Page 41 of One Time in Paris
Aiden’s pulse kicked up.Shite.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Isla.” His voice was rougher than he meant it to be.
She arched a brow. “And why not?”
“It might be slippery. Marble can be slick when it’s wet.”
“By all means, feel free to join me—give me something strong and sturdy to hold on to.” She pushed past him and stepped in, holding her skirt up to keep it from getting wet.
She gasped, “Oh it’s cold!” but kept moving.
“I’m not sure the production company will want you getting the camera and microphone wet.”
She turned toward him, a sultry grin on that perfect mouth.
“Is that just your lame way of getting out of joining me? And here I thought Aiden Camden was the daredevil who liked to jump from airplanes and have adventures across the globe. Or have you been keeping that top button too tight to remember?”
He let her words roll off him. She was clearly inebriated, even if it had been several hours since she’d started tasting wines. Maybe he should have expected this, but he’d avoided drinking all night.
She started to twirl, head back, the mist of the fountain dampening her skin and making it stick to her throat and face. Her skirt was hiked up, revealing the smooth skin of her thighs, her taut belly peeking out from her crop top.
Aiden’s mouth went dry.
Beautiful, wild creature.
Near them, onlookers had pulled out their mobiles to film.
Fuck.
He was going to have to go in there after her.
With a groan, he set the bag she’d given him to the side, pulled off his shoes and socks, then rolled the cuffs of his trousers. He glared at her as he stepped in.
Bollocks.She wasn’t kidding. The water was frigid.
“Come on, you little menace.” He tugged her by the arm.
“Menace?” She gave him a breathless smile. “Didn’t you have a different nickname for me when we were younger?”
“Yes, Miss Skye.”
She stumbled, and before he could think, his hands found her.Bare skin. Soft.A breath hitched between them, a flicker of something dangerous. He should step back.
He didn’t.
And then he hated Tomas Meyer because he’d been smelling and embracing her like this all day.
Isla set her hand on his chest and grinned up at him. “Why Skye?”
He shrugged. “My favorite island.”
“Aw, Aiden, even with all that teasing and hair pulling you did? Maybe you had a heart after all.”
She smiled up at him, and for a second, she wasn’t Isla, the woman who could shatter his self-control with a glance. She was Isla, the girl who used to race him across the lawn at his family’s estate of Littleton, who once cried on his shoulder when her father forgot her birthday. A lump tightened in his throat.
Aiden swallowed it down. “I wouldn’t go that far, Miss Skye.”
She trembled with cold. “I suppose we liked each other enough in Vegas. Even if neither of us remembers it.”
