CHAPTER SEVEN
JASMINE WOKE THE next morning with a headache and a sense of remorse. The headache was explainable, but the remorse was confusing, because last night she’d experienced the best kiss of her life.
And then Luca had pushed her away, and all her feelings of inadequacy around sex resurfaced. Even when he’d woken her up in the middle of the night, he had been clinical. Making sure she knew where she was before leaving her alone again.
She sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes and gingerly touched her temple. There was still a tender lump on the side of her head.
Lovely.
Flipping back the covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. On a chair next to the wall was a pile of clothes. Her clothes. All laundered and folded.
Seriously?
Not only was Luca a good caretaker, a good cook and super-D-duper hot, he did laundry? And folded it? The man was a catch.
She picked up the clothes and made her way out to the hallway. Just as she was about to turn the knob on the bathroom door, it opened and Luca stood there surrounded by clouds of steam, the masculine scent of expensive aftershave wafting about him while he wore nothing but a towel around his waist.
Low on his waist.
She stared as she hugged the clothes to her chest lest she give into her base urges and reach out to touch him.
His chest—lickably bare—was ripped. Hard pecs covered in lovely dark hair that only added to his masculinity. His abdomen was mostly hairless, which allowed her to count the ridges. An eight pack? Was that even possible? Apparently. And from his navel a line of hair drew a dark course leading down to what promised to be dark pleasures.
Jasmine’s mouth watered and her fingers twitched with need.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” She couldn’t tear her gaze away.
“Jasmine?”
“Hmm?”
He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
Jasmine gave her head a shake and glanced up. “Yes?”
If she thought his eyes had said “I want to fuck you” last night, she read a whole new message this morning. They shone with such an immoral light it was as if they were now saying, “Here’s what I’m going to do to you. I’m going to tie you up, have my way with you and only after you’ve come five times will I fuck you.”
Of course, that could have been her imagination.
Was there time for her to have five orgasms before she had to leave? Hell, she’d settle for one...
“I phoned my friend an hour ago. He will be here to pick you up at 9:00 a.m.”
“Huh?”
“My friend François. He’ll take you to the embassy so you can apply for an emergency passport. I’m sure they’ll help you contact your family so they can wire money and you can continue your vacation.”
“Oh.”
It was as if he’d poked her with a pin, deflating her.
He motioned her into the bathroom and then went into the bedroom and closed the door. The sound of the door locking was not the same as the high-pitched wheezing of a deflating balloon, but it may as well have been because that was how it made her feel.
“Well, there goes my chance for good sex,” she said beneath her breath as she closed the bathroom door.
She showered slowly, letting the scent of Luca’s shampoo and soap encompass her. “I’ll never wash again,” she said to herself as she brought a handful of suds to her face to sniff. Wanting to remember this scent forever.
You know how pathetic you sound? Her inner critic asked.
“Yes.”
Her ride to the embassy was going to be here in an hour, which gave her no time to enact any sort of seduction plan. But the worst part was, once she arrived at the embassy, she would have to suck it up and call Parker. He was the one who had all of her documentation. Copies of her passport, her birth certificate and driver’s license—all of it was in the desk drawer in the living room.
She turned and let the strong spray hit her directly in the face.
Fuck that. There was no way in hell her first conversation with him since their breakup would be one where she had to ask Parker for help. She needed to find a way around that.
Jasmine turned off the shower and dried herself. Getting ready didn’t take long when she didn’t have any toiletries besides a toothbrush and a men’s comb that didn’t even make it through her hair. Without foundation, she was unable to cover up the discoloration at the side of her face.
At least her clothes were clean.
And her panties—which were folded very nicely.
Luca folded my panties. And my bra.
It seemed like such an intimate thing to do.
“Enough,” she said to herself. “You have got to get this fantasy under control. It’s not happening, Jazz. So just stop.”
After running her fingers through her damp hair, Jasmine finished dressing and padded barefoot down the hall to find Luca in the kitchen making breakfast.
The first thing she noticed was the wonderfully rich smell of coffee that had a hint of melted dark chocolate. So decadent. On a plate was a baguette cut in half along with a pot of butter and preserves. There was also a plate of eggs and two glasses of orange juice.
“Thank you,” Jasmine said, as she stood in the kitchen entry.
Luca nodded and then glanced at her bare feet. “You need shoes.”
Jasmine glanced down at her ruby-red toenail polish. “Yes, I suppose I do.” She must’ve lost them along with her purse.
“I’ll tell François to take you to a shop first.”
“I don’t have money.”
“He’ll buy you a pair.”
Jasmine went around to the breakfast bar and sat. “François must be a very good friend.”
Luca made a face. She couldn’t tell if it had a positive or negative expression. “I’ve known him all my life.”
Jasmine had hoped that Luca would at least join her for breakfast, but he’d obviously already eaten because he was in the process of washing his plate. Once it was set in the rack over the sink to dry, he refilled his espresso cup and took it down the hall to his bedroom.
This really was it. Her sex-venture was over before it had even begun. Such a shame. Watching the clock over the stove like she was an inmate on death row eating her final meal as she awaited the appointed hour, Jasmine decided she would call her parents first, once she got to the embassy. They could contact Parker if need be. Once she had travel documents, she’d change her flight and go home.
What had she been thinking, coming here by herself? She wasn’t an adventurer, and certainly not a sex-venturer. This whole thing had been one big mistake. Running away from a situation she didn’t want to face was never a good decision.
Just as she finished the last bite of baguette, a telephone rang. Luca strode back down the hall to retrieve it. He checked the screen and said, “It’s François.”
Her stomach sank. If she looked down, Jasmine was sure she’d find it flopping around on the hardwood floor. With a sigh, she carried her dishes to the sink to wash. However, before she’d finished wiping her plate, she noticed the volume and tone of Luca’s voice, and she stopped what she was doing to listen.
Something was wrong.
While she didn’t understand the French language, she understood body language and Luca’s said one thing. He was angry. He paced the room while gesturing wildly with his free hand. His voice was deep and guttural and he spoke so rapidly his words sounded like machine-gun fire.
“Non. Je ne peux pas le croire.”
That did not sound good. Jasmine leaned her elbows on the counter as she watched the exchange with great interest.
Luca opened the sliding doors off the living room to the balcony and peered down at the street below. Something was going on because Jasmine heard the cacophony of a crowd even from where she stood.
“Non, non, non, non,” Luca said, slamming the doors shut.
Okay, she understood that. It was a lot of no’s. Definitely indicating something was making Luca unhappy.
When Luca finally hung up, he slammed the phone against the counter, which surprisingly did not break it, and growled like a caged beast before pacing some more. His head was down and he gripped his hair as he moved back and forth across the small space.
Finally he stopped, turned to her and said, “Okay. Change of plans.” He marched to the wardrobe in the front hall and came back with two helmets, two leather jackets and a leather bag. “Put this on,” he said, shoving a helmet and jacket at her. “We leave in five minutes.”
Jasmine stood barefoot at the front door, stunned by this change in events. Luca stomped down the hall muttering angrily and returned moments later stuffing clothes into a leather satchel and slinging the strap over his shoulder. Then he donned his helmet, took her hand and dragged her out the door and down to the parking garage.
When he started up his bike, she stood beside him with her visor raised and said, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to ride.”
“You’re fine. Now get on and wrap your arms around my waist.” He flipped down the passenger foot pegs and waited.
As soon as she’d done as he asked, he put the bike into first, opened the garage door and ripped up the ramp and onto the street, narrowly missing a van and then another one before skirting a group of people that were milling about between the vehicles, toting microphones and cameras.
What the hell was going on?
“Hold on tight,” he called over his shoulder as he changed gears and wove between cars as he headed for a main street.
Jasmine leaned against his back, her toes curling painfully around the teeth on the metal pegs as she watched Paris slip by at high speed.
Holy shit! Was that the Louvre? She’d seen so many pictures of the palatial landmark, but now, as they roared by the building, weaving in and out of the tourist traffic, it seemed surreal. But the building and crowds were gone before she’d had a chance to really take it in, then Luca turned onto a street that paralleled the Seine.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered to herself a few minutes later. With hands gripping the leather waist of Luca’s jacket, she sat up so she could get a better view. They were on the other side of the river from Notre Dame Cathedral. The central spire, the ornate stonework, it was such an impressive, distinctive Gothic structure, and even though she’d seen hundreds of pictures of it, seeing it in person took Jasmine’s breath away.
So did the speed at which they were traveling.
Luca drove like a madman, changing lanes at speeds that were certainly illegal and highly unsafe.
She’d never felt more thrilled in her life.
When a car driving in the opposite direction turned on its lights and siren, and then spun around to pursue them, Jasmine felt something else she’d never experienced. A tingling at the base of her spine that spread out across her lower back and into her abdomen.
“Hold on,” Luca commanded for the third time.
She leaned into him and closed her eyes. This could very well be the last day of her life and if it was...she didn’t care.
She was having an adventure!
* * *
How the hell had the fucking paparazzi found him? Luca had no idea. François said they were out in full force at the front of the building milling about, waiting for him to emerge. Did they know he was in the company of a concussed, shoeless American woman?
He hadn’t had time to think about who might have leaked his whereabouts, he’d been too busy driving and trying to get the hell out of Paris. His adrenaline had kicked in, causing him to drive like he would in a race. It was the best fucking feeling in the world—next to an orgasm, of course—because it was the closest thing to flying that you could get while still staying on the ground. Time moved differently, like breaking speed limits actually broke the veil of physics and hurtled him from the laws of this world into the next.
It was a spiritual experience.
So when the police siren had started up behind him, Luca barely noticed or cared, other than realizing he’d never be able to take Jasmine directly to the embassy while the police were on his tail. He’d taken the corner onto Boulevard Périphérique so tightly an amateur would have spun out, and Jasmine had screamed behind him, burying her hands in his pockets as she mashed herself against him.
He continued speeding along Périph, headed toward the A6 that would take him south of Paris. It wasn’t until he was on the A6, the police lost somewhere in traffic, that Luca had had time to think about who might have exposed him—once more—to the press. Had Hugo said something to someone?
No, his friend wouldn’t do that.
Who else could have known? Had Anika had him followed? What about Marcel? Maybe Marcel had overheard his conversation with François and alerted the press. Or had Jasmine told someone when she used his computer last night?
He pulled the clutch and changed gears, rage feeding his need to push the bike to its limits. There was only one problem; something in his boot, a rock or something, was driving him crazy. He’d noticed it as soon as he’d put his boots on but hadn’t had time to stop and shake it out. He wouldn’t be stopping, either, not until he got to Nemours, where he planned to drop Jasmine off at a train station before he traveled another hour south to his final destination in the Loire Valley.
By the time he turned off the highway onto D403 into Nemours, the rock in his boot was a constant annoyance, also reminding him that Jasmine was still shoeless. After an hour on the bike, her feet would be getting sore from the metal pegs. He needed to find a shoe store.
Once turning onto the Rue d’Paris, he saw a little shop on the corner and pulled the bike over. He flipped up his shaded visor and turned in the seat. “You see that store, Chaussures Sigal? It will have shoes.” Opening up the flap on his bag, he found his wallet and peeled three one-hundred-euro notes from a stack just as Jasmine dismounted and pulled off her helmet.
Her eyes were saucer shaped as she took in the bills. He thought she was going to comment, but she didn’t. She snatched the money out of his hand and padded barefoot into the store. That gave Luca time to take off his boot and shake the rock out of it.
Except it wasn’t a rock.
No, that wasn’t true. It was a rock, a big fucking rock. Luca picked the ring up off the road and inspected it. The band was small and platinum, made for a delicate finger. The diamond was...huge. Three, maybe four carats. This was an expensive engagement ring.
“Jesus,” he muttered to himself. Was it Jasmine’s ring? Was that why she’d been chasing him yesterday on the street? Had the ring somehow gotten lodged in his boot during the chaos of the robbery?
What was he supposed to do with it now?
Tell her? But then she would know that he’d been in the store, seen what happened and lied to her. No. He couldn’t tell her, but he did have to give it back to her.
Somehow.
If it was hers.
But if it was hers, what did that mean? Was she engaged? Where was her fiancé? What the hell was she doing with him?
Luca tucked the ring into his wallet—maybe he’d slip it into her pocket while saying goodbye at the train station. If it wasn’t hers...oh, well. Twenty minutes later, Jasmine emerged from the store wearing a pair of sandals and holding another bag in her hand.
She held the bag aloft and said, “I borrowed some money to buy some clothes, too—I got great prices on two pairs of shoes, a blouse, a skirt and a dress.” She smiled wide, showing her teeth. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course.” He swung his head to indicate the seat behind him. “Get on.”
“I’m a very good shopper,” she continued, as if he’d commented about it. Which he hadn’t.
“Great. Now, get on.”
“Yeah. I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not getting on until you tell me where we’re going, why you’re driving like a maniac...” She eyed the bag he had slung across his chest. “And why you have an enormous wad of cash in your wallet.”
Dammit. He had no intention of answering any of those questions. Well, he could answer the first one. “We aren’t going anywhere. I am dropping you off at the train station and you are returning to Paris.”
She set the bag down, crossed her arms over her chest and said, “No.”
“No?”
“I’m not going back to Paris.”
“Yes, you are.”
She shook her head. “Nope. And I’m not getting on the bike, so...”
“Fine.” Luca pulled his wallet out of the bag again and peeled off a few more notes. He held them out to her. “You’ve got shoes now. You can walk to the train station.” When she didn’t take the money he leaned over, picked up the shopping bag and dropped the notes inside.
She glanced down at the money and then said, “You know what I think?”
“Non. I don’t.”
“I think you’re on the run from the police.” Her eyes lit up. “And I think you’re worried that I’ll turn you in.”
If she thought he was some criminal on the lam, why the hell were her eyes so bright and her cheeks so pink? It was like the notion turned her on.
And—bam—like that, he was turned on.
Fuck. He had to get rid of her. Quick. She was a liability. “An interesting hypothesis.” He pointed to the end of the street. “Take this street across the river and then turn right. The train station is maybe five hundred meters north.”
Jasmine’s lips twitched. “So, you’re saying I need to walk right past that official-looking building on the other side of the street?” She pointed. “Because that’s the police station.” She smiled. Wide. “I asked the girl in the store. She pointed it out to me.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Luca started the engine and lowered his visor, ready to call her bluff. “Au revoir, Jasmine. Bonne chance.” He was just about to drive away when he remembered something.
He still had her ring.