Page 135 of One Time in Paris
“Isla’s difficult to keep happy. She has a restless spirit . . . when she’s interested, she’s unstoppable. But when that interest dies...no one and nothing can motivate her . . . if you want her, you’re going to have to learn what she needs, not just what she says she needs.”
Yet how could he give her what she wanted ifshewasn’t even sure what she wanted? A desperate feeling curled within him. Was he beating his head against a wall? Had she lost interest in making this work?
“I need . . . ahome,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
In an instant, something clicked in his heart.
Isla, his beautiful Isla, strong, fiercely independent gorgeous woman that she was—just needed him.
She was the tide, restless and wild, and he would be her moon—always steady, always pulling her back home.
He dipped his forehead against hers. “I promise you this: I may not always get it right, but I will always try to do right by you. I’m not going anywhere, my love. And if you still want me—this marriage—then I will never stop trying to be the man you deserve. Or your home.”
Isla blinked back more tears, then smiled and said in a cracked voice, “I want you, Aiden. And this marriage.”
He smiled, then stepped back, holding her hands. “Then where are you running off to?”
Isla glanced over her shoulder, back toward the lilac-filled garden. She blinked. “I probably should’ve taken my mic off,” she said, tugging the battery pack free and winding up the wires with a sigh. “I don’t know where I’m going, to be honest. I just needed to get away.”
“Well, I may know a bloke with a jet to fly you anywhere you want—so long as you don’t mind me taking a nap and a shower along the way.”
She raised her brows. “You have a bed on your jet?”
He grinned, then kissed the curve of her neck. “One I’m more than happy to show you.”
She squirmed, a smile lighting her features. “Aiden Camden, are you proposing I join your Mile High Club?”
“Considering I skipped the proposal part of the other significant parts of our relationship, it only seems appropriate.” How they moved forward withthatwas an entirely different conversation. But one that somehow didn’t feel necessary to rush. He drew his head back. “How about Paris? I hear it’s a lovely place for a honeymoon.”
Isla wound her arms around his neck and kissed him again. “Paris sounds perfect,” she said, pressing herself tightly against him. Then she drew her head back sharply. “But what about your job? You?—”
“I’m learning to delegate. To make time for the things that matter. And you, my love, are at the top of that list. Forever.”
The way her eyes warmed sent his pulse skittering, and his lips curved. “Have I earned my way back?”
She gave a low, throaty moan of approval, her lips finding his. “I love you, Aiden. Now and always. Let’s go.”
41
ISLA
PARIS, FRANCE
The stone stepsof the Square du Vert-Galant disappeared into a fringe of willow trees, their branches trailing in the slow current of the Seine. The air was sweet with the scent of rain-washed leaves and river moss, and somewhere across the river, a street musician played a lazy, lilting tune on an accordion. The city rumbled beyond the island's edge, but here, tucked into the shade of the old plane trees, it felt like the world had folded in on itself.
Isla held tighter to the picnic basket as she and Aiden descended toward the river. The last week here had been so peaceful.
So perfect.
Café crème or chocolat chaud with macarons and pain au chocolat for breakfast. Slow, meandering days spent strolling the city hand in hand. Wine and cheese and incredible dinners beneath the Parisian stars.
And sex.
Loads of incredible, earth-shattering sex with her ridiculously handsome husband.
But she also knew they couldn’t stay.
Aiden had been away from his job for two weeks now, and she’d all but abandoned her mother and Sergio in Costa Rica—not to mention her obligations to Callum.
