Page 92 of One Time in Paris
“Fine. But if I win, I get a kiss.” Aiden took the rifle in his hands, with practiced ease.
Goddamn.
“And if you lose?”
His eyes glittered.“Same thing.”He held her gaze. “But not here. Come back to the hotel with me.”
She gulped a breath. “That won’t fix everything.”
Aiden’s face relaxed, just slightly, as though he’d believed she’d say no. “This isn’t me fixing. This is me choosing you. Every second. Every messy, unplanned, impossible second. And hoping you choose me back.”
Every inch of her wanted him. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to throw her arms around him right then and there and forget that she’d spent the past two days questioning everything.
“You’re making it really hard not to, Aiden. You keep saying all the right things, even on the heels of actions that worry me. How am I supposed to resist when you give me lines like that?”
“Don’t. Not tonight.”
She felt herself slipping, falling further under his spell. So she stepped back and crossed her arms, giving him a daring look. “Win me the damn tiger, and we’ll see.”
Three shots later, she picked a tiger from the shelf.
29
ISLA
Leaveit to Aiden to get the nicest room in the hotel where the production crew was staying.
Isla hesitated at the door to his suite, hand gripping the backpack she’d packed as an overnight bag. After he’d driven them back, she’d gone to her room to shower and change, and packed some things to stay in his room with him.
Like she was showing up for sex, not for him. And she hated that.
The moment was gone, the energy of their playful banter and chemistry at the carnival no longer clouding her judgment.
Yet, wasn’t this exactly what she’d asked him not to do? Overthinking hadn’t gotten them anywhere so far.
She knocked before she could chicken out.
Aiden let her in, and she stepped through to the modestly sized room. Probably nothing like he was used to. He’d flown here in a private jet, after all. She grinned, setting her bag down. “Well, it’s no Vegas luxury suite,” she teased nervously. The bad joke didn’t help her feel any more at ease.
He gave her a curious look. “Is that what you want? Because Vegas is only a short flight away.”
“No,” she said, then looked around the room for a place to sit. A small seating area was just past the foyer. She moved past him and sat on the sofa. “I’m not sure what I’m doing here.”
His expression softened, and he sat beside her. “If you weren’t filming tomorrow, I’d whisk you away to France tonight—take you to the original Paris. Spend the week with you there, doing whatever we want to do. No rules. No agenda.”
No agenda.
And...then, it all clicked.
“That sounds perfect,” she admitted, resting against him. She slipped her hand into his, feeling instantly grounded by his touch. “Better than anything I’ve done in...two years.”
Swallowing hard, she fought the wave of tears that threatened her.
Aiden’s hand tightened against hers. “What’s wrong?”
Isla blinked back tears. “Dammit.” She sniffed. “This is going to ruin my makeup.” Pulling away, she reached for a nearby tissue and tugged it free from the box.
He turned her to face him, searching her eyes. “Did I say something?—”
