Page 33 of Meet Me in Paris

I lifted my head so I could look at him. “I was the lucky one.” If only Mom could see me now, swaying in the arms of some handsome, rich Frenchman on the Seine. She would say I deserved this, that I shouldn’t run from it. So would Jillian. Heck, even Alexis would be jealous right now.

Really, the only person who would remotely think I shouldn’t be here was Hunter, and, strangely, he was the one I wanted to see this most of all.

Claude rested his face against mine and breathed in deeply. “I fear you have me under a spell, madame. Yet I’ve no wish to free myself from it.”

“Me either.”

So articulate, Kennedy,I chided myself. Simply agreeing with everything he said made me feel like an airhead, yet I couldn’t think straight enough to be witty. I could only stand here, leaning on him, shifting my weight back and forth and grinning like an idiot. I should be making conversation, hooking him so our relationship lasted beyond tonight. Getting to know him more deeply. Ensuring there would be a second—third?—date tomorrow that checked another item off the romance list.

Were two days with Claude enough time to finish the list in its entirety? Or would I have to put it on hold until I returned?

And then what?my annoying, too-logical brain shot back.Once you finish the list, will you stay in Claude’s arms?

The thought made me frown. Did I mean to use this man to fulfill a number of surface-level romantic fantasies and then dump him? Yet somehow, I couldn’t imagine stayingwith him forever. He didn’t seem like the forever type. He felt like “here today, gone tomorrow.” Like Dad. A whirlwind romance followed by a romantic hangover. A river full of rapids that ended at a waterfall, to use Jillian’s metaphor.

The thought bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

Claude stopped swaying and lifted a hand to gently brush aside my hair, which had gotten a little messy from resting my head on his shoulder. He softly trailed a finger along the side of my face and beneath my chin to lift it. Suddenly our faces were inches apart.

“I wish to taste your lips,” he whispered.

Taste your lips?I practically giggled. Was this really happening?

“I wish you would,” I said in my deepest, huskiest voice. Jillian would be proud.

He swept me deeper into his arms and planted his mouth on mine. His lips felt wetter than I expected, and our rhythm felt off, butI was kissing a Parisian. On the Seine. In a pretty dress.It couldn’t get more romantic.

Though his breath didn’t smell as good as I’d hoped after the onion soup we’d just consumed. Which meant mine didn’t either. Should I have brought some minty gum?

“Enchanting,” Claude said again, giving me another quick kiss. “Our tour is almost over. I don’t wish our night to end.”

The pain in my stomach intensified, and now my chest burned.

Oh, no. This wasnotthe time for my body to betray me. I ordered my stomach to wait until I got home.

“Perhaps we can find somewhere else to go, where we can be alone,” he whispered in my ear.

My stomach seemed to have its own ideas despite myorders. “Does this boat have a restroom?” I blurted out. “I need to use it really quick.”

Clearly not the response he expected. “I’m afraid the restroom is being renovated.”

I looked around but didn’t see anything but stairs and an upper level with chairs.

“Are you all right?” Claude asked, looking concerned.

Fire in my chest flared.

Oh no.

I pulled away and took a step back. “I’m sorry. I have to?—”

Too late.

A massive belch ripped from my throat.

And it did more than rip. It exploded from my belly and very soul like a train slamming into another train and then getting hit by a falling airplane.

As kids, Hunter and I held belching contests, and I managed to win the last few times before he became a poor sport and nixed them completely. But none of those burps compared to this. With the offending air finally gone, I felt withered like a raisin.

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