Page 138 of Marry Lies
“Are you going to get in with me, or am I going to have to show my cock to the entirety of Paris alone?”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I say slowly, setting my purse down on the ledge. “But you’re alone in your cock-wielding activities, because I don’t actually have a cock—”
Before I can finish my sentence, Miles lurches forward and pulls me into the fountain, fully clothed.
“Miles!” I screech, laughing and grateful that it’s a warm spring night. “You bloody arsehole!” I splash him with the water, and an expression of disgust graces his features.
“This water is probably going to give us Giardia.”
I cackle, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Probably.” Someone whistles behind us, and Miles flips them off. “Be nice. They’re just playing around.”
Miles frowns as his eyes dart over my white tank top. “Poor judgment on my part. Now everyone can see what only I’m allowed to see.”
This makes me laugh louder. He’s so bloody predictable and brooding. And I can’t help but really fucking love and adore it.
“Did you bring towels?” I ask, grinning.
He swears under his breath. “No. But you’re going to wear my shirt when we get out.”
“Am I?” I purr, kissing his neck.
“Yes. Otherwise everyone in Paris will see your perfect tits.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” I muse, swimming away from him.
And by swim, I mean crab walk, because the fountain is only a meter deep. Miles is so tall that he has to sit on his bottom to hide himself properly.
Miles follows me, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Speaking of,” he says slowly, one hand coming up to my nipple and twisting it. I wince in pain. “Are you wearing a different bra?” he asks, pulling me close again. His erection presses against my hip, and a flash of white-hot heat works through me when I think of how randy he’s been feeling all week. All month, really. I have no idea what’s gotten into him—not that I’m complaining.
“No, why?” I ask, kissing him softly.
He groans as his hands come to knead my breasts through my shirt. Luckily, we’re under water enough to cover any indiscretions.
“They seem bigger to me,” he murmurs against my mouth and squeezing my nipples.
“Ouch, too hard,” I tell him, slapping his hands away. “It’s probably from all of the delicious French food you’ve been plying me with all week.”
His eyes bore into mine when he pulls away. “I love you,” he says softly.
“I love you too.” Looking around, I can’t help but wonder about that night. “What-if we never met here?” I ask, slowly wrapping my legs around his hips in the water.
“Get a room!” someone yells in French.
Miles smiles and ignores them. One of his hands brushes my wet hair away.
“Well, then we would’ve met at the restaurant,” he says matter-of-factly. “Our fathers would’ve still brought us together.”
I worry my lower lip between my teeth. “How would you have perceived me?”
“Beautiful. But that’s a given,” he starts.
“If you’re trying to get me to shag you, I can tell you right now that it’s working,” I tease. “What else?”
He smirks as he kisses me, looking over my shoulder as he does to ensure no one is staring too hard. “Smart. Witty. Independent. Adorably feisty. That dress you were wearing brought out the blue of your eyes. You were, and still are, entirely mesmerizing.”
“Keep going,” I beg him.
