Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
My first three days in the city passed in a blur of endless sightseeing. I walked for miles, using my cell as a map to check off a few landmarks I wanted to be sure to see—the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre-Dame. I strolled through the Tuileries, sipped coffee in cafés, and peeked into the windows of Chanel, Hermès, Dior, and Gaultier. And yes, I took copious photos and videos to document my touristy moments.
It was a blast, and trust me, I hadn’t even scratched the surface. I had big plans to go back and spend some quality time at every point of interest—including the museums. The line at the Louvre was ridiculously long, and I didn’t have the patience for that. Besides, I sort of hoped to coax the professor to come with me…if only to drag him from his room.
So far, I’d been unsuccessful. Or as sporty folks say—I struck out.
Day one: I’d knocked on Alistair’s door and invited him to breakfast. He’d politely declined my offer and reiterated that I should have fun. On my own. I’d reminded the professor that I was there to help him, but he’d waved me off. He had work to do…alone. I’d tried again at dinnertime, but he hadn’t answered at all, nor had he responded to my text message.
Day two: repeat.
Day three: Repeat with a twist. Alistair had looked like he’d slept in his clothes when he’d inched the door open at nine a.m. His hair had stood on end, his glasses had been smudged with fingerprints, and his clothes wrinkled. He’d insisted that he’d just woken up, but truthfully, the professor looked like he’d pulled an all-nighter. I’d voiced concern, but he’d assured me he was fine. Just busy.
Was I worried? Yes. I figured I’d give him one more day to acclimate before I butted in with gusto. As you might recall, I was primarily on matching socks and punctuality duty. I also assumed he’d want me to run errands or…something. However, his eating and working habits were none of my business.
Day four: I met Gerard.
Let me backtrack a moment.
The morning began the same as every other day in Paris.
I knocked on our adjoining door, no response.
“Yoo-hoo! Are you there, Professor?”
Nothing.
I texted him, no answer. I caught my reflection in the mirror in between knocks and texts and blanched at my pasty complexion thanks to an olive toned sweater that tipped more toward evergreen. I’d changed my outfit because….yikes, grabbed my Oui, Paris tote and moved into the hallway.
That was when I noticed the “Ne pas déranger” sign. I hit Google for the translation: Do not disturb.
I couldn’t remember if it had been there yesterday.
And why did that bother me? I didn’t know what to do. I chewed on my nail, worrying way too hard about a geeky bear of a man I hardly knew.
I considered texting Raine for guidance, but I didn’t want to intrude on his romantic getaway with his husband. And I didn’t want to be an alarmist. On the other hand, leaving the professor to work all day again didn’t feel right either.
My mental pickle made it difficult to enjoy my daily croissant and coffee.
“Monsieur, your bag has fallen.”
The deep voice and sexy accent pulled me from my reverie like a shot out of a cannon. I glanced at the man bending to retrieve my tote and did a double take. How did one say “sexy silver fox” in French?
I thanked him as I stood. “Oh, that’s nice of you, but I’m on my way out. Did you want this table? It’s one of the only window seats left.”
“Merci, but no. I’ve had my breakfast.” He pointed to a nearby table. “I was sitting there and couldn’t help noticing that you seemed…preoccupied?”
That last word sounded like a question, and yes, it also sounded a tad flirtatious.
I fussed with my sweater, tugging the longish sleeves till they fell over my hands with a macabre cool effect while surreptitiously studying the stranger. He was a couple of inches taller than me with salt-and-pepper hair, crystal-blue eyes, and a ready smile on his full lips. His designer jeans and checkered sport coat combo was understated chic. Add his gorgeous accent, and he was anyone’s idea of a perfect ten.
“Oh, I was just…worried about my travel companion.” I held up my key card as we walked out of the hotel restaurant.
“Bon chance.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, hoping I didn’t flutter my lashes too. The French language was too damn pretty for me.
“Good luck.”
“Oh, right. Mare-see.”
He chuckled lightly. “You’re welcome. Are you enjoying Paris?”
“Yes, I am! I’ve seen so much, but I’m here to work and I’m starting to feel guilty. Do you live here?”
“At zee hotel?” he joked.
I rolled my eyes, charmed by his boyish humor. Quite honestly, I was starved for human contact. Other than a few pleasantries with random fellow tourists and waitstaff, I’d been on my own for days. It was no wonder I turned into a simpering coquette the first time a handsome man glanced my way.