Page 37 of Crossing Lines

“I’m offering to be someone you chill with when you’re lonely or want to talk.”

“I have my cousin for that,” she points out.

“Not for what I can give you. Your man’s slacking so you can lean on me.”

She wobbles her head. “You’re crazy. What was I even thinking spending the morning with you?”

“You wanted to relax.” I move to sit beside her, making her breathe harder.

“Kross…”

Her hand trembles as I intertwine our fingers. “Don’t say anything. Focus on the emotions running through your body right now.”

Not breaking the link, she turns her eyes to the water, and we remain quiet for the rest of the ride.

As the ferry returns to the start, Davia slips her hand from mine and hastens to the exit, slowing down only when she reaches her car.

“How about going to a museum?” I ask before she opens the door. “Or we could pick up lunch, go on a sailboat, and stay until sunset?”

“I can’t,” she answers without facing me.

I inch closer to her back, causing a quiver as I say, “Hand me your phone. I’ll put in my number.”

She slants, her eyes tapered to slits. “So you can call me and cause issues in my relationship?”

“No. I’ll give you my number.Youcan call or text when you want to talk. Your decision.”

A low moan escapes, and she gnaws at her bottom lip while shifting in place. “Um…”

“Focus on the feeling. Focus on what you want.”

Relief immerses me as she retrieves the phone from her clutch, unlocks it, and hands it to me.

It’s adorable that even her protective case is about fashion. Pressing my number on the keypad, I return her phone and say, “See? Didn’t call mine.”

“Hm.” She hops in and starts the car. “Thanks again for breakfast, the batting cage, and the ferry ride.”

“Thank you for hanging with me.” I wink at her. “Amusez-vous à Paris. Have fun in Paris, Davi.”

I catch the smile before she looks away and drives off. Remaining in place, I watch until she disappears from view. In asweet fantasy, she’s mine. But this is reality; all I can do is wait until I hear from her. I have a feeling that will be soon.

FOURTEEN

Kross is right. Sweltering heat arises whenever he touches me, and I’m craving more, even now on this long flight.

The sinful fantasies fade as the private jet lands in Paris at the crack of dawn. A bus chauffeurs our group to the hotel, and we check in and plan dinner before separating.

“Ah!” Iree squeals as we enter the vintage-style hotel room we’re sharing. “Can’t believe I’m in Paris!”

She dashes out the French door to the balcony to admire the area. The place is starting to come alive with the Tuesday morning, the smell of freshly baked pastries and coffee wafting the air.

“All set, Mesdames,” the polite porter says after removing our luggage from the cart.

“Merci.” I hand him a tip.

“Enjoy your stay at Hôtel Fleur.”

With his exit, I close the door and massage my temples, ready to crash from the seven-hour flight.

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