Wait.

I must be dreaming…

There is no way I ever expected to see her again.

How can the universe be so big and so small at the same time?

Not only is Lauren Blake the breathtaking woman I bumped into at the airport, she’s also a fucking southern belle.

I mean, the whole point of me fleeing my old life was to avoid all the southern belles.

Well, alright, I came to Paris to avoid the media and Dixie Lane, but still.

That damn accent is like—

“Are you always gonna drive this painfully slow?”

Kryptonite.

“Yep, as a matter of fact, I am always gonna drive this slow. I really don’t want to risk running over another cell phone.”

Through the rearview mirror, I see Lauren fold her arms as her lips twist in a mockery of a smile.

The woman is obviously feisty.

But man, is she fine.

Golden-colored skin, stunning blue eyes, mink-colored hair that bounces when she walks and long legs that scream, hey sucker, look at me.

Yep, I noticed all that shit within the first ten seconds at the airport. And solidified it within the first five seconds of seeing her today.

“Well, if you drive this slow, you’ll have to pick me up an hour early every day. I can’t afford to be tardy. Especially not today.”

Her eyes briefly meet my sunglass-shielded eyes in the rearview mirror, before she blinks and breaks contact to look out the tinted window.

She hasn’t smiled once. Huh, maybe she is that Ice Princess.

On the other hand, I guess I wouldn’t be all giddy if my phone got crushed.

“I’m sure the more I get used to the roads here, the faster I’ll get you from point A to point B.”

No response from Icy Hot Princess as she holds a steady gaze out the window.

“So, what is it you do for a living?”

She jerks her head from the window to glare at me through the rearview mirror. “Don’t you think you should get to know your clients prior to them getting into the car?” she asks, before shifting her gaze back out the window.

“What’s so, uh, important about today?” I ask, ignoring her retort.

Her eyes narrow to crinkled slits as our gazes, once again, have a rendezvous in the mirror. “Are you always this talkative?”

“Do you always answer a question with another question?” I snap back, unwilling to be taken down.

Blue eyes skewer mine with an unflinching look. Then, she once again turns to look out the window.

For the next five minutes, the only verbal sounds consuming the car are the directions from the GPS. Turn right on Parisian Parkway.

Then finally, Icy Hot Princess speaks. “I have a Skype meeting today with a New York City publisher. That’s what is so important about today.” She drums her fingernails along the center armrest.

“Are you nervous?”

She hesitates for a minute, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, then says, “Not yet. But I’m sure I will be about three minutes before the call.” A smile plays on the edges of her full lips, making her look even more like perfection.

“I’m sure you’ll ace it.”

She gives a half-shrug. “So, how long have you been in Paris?”

Now, who’s the one being so talkative?

“Just a couple of months,” I admit, hoping she doesn’t recognize me from that day at the airport. Plus, I really don’t want anyone to know it’s me—Jaxson Malone, the actor and model.

“And why did you leave—”

“New York?” I interject. “I thought a change of scenery was in order.”

“Well, Paris is a lovely change of scenery. I moved here years ago from Savannah, Georgia and doubt that I’ll ever go back.” She tilts her head and adds, “You look slightly familiar. Have we met before?”

Shit.

“Um, no. But I get that a lot, you know. I must have one of those faces that makes people assume they’ve seen me before,” I outright lie.

“Hmm. I see.”

The GPS says arrived as I roll the car to a stop in front of Haute Couture Headquarters.

And before stepping out the the car, she tosses her hair, lifts her chin like a Haute Diva, and says, “Please pick me up on time this evening. I don’t like waiting.”

Yep. Icy Hot Princess suits her rather fine.