed with a croak of laughter, even though it wasn’t that funny. They were both grown adults. Yet they’d clearly lost sight of commonsense. Because this thing between them had to be impossible. He lived in France. She lived in England. He was a painter and a businessman. She was a teacher at a secondary school. And she taught maths, not even art.

In other words, they had zero in common. This relationship had disaster written all over it. Probably printed in triplicate, in capital letters and with red ink too. Yet neither of them seemed able to see the warning signs. Or were studiously ignoring them.

Leo said huskily, ‘I think I’m in love with you.’

Her laughter died. She stared up at him blankly. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

He swallowed before repeating in a dogged fashion, ‘I said, I think I’m in love with you.’

‘Oh good,’ she somehow managed to rasp in reply, her throat dry. ‘I thought that’s what you said. But it didn’t make any sense. So I was thinking, well, either I’m going mad or my hearing is failing. It’s good to know neither of those were correct.’ She bit her lip. ‘But you may be crazy.’

He didn’t smile. ‘Love is a kind of insanity, it's true. Yet I’ve never felt saner.’

‘Perhaps we could find a doctor to corroborate that.’

‘I’ve been lost for years, wandering in the wilderness, unsure what I wanted for life. Then I met you and suddenly saw the right path, shining ahead of me.’

‘And that’s me, is it? The right path?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ he said solemnly, and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. 'I have no doubt, at any rate. Not anymore.'

The warmth of his mouth on her skin… The promise in his eyes… Her heart was thumping hard, loud enough to rival the cicadas.

‘This c-can’t work,’ she stammered. ‘You and me. It’s impossible.’

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