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Chapter Eighteen

Shangri-La Hotel, Paris

The eight-hour flight and six-hour time difference from Chicago to Paris placed Quentin and Phoebe in the middle of the afternoon on New Year’s Eve. Arriving at the Shangri-La Hotel, the couple was met with top-hatted doormen who jovially took their bags and showed them to their suite. Upon reaching the large rooftop terrace, Phoebe was taken away by the panoramic views of the Eiffel Tower. It sat immensely large and so close it seemed only a touch away.

“This is so beautiful,” she said, holding a hand over her heart at the breathtaking scenery.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Quentin said, approaching her from behind to wrap Phoebe in his arms.

“Surely, you’ve seen this view before to know it was here,” she said, still astonished by the sights of the metal structure.

“I wasn’t referring to the tower, my lady love.”

Quentin pushed a hot kiss against Phoebe’s cheek, and a tickle of warmth ran down her neck. Phoebe cranked her head up to peer at him through smitten eyes.

“Oh,” she said, flattered by his insinuation.

“Would you like to have lunch out here? The weather is calming enough that we could enjoy a meal without being rushed inside by the breeze.”

“Yeah, this is nothing like Chicago’s windy city.”

“Paris is a world away,” he said, pushing another kiss into her neck and trailing up to her ear.

Phoebe shivered from the heat of his mouth, and she turned full circle in his arms. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of your touch,” she quipped.

“Ever?” he asked.

Phoebe shook her head slowly. “Ever.”

Quentin held her tight and kissed her lips, filling her mouth with the caress of his soft tongue.

“Mmmm,” Phoebe said.

“Or we could skip lunch and…” Quentin implied.

Phoebe’s eyes rose with a flare of sensuality as his tongue continued to explore her mouth as if he’d never tasted her before.

“Or we could mix lunch with a little love in the afternoon before we go shopping.”

Pulling back, Quentin smiled. “Whaaaa,” he said, “Phoebe Alexandria Rose wants to spend money?”

Phoebe smiled delightedly. “Your money, silly, not mine.”

A deep thunderous laughed chortled from Quentin’s throat, sending a vibration wrecking Phoebe’s nervous system.

“Of course,” he drawled. “I wouldn’t dare suggest otherwise,” he said, amused at her sass. “What are you in the mood for, sweetheart?”

“Hmm, something light maybe, veal ragout.”

“The lady knows her dishes,” Quentin said, twirling her underneath his arm as they strolled back into the opulence of the grand luxury hotel suite.

Veal ragout was the quintessential French cuisine. The mixture of veal stew meat and chopped parsley, tomato sauce, and finely chopped celery stalks made for a simple yet fulfilling dish.

Quentin strolled to the phone while Phoebe removed the coat she’d worn on the jet ride over. She peeled her heels off with her feet and sauntered to the bathroom. The cold marble floor comforted her warm toes as she slipped across the large lavatory to the sink. Taking an eye over her appearance to make sure her light foundation was still immaculate, Phoebe smiled, satisfied that the hustle from the airport to the hotel had kept her mane intact as well. She slipped a hand in her curls and decided right then that she would straighten her tresses for tonight. In order to do that she would have to make this shopping trip quick. It would be easy to get lost in the French malls and shopping centers, and although her celebrity stretched overseas, it was simple to hide in the sea of other famous faces, especially on a night like this.

Turning to the side to catch a glimpse of her waistline and derriere, Phoebe pursed her lips as she held in her belly and poked out her butt. It wasn’t as if she needed to lose weight, her curvy thighs and flat midsection sat with a perfect mixture of angles. But it didn’t stop her from wondering if she should shed a few pounds. Leaving the sanctuary, Phoebe sashayed back into the bedroom, padding across the plush carpet in search of Quentin. She found him with the French doors to the patio open setting the table with an intimate display of wine flutes, expensive china, and rose petals littering the surface. A bottle of champagne sat on ice, and a small golden box wrapped with a red gift bow sat on one side of the table.

Phoebe smiled inwardly and couldn’t help but wonder what was inside the present. Usually, whenever she was awarded a gift, Phoebe would hurry to open it, but at the moment, all she could focus on was the towering structure of Quentin’s tone build. His physique was so thoroughly ripped that the bulge in his arms waved through the cotton material of his sweater. As her eyes roamed over him, they took in the fitness of his broad chest, thin waist and taut ass. The jeans covering his magnificence kissed his muscled thighs, and Phoebe was sure the denim wouldn’t look as roguishly sexy on any other man the way it did on Quentin.

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