Page 136 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

Yet despite my appreciation for the historic landmark, I’ve barely glanced at it more than half a dozen times in the three days I’ve been in Paris. Juliette and I spent our wedding night in the King Suite at The Royal. The bellhop had scarcely closed the door before Juliette cleaved off and walked into the guest room, firmly closing the door behind her. I hadn’t bothered to follow. Not after her threat on the dance floor. One that still makes my blood boil thinking about how casually she turned and smiled at the crowd as we walked off the dance floor.

I told myself I could simply shut my desire off. Anger simmered on our wedding night and kept the lust away. Business gave me something to focus on for the first leg of our flight from California to New York. We had just passed over the Rocky Mountains when I got the call I have been waiting for. Louis Paul was contemplating my offer for an entire block of New York City real estate just outside of the Financial District.

Juliette dozed off on the leather couch in my private jet shortly after we took off across the Atlantic. I looked up from a finance report to see her hair slipping loose from her bun and framing her serene face. Need had jolted through me, along with that word that had reared its head during the ceremony.

Mine.

If it had been a simple case of the attraction not being reciprocated, the decision would have been easy. But as I’ve revisited her threat over the past few days, I realized there was something lingering behind her words. Something buried beneath her bravado.

Fear.

She intrigues me. Entices me. The dichotomies of her character, from feisty reporter and bold mercenary to kindhearted daughter and sentimental dreamer. Learning she had worn her mother’s dress, that she had asked her father’s former girlfriend to walk her down the aisle, had taken everything I had been thinking about her during our short engagement and turned it on its head. It had also opened the door for the attraction I’d been fighting to surge through.

An attraction she refuses to acknowledge. We’re bound together for a year. Why is she dedicated to celibacy when we clearly have something between us worth exploring and enjoying?

But I also know the value of biding my time. Of watching and waiting. The image of impulsivity and brashness I portray is an illusion, one that has served me well time and again while helping me keep my distance. Without that detachment, I wouldn’t be nearly as successful.

So we passed most of the flight in silence. A limo whisked us from the airport to the Shangri-La Paris. There was a brief flicker of excitement on Juliette’s face when she saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time. But before I could ask her about it, she lapsed back into silence, her gaze distant and focused on anything but me. I let it go.

For now.

I set up my office on the terrace of our penthouse suite, which included views of the Eiffel Tower, the River Seine and the buildings that made up Paris’s 16th arrondissement. The first day, I took her to brunch at a glass-roofed restaurant. Yesterday we went on a private tour of the Louvre after closing. Photos of us entering the museum through the contest pyramid in the main courtyard had already made the rounds on various media circuits, my arm around Juliette’s waist as she appeared to glance demurely at the ground.

My jaw hardened. Fortunately, I seemed to be the only one who knew she was doing her best to avoid me, even when we were side by side, being shown some of the rarest and most expensive art in the world.

Other than those two outings, we’d kept our own agendas. Juliette flitted in and out of the suite, sometimes with her camera, sometimes with a shopping bag. She never joined me for meals on the terrace. In fact, she rarely came out at all, except at night right before she went to bed. She’d walk out on the far end of the terrace, arms crossed over her chest as if she were keeping something out, and watch the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower at night. Then she’d glance my way, nod, and go back to her room.

I’ve given her more than enough space and kept our excursions to a minimum. It’s time for us to be seen together in a more romantic frame, to refocus the spotlight once more on Gavriil Drakos and his enemy-turned-bride.

And to remind her of what could be between us.

A soft creak sounds behind me. Surprised, I turn in time to see Juliette emerge from her room.Theós, she’s beautiful. Wet hair, slicked back from her forehead, makes her look younger, more vulnerable. She’s wearing a short, white robe and moves through the room with an ease that tells me she thinks it’s empty. I did leave earlier to meet with a business associate eyeing a housing project next year in the Hamptons. But when I came back, I thought she was out and would stay out the rest of the day.

I watch her for another moment, the casual confidence of her movements, the relaxed ease of her shoulders as she drifts over to the radio and turns it to a jazz station. You’d think that a fluffy bathrobe would deter sexual fantasies. But the sight of her long legs bare beneath the far too short hemline creates visions of those legs wrapped around my waist. I harden faster than I can suck in a breath.

“Good morning.”

Her head snaps to the side and her eyes widen momentarily before she smooths out her features and nods to me. Like a queen nodding to her subjects.

I fight to keep my mouth straight and not let her see that I find her confidence so damned sexy.

“Good morning.” She tightens the sash of her robe. “I thought you were still out.”

We stare at each other for a moment. Her eyes dart from me to the door. I take pity on her and gesture to the table.

“Would you like some coffee?”

She hesitates, then blinks and gives the tiniest nod of her head.

“That sounds nice. Thank you.”

I pour her a cup of coffee and watch as she doctors it with a dash of honey, a generous splash of milk, and a spoonful of sugar.

“I was out. Now I’m back.” I top off my own cup as I nod toward the cityscape laid out beyond our balcony. “Enjoying the view.”

Her head swings in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. The hint of a smile teases her lips as she gazes at the iron lattice, the blur of shapes behind the metal as the more adventurous climb the numerous steps on their way to the top.

“I’ve been up since sunrise,” she finally says softly.

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