Page 25 of Daddy's Game

The river reflected the city lights, appearing as a blue serpent winding its way through the landscape. I had never been to Paris before, but my first sight of it tingled anticipation deep inside of me.

We had arrived about an hour or two before dawn. I stifled a yawn as the plane touched down.

“Are you tired?”

“Kind of,” I admitted. “But I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. My mind is just racing like crazy.”

“Excited to see Paris for the first time?”

I nodded, but secretly I knew it was more than just tourism vibes. Making out with Brock had felt like a few drops of water down a desperately parched throat. I wanted more. I wanted to dive into the well and drink my way to the bottom.

A sleek, glossy black car awaited us when we got off the plane. I had expected a limo. As if reading my thoughts, Brock gestured at the car with his chin.

“The Parisian streets are congested, narrow, and feature a lot of incongruous curves. In short, it’s a bad place for a limo. This will be more practical.”

“Hey, I’m a practical kind of gal.” I spun in a circle, tired but possessed of seemingly boundless energy. I turned to him and jumped like a dog excited to get outside after being trapped in a kennel for days. “It was sudden, and I need more warning in the future, but that doesn’t mean I’m not excited to see Paris.”

“I know. On both accounts.”

He guided me to the car’s rear door, his hand on my lower back. Thrill shot up my spine, filling my mind with fiery thoughts.

The sun appeared first as a red line on the horizon, growing brighter as we drove from the airport into the City of Lights. I glanced over at Brock.

“Is anything going to be open this early?”

“There will be plenty of places open. And those that are not, will open up once they realize that I have returned.”

“You really are a bigshot aren't you?”

I had intended the comment to be snarky, but it came out with a sound of wonder. He chuckled and put his hand on my knee.

“Yes, I really am a bigshot.”

“And you’re really proud of that fact, aren’t you?”

It didn’t come out as an accusation, just a statement. Brock gave a slight shrug.

“What can I say? I am proud of what I’ve accomplished. But to tell you the truth, it’s the trappings of success that I truly enjoy.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Such as?”

His gaze grew half lidded, and his voice got deeper.

“Such as whisking away a beautiful woman to Paris and taking her shopping for clothes to properly display her magnificence.”

A hot flash roared through my body, prickling my skin with redness and making me turn away from him. The memory of his hot mouth on my body gave me a shiver I couldn’t suppress.

“Are you all right?”

“That’s debatable,” I replied. I reached into my purse, fumbling around for my phone. “What time is it? In New York, I mean. I need to call Selma and ask how the center is doing.”

“No,” he said, taking my hand firmly and pulling it away. “You’re on a mini vacation. You don’t need to worry about work.”

“But–”

“I know you’re worried, and you think there might be this, that, or the other catastrophe happening back across the pond. But let’s be honest–if something bad did happen, don’t you think Selma would be the first one to call?”

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