Page 11 of One Time in Paris
Cowboy Hockey Man took a faltering step back, his gaze swiveling to Isla. “Oh sorry, man. I didn’t know she was married.”
“That really shouldn’t have made a difference. She said no. Now get the fuck out of here,” Aiden snapped, drawing himself to his full height. Which was over six feet.
Had he always been this tall? Or broad-shouldered? Or was that just the adrenaline talking?
“Go back to England,” the guy slurred, his face red. “We don’t need more of your tea-drinking bullshit.”
Isla relaxed, then hugged Aiden. “Wherever the hell you came from, I’ve never been so happy in my life to see a Camden.”
“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment,” Aiden said with a chuckle, then released her. “What areyoudoing here? I’m in town for a conference.”
“Bachelorette party.” Isla threw her hands up. “Obviously.”
“What else?” He smiled. “For a moment, I thought maybe I’d had one too many and hallucinated the scrawny girl who used to trail us, begging and whining to play tag.”
She slugged him playfully with a roll of her eyes. “You’re quickly wearing out your welcome.”
He gave her a charming smile. “Just teasing, of course. But I really didn’t expect to see you here. How’s Costa Rica?”
“Not too different from when I saw you over Christmas in London.” She shifted with discomfort. “But actually, I was on my way to the loo and then I have to run to catch up with my friends—we’re going to the Eiffel Tower. Though I’d love to catch up?—”
“Why don’t I hang around? In case that fellow comes back. I can walk with you until you’re safely reunited with your companions.”
She gave him a grateful look, then smiled. “Thank you.” She hurried into the bathroom, feeling thankful already. Aiden’s sudden appearance had been not only wonderful—but she was truly glad to see him. He was safe—felt like home—someone she’d known her whole life.
She grinned at her reflection as she passed a mirror.
Vegas, you sneaky little minx.
6
AIDEN
NOW
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”Lola gagged, stumbling back like she’d been physically struck.
Turning a deep shade of red, Isla whirled toward Aiden, eyes wide, then she looked back at Lola. “I am so sorry!” She dashed back into the room, hurrying past Aiden. A few moments later, she returned with a wet towel in hand and bent to clean Lola’s bag. “I’m not feeling so well this morning.”
“I can see that,” Lola said tersely. She crossed her arms, eyes shooting daggers at Aiden, who rubbed the back of his neck.
This...lookedbad.
Because it is. Catastrophically bad.
How in the hell had Isla wound up back here with him last night? One drink too many and suddenly he was the protagonist of a bloody farce.
His memory was a blur. Not hazy—blank. His stomach cramped in pain as though he’d swallowed broken glass.
This didn’t feel like a typical hangover, if he was honest.
Isla straightened, started to hold the dirty towel out toward him, then stopped. Folding it in her hands, she gave him a faltering smile. “Talk soon,” she said, then flipped the barest glance at Lola. “Good to see you again, Lola.”
She was gone before Aiden could say anything else, leaving a thick, uncomfortable silence.
What the hell is Lola doing here now? To rub salt in the wound?
Lola stared at him for a few beats longer, one dark brow arched with disbelief. “Well.” She crossed her arms. “I suppose I know who’s been occupying your thoughts lately.”
