Page 61 of Obsession

“And where’s that?”

“Paris, we’re flying out to Paris tonight.”

The stupefied expression on her face is well worth it.

“Wait, what?”

Chapter 21

No Strings Attached

HUNTER

Watching Megan try to hide her excitement as she looks out the small window of my private jet is worth me taking a pause in my own life. I think it’s safe to say that she and I are making small increments of progress with each other. After all, I would think that visiting Paris is on every art student’s bucket list.

It’s cute how she’s so horrible at hiding her emotions, and it’s clear that she wants to stay awake for the whole plane ride, but she’s tired and falls asleep next to me pretty quickly. She’s probably exhausted from the arguments she threw my way about not going, yet I have to say the pushback wasn’t as hard as it has been in the past. So, yeah, I definitely think we’re making progress.

I tell the attendant to dim the lights and cover Megan with one of the cashmere blankets I keep stocked on board. It’s not like I expected her to completely agree to hop on a plane with me without hesitation, but it’s easy to wear her down if you know which buttons to press. It’s either mental warfare with her orstraight-up kidnapping. I chose the legal route, although I’m not averse to doing the other when necessary.

Even in the dim lights, I can see the exhaustion on her pretty face. She desperately needed the rest. I curl a strand of her hair around my finger and watch her lax expression as her head leans into the window.

I don’t know why I’m doing this.

I’ve met plenty of beautiful women in my life, but there’s something about Megan that draws me in like a moth to a flame. Like a faulty pilot light on a stove, there’s a fire within her that keeps trying to go out, yet she makes it blaze again with just her willpower. She refuses to call it quits, even with the whole world against her. She’s fierce and beautiful, and while she’s still young, she can go far in life if she doesn’t ever give up. But the world is a cruel bitch, and it’s going to try its best to crush her. A part of me doesn’t want to see it happen.

She shifts in discomfort in her sleep, and her head slides in the opposite direction to rest on my shoulder. She mumbles something.

I freeze.

The innocent way she snuggles into me and the warmth radiating from her is so addictive. It’s something I fear I could get used to. Even as I tell myself not to, I gently pull her closer to make her more comfortable until her head is resting on my chest and her arm is draped over my stomach.

She smiles in her sleep, burrowing into me, and I feel a strange sensation under my ribs. The cold, empty hole in my chest, where my heart used to be until it was ripped out by the fire that took my family from me all those years ago, throbs.

“You’re a dangerous little thing,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her forehead, knowing she won’t wake up. “You might just be my undoing, Miss Taylor.”

I’ve been to Paris multiple times on business but I’ve never looked at the city quite in the way that Megan does. Her eyes are wide with excitement as she looks around when we land, as if she’s desperate not to miss a single thing.

I have an apartment in the city, so we drop off our things and go for breakfast. There’s a charming little café with a view of the Seine River near the apartment, and I take Megan there. To me, food is just something to consume for energy. I do enjoy certain foods, but once again, clearly not with the enthusiasm that Megan does.

I find it adorable how she keeps trying to contain her excitement and fails so miserably. Her eyes are shining as she takes in the sights. I’ve come to this café quite a few times over the past few years, but I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a simple breakfast of coffee and croissants more.

“So, why are we really here?” Megan asks, sipping her coffee.

Her nerves have died down now that her belly is full, and I can sense a hint of that familiar wariness that she displays around me.

“You’re an art student, right?” I shrug before gesturing around us. “You should be able to appreciate all the art Paris has to offer.”

Her hand holding the coffee cup falters. “So this trip is for me?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“Because I wanted you to have this experience.”

I expect her to blow up at me as she has done so before. I expect some level of accusation of me trying to get into her pants, but she surprises me once again.

“No strings attached?” She asks quietly, looking at the waterfront with a wistful gaze before shifting her eyes back at me.

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