Текст книги "Love Unrehearsed"

Автор книги: Tina Reber

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Chapter 5

Oui

Through my blissfully heavy eyes, I barely took in the sights of another opulent hotel suite, dimly lit from the soft glow of a table lamp. The last eleven days had blurred into one continuous streak of hurried travel, decadent meals, paparazzi chases, limo rides, blinding camera flashes, and screaming fans to the point that I was dizzy from it all.

Ryan’s mouth tenderly caressed the base of my neck as he panted heavily from physical exertion. My lungs ached as if they were at risk of collapse from dragging in so many repeated shallow breaths.

His muscular back arched, allowing refreshing air to channel between our sweat-soaked bodies. His hips rolled and pushed in one more time, sending another ripple through me as his hands pinned my wrists to the bed. I felt the bristly brush of his stubbly chin rasp over my cheek as he lifted his eyes to meet mine.

“Welcome to Paris,” he said softly, rolling the tip of his tongue up the length of my neck, tasting me before covering my lips with his own again.

Considering our plane from Heathrow just landed two and a half hours ago and we were driven straight from the airport to this magnificent hotel, I had barely seen Paris. The first order of business, after spending a few hours salaciously flirting on the airplane, was to strip each other bare and make mad passionate love in this pristine bed.

Responding to his little tease, knowing that he was totally proud of his abilities to ruin me, would have to wait. Most of the pillows had been pushed to the floor, the sheets were in complete disarray, and powerful aftershocks from my mind-blowing orgasm were still jolting my body.

I took the momentary reprieve of my lips to exhale out the one French word I knew. “Oui.”

Even making that one little sound felt like a monumental feat.

Ryan’s gaze was thoughtful and intense, silently telling me everything that mere words alone could not define nor express. Desire to devour him overwhelmed me and I grazed my teeth over his muscular bicep before tugging his hair so I could suck that tasty little lobe of his ear into my mouth. Ryan let out a growl of pleasure before reuniting our lips for more passion.

Anticipation for what was to come, knowing that he was far from finished with me, heightened the sensations even further. He was being a considerate lover, pausing to allow me some time to recover before unleashing the rest of his wickedness on me.

I tried to steady my breathing and my pounding pulse, feeling the sweat of our lovemaking bead up on my hairline. Hot, wet, and tangled; there wasn’t an open part of us left to be connected. I caressed my hands up over his muscular back to his shoulders; my arms wrapped tighter as if my grip could somehow pull him deeper into my soul.

When I drifted my hands down his sides to appreciate his most incredible rear end, he clenched and pressed into me again—slowly—still feeling very formidable and unyielding inside. His pelvis tipped and brushed up on me again, grinding his hips deep with carnal drive into my core.

I tilted my head, giving him full access to my throat. If the world were to unfortunately end at this very moment, I’d go a very sated woman. I felt his teeth graze on my skin, his primal urges to covet and devour surging to the forefront.

Ryan’s body suddenly stilled and he swept a few errant hairs from my eyes, locking his gaze on mine.

His face was so serene and yet so serious. He swallowed, collecting his breath before he said, “Je t’aime.

Je t’adore. Veux-tu m’épouser?”

Hearing the inflection in his voice as he seduced me with foreign words, and hands that knew every inch of my body, made my thighs quiver.

I threaded my fingers into his hair as he placed soft, sensual kisses on my face, the corners of my mouth, my neck. Willing my mouth to do anything other than kiss him while he fucked me like this was difficult.

“I didn’t know . . . you knew . . . how . . . to speak French.”

Ryan captured my lower lip between his, swirling me in dizzying passion with each kiss, each lick, each succulent suck from his hypnotic mouth. He rolled his hips deliberately, reminding me that he was still very much in the game.

“I don’t, but there were a few things I wanted to learn to say to you while we’re in Paris. Like this.

Making love to you.”

My breath hitched from the feelings he invoked. “You had this planned?”

His nose brushed next to mine. Instead of answering, he kissed me deeply. His tongue said yes.

“Tell me,” I gasped away. “Tell me what you said.” I tightened my interior muscles on one of his surges, drawing an erotic groan from his chest. He pressed my hair back with his hands, cradling my face.

Ryan’s words came out in a sensual whisper. “Je t’aime means I love you.”

His muscular thighs shifted as his feet found new footing on the bed. My thighs strained farther apart to accept him. I felt his length top out inside me, surging the most intense of pleasures. Filling me like no one else could. Marking me as his from the inside with everything he has. His hands slid my arms above my head and he twined our fingers together.

Somewhat breathlessly but with much conviction, he said, “Je t’adore means I adore you.”

Ripples of emotion coursed through my chest as he gazed directly into my eyes, me feeling so completely loved by this man, in complete awe of his presence, his gentle ways, his undeniable claim that he staked in my heart. Tears of joy blurred my eyes and dripped to the pillow.

“I adore you, too. You are my forever, mon amour.”

Ryan’s mouth sealed on top of mine; his hips curled and surged like the unrelenting tide. Pressure was building up inside me, aching for another release.

As if a moment of deep contemplation struck him, his hips completely stilled and he cleared his throat —several times.

“Veux-tu m’épouser means will you—” His thumbs tenderly brushed the wet streaks left behind from my weeping eyes, taking careful measure to soothe it all. “It means will you marry me.”

Air stuttered down my throat as the magnitude of his words aligned with their meaning. New tears welled and spilled from the edges of my eyes while the burning sensation of intense emotions gathered up in my chest, my throat. I felt as if I could burst at the seams.

I reached up and gently caressed his face. His eyes shimmered like two watery blue pools, glistening as magnificently as the diamond engagement ring on my left hand.

He slammed into me, deep. “Marry me, Taryn. I want to hear you say yes again. Tell me you want me.”

My lips quaked, trying to form the ability of speech. “I want you.” I ran my fingertips down the sides of his neck. “I need you to breathe. Yes. Forever. Till death takes my last breath.”

His lips locked on mine, tying his question and my answer into an unbreakable knot.

Ryan’s strong hand gripped my hip. “Mon amour,” he said in my mouth. “You are home for me. You’ll always be my home, Taryn.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his neck, kissing every inch of him uncontrollably. What started out as a private challenge to make love in every country we visited turned

into something profoundly deeper. This was solidifying a union, consummating a promise to each other far beyond the intimate boundaries of physical love.

I said the only words that seemed fitting, but somehow they felt so inadequate. “I love you so much.”

His hips stirred with more vigor; the bed steadily bumped into the wall. The look of painful pleasure creased his eyes. “I love you more.”

I smiled and dug my fingertips into his rear, holding on, wanting him to climb deeper inside of my soul.

His arms wrapped underneath me, lifting me from the warmth of the bed into a warmer embrace. I straddled up over him; my thighs provided the lift as his hand guided my rear to rock back and forth.

He lay all the way back, helping me adjust my legs. “Take me,” he breathed. “All of me.”

His length pummeled inside me. My hands wrapped at the base of his skull, holding his face steady so he’d look me in the eyes.

I sealed my words on his lips. “Till the day I die. Yours. Forever.”

Ryan’s hand locked into my hair, holding my mouth to his. “Come with me, baby,” he whispered his plea, grinding me down on his pubic bone and the tip of his thumb. He kept at it, at an unrelenting, punishing pace. I felt as though I were being ripped apart and slammed back together all at once.

My head fell to his shoulder as the rolling burn of sensations, the shock-wave overload, coursed through my body.

With a deep groan, his body trembled and convulsed. I felt his warm release pulse inside of me, binding us together forever.

While Ryan was busy shaving in the bathroom, I called Marie. “He proposed to me again—in French.”

“While making love to you?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh my God, Taryn. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Holy shit. Wait until I tell Tammy.”

I moved my cell to my other ear so she could yell excitedly into that one. “No! Please don’t tell anyone, Marie. Not even Tammy. This is so private. I shouldn’t even be telling . . . I’m just . . . blown away. It was so amazing. I’ve never . . .” Moisture gathered at the corner of my eye again from thinking about it. “Ah. We have to change the subject. Tell me something else. So how are things going there?

How’s our pub?”

“Screw that. I want to hear more about sex in foreign countries.”

“Marie . . . ,” I groaned.

“The bar is still in one piece, Tar. Busy, although you’ll be glad to know that the influx of obsessive fangirls has died down. Oh, and the five-foot cooler is shot. I can’t believe he proposed to you again in French! God, I really hate you right now. Ryan Freakin’ Christensen, naked in Paris, whispering French I-love-yous in your ear while doing you. Grr. So not fair. Man, why couldn’t I have been the one to open the pub that day?”

I snickered lightly. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You’re married, remember?”

Marie snorted but not with humor. “Yeah, well. Not for long.”

I grabbed my backpack to get my laptop, wishing I would have kept my big mouth shut. “Oh, Marie, come on. Listen, you know I didn’t call to brag. Did we, um . . . did we get the tax bill in the mail yet? And what did you say about the cooler not working?”

“You are so determined to be a buzzkill, aren’t you?” She sighed loudly. “Tar, I truly am happy for you.

I hope you believe me when I say that.”

“I know.”

“Good. Then tell me more about your trip. I’d much rather talk about that than what’s happening here.

Please tell me Ryan is walking around naked.”

I dug through my bag for my power cord adapter, laughing at her enthusiasm. “Towel.”

“Damn. You suck.”

“Very well, so he says. I just wish we had more time in each city. Two or three days is nothing. I can’t believe it. In less than thirty-six hours we’ll be in Barcelona. Time is flying by so fast.”

“Ooh. Maybe he’ll fuck you in Spanish. Can you call me while it’s happening? God, I want to hear that.

He should put that in his next movie—”

“Marie!”

“What? Come on, Tar! If I can’t live vicariously through you, I’m gonna have to kill myself. I need to join you on your world tour. Can’t I carry your luggage or something? Toss rose petals when Ryan walks?”

“What’s wrong with the cooler?”

Marie let out a huff. “Someone needs to get laid on top of it. Maybe that will fix it.”

“Call Gary. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.”

I heard the familiar noise of the cash register tape cycling, grinding like the decrepit old-timer that it was. One more thing in the bar that needs to be replaced.

“Yeah, right. He hasn’t talked to me since we got back from L.A. and to be honest, I couldn’t care less if he ever does. I’m sick of him.”

“Why? What happened?” I heard Ryan drop something in the bathroom and it made me flinch.

Sounded like the can of shaving cream hitting the tiled floor.

“Ah, remember that guy from the Reparation after-party who thought I was a casting agent? Nate—the hottie with the incredible ass?”

I drew a vivid picture in my mind. Tall, dark brown hair. Wide shoulders with a narrow waist. Total GQ

material. “Yeah. So what? Is Gary mad because you were talking to some guy?”

“Yep. When we got back to our room we got into a huge fight. He completely flipped out on me, told me I was flirting like a whore and stuff. It got . . . it got pretty ugly.”

I swallowed hard, picturing Gary’s anger potential at its worst. I’ll kill him if he laid a hand on her.

“How ugly?”

A few beats of silence passed. “Marie, did he hit you?”

She sighed. “No, although for a moment I wasn’t sure—he was that angry. He said he wasn’t happy anymore and he . . . he said he wants a divorce.”

I felt my heart clench and I gasped. “Oh my God! No! What did you say?”

I heard her take a deep breath. “I told him if that’s what he wants, I’m gone. It’s not like this hasn’t been brewing for a while now.”

Oh, shit. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“What’s to say? You know how he is. When I try to talk to him about what’s bothering me he shuts down or ignores me. We got into a huge fight even before we left for L.A. after I found out that he spent another three thousand dollars out of our account to buy another crappy car to fix up. When I told him I was mad that he bought it without discussing it with me first, he reminded me of how much more money he earns, and then he had the audacity to tell me to shut the fuck up.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No, I’m not. He’s been . . . I don’t know. I think he’s seeing someone else.”

I felt like freaking out. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not sure but I have that gut feeling, you know? He’s just being really weird, yelling at me all the time. About three weeks ago, he said he was going out drinking with his friend, Tony, but he never came home. He said he crashed at Tony’s but I’m pretty sure that was a lie. He’s never done that before and he got all pissed-off when I asked him about it. All I know is that I can’t take it anymore. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been staying in your apartment the last couple of nights.”

Now I really felt like crap for telling her about Ryan’s second proposal. I was so wrapped up in my own little world that I had no clue she was suffering.

“Marie, you’re my best friend. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks. Anyway, Pete looked at the cooler. Said the compressor is shot. When we got back, the floor was all wet. I called for prices on a new one.”

I didn’t care about the damn cooler. “Wait. So, what . . . are you leaving him?”

She huffed. “I don’t know, but I can’t live this way anymore, Taryn. He’s miserable. He’s making me miserable. He’s been avoiding me more and more, barely speaking to me.”

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry.”

I heard her tears crack. “You mind if I stay with you for a while?”

Her heartbreak was breaking my heart. “No, of course I don’t mind. You can stay with me as long as you want.”

I cursed inwardly, furious that Gary would do this to her and even more angry with myself for strapping her with all of my responsibilities while she was all alone.

“Oh, some lady from United Fidelity Bank called for your dad. Said something about a letter and him owing late fees for a safe-deposit box rental? I have her number. But just so you know, we’ve stopped answering the telephone. I’m trying to screen through the messages, but there are too many.”

I groaned. Dealing with my parents’ estate, and the unrelenting press as well, was a never-ending battle. “I have to get back there.”

“No, you need to enjoy the ride for once and take care of you and Ryan and let other people handle this.”

“I hate that I’m not there for you.”

“Tar, you are. You are. Please don’t think that.”

I leaned up against the wall next to the French doors leading out to the balcony, mesmerized by the breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower glowing in the darkened sky. My mother had dreamed of seeing the tower her whole life but never did.

After I said goodbye and ended our call, I felt horrible for abandoning everything on her so I could be absent and carefree, running around the globe when she needed me the most.

But in a big way, having someone to take care of the bar was a huge relief, giving me a much-needed break from a life that I didn’t choose.

I knelt down to straighten up the mess Ryan made when he dumped his backpack on the floor. The section of the newspaper he was reading on the plane was crumpled in the pile.

Curious, I paged through it, stopping on an article about another famous actor. I remembered distinctly that this was the last page Ryan read because shortly thereafter he appeared to be irritated by something and crammed the newspaper roughly into his pack. Right after that he laced his fingers tightly with mine. I thought maybe Reparation had gotten a bad review, but there was nothing else in this section of the paper that had anything to do with anything in our lives.

As I perused the story, my breath caught. The article stated that the couple had ended their four-year relationship, citing that their busy careers took them in different directions, ultimately causing their demise.

I glanced over at Ryan as he snapped the elastic band of fresh black boxer briefs around his waist, allowing me another delectable view of his chiseled abs. Could this be the reason why he was upset earlier?

Four years. That’s as far as they made it in their high-profile relationship. Four measly years. Perhaps in their eyes it was long enough. In my mind, ending a relationship after four years would mean a very deep scar would be left behind, bringing the kind of heartache and devastation that’s sure to kill a huge piece of your soul.

I looked down at the cell phone still clutched in my hand. I couldn’t even imagine only having four years with Ryan. And yet here I was, blissfully happy while watching Marie’s marriage fall apart.

Chapter 6

Tour

“God, Paris is beautiful.” I hid behind the tiny split in the curtain trying to get clear shots of the sun rising over the landscape with my camera. “I have a view of the Eiffel Tower from my room!” I said excitedly, doing a little happy dance with my butt again.

Ryan laughed. “You know all your shots are going to have the glass reflection on them. Turn the flash off and go out on the terrace,” he mumbled around his toothbrush.

I toggled through the settings, trying to figure out how to use my new digital pocket camera. “Can’t.

Don’t think your fans want to see me.”

Ryan groaned and pressed his chest to my back, looking over my shoulder. “How many are out there?”

“Too many to count.” I tugged the curtain shut.

“We can always come back. It’s different when they don’t know where I am. You have full access to my schedule. Anywhere you want to go—just put it on the calendar. It’s your job to manage my personal life, future wife.”

Oh really? That got me grinning. Then a sad thought struck me. “It’s going to be a while until you have time off to travel for fun.”

Ryan placed a soft, lingering kiss on my neck. “I know. We’ll figure something out. And we also need to start thinking about building a house. Time that we had a place of our own to call home, don’t you think?”

Home. That word sent an instant wave of elation through my heart and a smile a mile wide across my face.

“Big log house with a big ol’ bedroom,” he mumbled with his lips pressed to my neck. “How does that sound?”

“I think it sounds perfect. We’re definitely going to need a big ol’ bedroom for this.” I grabbed the newly formed erection pressing up against the crack of my butt. “We just had sex in the shower. You’re insatiable.”

His hands palmed my breasts and a playful growl rolled up his throat. “I can’t help that you made me hard again. It’s all your fault.”

Like a cat stretching, I reached around his neck. “I bet if you went out there right now with that massive stiffy you’d stop a few hundred girls’ hearts from beating.”

Like a naughty kid up to no good, Ryan seemed amused by my inadvertent challenge. “Since I don’t have enough time to properly bed you again, let’s test that theory, shall we?”

I panicked. “You’re not!”

“Don’t worry.” He threw on his jeans and grabbed a T-shirt, whacking my rear with his hand as he passed. “Only you are privy to viewing my naughty bits, my love. Give me the camera.”

Barefoot, he slipped out the door and into the morning sun. I kept the door cracked and watched as he walked to the railing. I could hear the rising screams and shouts from the crowd below. It sounded like the squawks from ten thousand excited birds trying to take flight. Ryan leaned over and waved, and then started taking pictures of the crowd, of the landscape, and of me standing by the door.

“Tar, come out here.”

I stepped out and joined him. It was weird waving at screaming girls like I was someone important.

Yeah, hi, we’re people up here looking out at you people standing down there. I certainly wasn’t the

reason why they were gathered outside of our hotel and screaming at the tops of their lungs. Fortunately, there were eight floors separating us.

Ryan looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. “Wanna give them a show?”

“No! Oh my God, they’ll hate me for sure.”

“Hey, I’m just offering a bona fide public kiss here. Candid shots with lots of tongue action. Worth millions by the way.”

I choked at the absurdity of that notion. “Like someone would pay a million dollars for a picture of us kissing.”

“Don’t laugh. Wait until the wedding photo offers come in.”

“What wedding photos?”

Ryan took a few more pictures, stopping to look at them on the viewer. “Ours. When we get married.

You’re going to be shocked when you see the dollar figures tossed at us. Stand over there so I can get the Eiffel Tower behind you.”

I leaned back on the railing, feeling in shock at the mere idea already. “Are you serious?”

He peered over the camera. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

The thought of so many zeros for wedding photos seemed preposterous. “Like millions?”

“Probably like several million. We’ll see—that’s if we decide to sell. Come on, smile!”

He then stood next to me, trying to take our picture together.

“Would you want to do that? Sell our photos?”

He adjusted the camera settings and shrugged. “Honestly? No. That’s private. But then again, it’s also money barely earned for the front cover and an article spread inside. We could always donate it to charity.”

Very noble idea. That made the idea more palatable. “You’d consider it? Giving the money to charity?”

“Absolutely. There are plenty of them out there. Charities for needy kids. Sick kids.” He turned the camera around on us again and clicked. “You know, we don’t have to wait for our wedding if you want to do something humanitarian. Talk to Trish.”

I thought about the shoe box of photos I had back in my apartment. “It’s hard to imagine personal pictures having anything more than sentimental value. But if we can, I’d like to do something to help children.”

“We did a few charity-type things when we filmed the two Seasides. Anyway, we can think about selling our wedding photos later.” He pulled me to his chest. “I’m rather enjoying the engagement phase right now. A lot.”

His grin was priceless.

“Are you going to kiss me in public?”

Ryan smiled devilishly. “You bet your sweet ass I am. I’m capturing the moment, too.”

His lips were on mine so fast I barely had time to breathe. Amazing how every thought melted away into a blur of nothingness when he kissed me.

He backed me up until my body made contact with the glass door, taking pictures of us with my camera held out, giddy with our playfulness.

“How long until those paparazzi pictures of us hit the Internet?” I joked, stumbling back into our suite.

“Ahh, who cares. You need to quit worrying about things like that.”

Easy for him to say. That kiss probably hung a new tabloid target around my neck.

Ryan’s press interviews started promptly at 9 A.M., held at a different hotel in Paris.

We were whisked away in yet another chauffeured town car, allowing me to gaze in wonder at the sights. That’s when it hit me—another moment of awe at how lucky I was.

I slipped my hand into Ryan’s, wondering how I could ever thank him for such a gift.

David, Trish, and Ryan’s agent, Aaron, were in the car in front of us. Mike stretched his arms out to shield us as we exited. The press, foreign paparazzi, and a small cluster of fans shouted for our attention, snapping photos of our arrival.

“How long are we going to be?” I asked Trish, secretly hoping to visit the opulent gift shop and maybe the boutique several doors down that had a really cool leather jacket displayed on a mannequin.

She looked at her watch. “About three hours.”

I clutched Ryan’s arm right before he got too involved in the commotion. I knew I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near these rooms once the interviews commenced. The suite was prepped for the cast’s one-on-one interviews. The movie poster for Reparation was standing behind a high-backed chair.

“I’m going to do a little shopping, okay?”

Ryan instantly tensed. “No.”

Suddenly I felt caged, recalling the hours of boredom I sat through when we did this back in London.

Made me regret not staying back in our hotel suite. In my mind I was going with or without his blessing.

“I just want to get a few souvenirs, and maybe find something more stately to wear to dinner tonight. I really want to make a good first impression.”

Ryan’s hard glare softened. “They will love you no matter what you wear. We have the gift thing with Burberry after this, so don’t bother. You’ll have a rack of free clothes to pick from.”

I didn’t want to leave it to chance that elegant cocktail dresses would be among the freebies. It’s amazing how companies just give you stuff when you’re famous. Besides, I promised I’d get a cheesy gift for Marie in every city. I motioned to the door with my eyes, ready to see who’d win.

Ryan groaned. “I really wish you wouldn’t.”

It was obvious that the last thing he wanted to do right now was get into a battle of wills with me. He relented. “I guess I can’t expect you to sit around doing nothing. See if you can find someone to go with you, okay? I think some of Jenna’s friends are floating around here. Just don’t go by yourself.”

I brushed my fingers on his stomach, not wanting to impose on his co-star or her family. “You’ve got to quit worrying so much.”

My comment sparked a glare and an unspoken “no fucking way.”

His lips pressed into a hard line as he noted the time on his watch. “Don’t get lost. Two hours and then you get your butt right back here.”

I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. With a quick kiss, I made my way to the elevator, excited about the possibilities.

Forty feet to freedom and perhaps a cab ride to the Louvre? An opportunity to actually touch the Eiffel Tower? Tomorrow morning, 10 A.M., we’ll be on a plane to Barcelona and there is no time this evening to sightsee.

I was just putting on my sunglasses when I saw the paparazzi and a sizable crowd of women standing outside near the entryway. I stopped twenty feet from freedom.

Shoot. Will they recognize me? Will they even know who I am if I’m not trailing behind Ryan?

Screw it. Only one way to find out. I followed a few patrons who were leaving, and tried to escape unnoticed.

The rule of “try not to make eye contact with them” had been instructed numerous times. Although no cameras were raised, I saw one man elbow his comrade as he pushed away from the hotel wall.

I headed in the direction where I thought we had come from, hoping to find the window with the white mannequin and the waist-length leather jacket. One quick glance behind me confirmed that Creep One and Creep Two were following me. I glanced again as my pulse tripped into double time. Shit. I thought they were paparazzi, but oddly neither one of them had a visible camera. Not good. Fortunately the sidewalks were busy enough and it was broad daylight.

Store, store, store . . . where the heck are you, store? I had walked three blocks already. Distance is deceiving when you’re being chauffeured.

Finally, at the end of the block I found the window I was looking for and sought out the solace waiting on the other side.

The two men stopped short, peering through the glass to confirm I was inside. Perhaps it was the display of women’s panties that stopped them from entering? My heart was thrumming much too fast for my liking.

An extremely thin blonde with razor-sharp cheekbones approached me and started speaking in French.

By the inflection of her voice I could tell she was asking if I needed help but at that moment I didn’t know if I needed assistance with clothing or with creepy stalkers. I could always call for a taxi and head back to safety.

“Mademoiselle?”

My eyes were fixed on the window as I watched the two men trot across the busy street. At least they weren’t standing directly outside the shop anymore. Hopefully they gave up. The clerk touched my arm lightly, breaking me from my surveillance.

“Oui. Oui. Um, parlez-vous anglais?”

“Oui. Yes. Can I help you?”

Now that the language barrier was bridged, it was time to get down to business.

I tried to check the street without being obvious, pretending to glance at clothing but more worried about the unknown men who had followed me. God, when did I turn into this paranoid mess? I spent my entire life not being frightened or having to look over my shoulder, worried that some asshole with a digital camera was going to catch me doing something embarrassing. And now I was on heightened alert of my every mannerism.

Even something so naturally innocent like scratching a boob or a butt cheek could be captured as the next photo to grace a gossip magazine cover. Suddenly the thrill of finding some new Parisian designer clothing was gone and replaced by fear and suspicion. My first time in Paris was quickly turning sour.

I wondered how different things would be if I were here with Thomas. No one would give a shit about me then.

I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing his ruggedness vividly.

My mental reprimand swooped right in behind that. I can’t believe I allowed that thought to cross my mind! That was so not fair to Ryan. Like he has any control over this, the voice in my head berated. My situation was still within my control, knowing that there are concessions to be made when being involved with someone as famous as Ryan. The choice comes down to either dealing with the public attention or passing up true love for anonymity.