Paris with the Billionaire

“Right here. You get them when you smile, too, and they’re gorgeous. But they change quality when you’re concentrating. It’s fascinating. Every piece of you is fascinating, Fiona. Yes—just like that.”

“What?” she murmurs.

“The way you can’t stop your blushes from spreading from your face and down your neck. You’re so honest, so pure, so young and fresh and naïve and mine.”

“I’ve always hated the way I blush,” she sighs. “It was so embarrassing in high school. Even if I was in English class and I knew the answer to something, I’d find myself blushing bright red like a weirdo.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed by anything that makes you, you,” I growl. “Now, be a good girl and eat your snails.”

She giggles. “I would if I could figure out how.”

I take the fork and pry one loose, and then spear it and bring it across the table to her mouth.

“Here you go,” I say.

“Okay,” she says. “But get ready to be really grossed out if I have to spit it out.”

“Nothing you do could ever gross me out,” I smirk. “Go on.”

She opens her mouth slowly, making me certain I can hear the sound of her lips parting, tempting me to do away with the snails and make a completely different use of her lips.

It’s so easy to imagine them parting in this shy way as I’m bringing the engorged helm of my manhood to her lips instead, pushing forward inch by inch until she has no choice but to take everything I’m giving her.

She takes the escargot and leans back, chewing slowly.

I’m captivated by the way her face changes, moving from curiosity to budding disgust, and then she pushes through that and ends up somewhere near shaky acceptance.

“Okay,” she says. “That’s not as terrible as I thought. But I have to be honest. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

I grin, chuckling.

“That’s my thought exactly,” I say. “I suppose certain things just shock certain people.”

“Like us,” she says, looking at me with bravery flickering in her gem like eyes. “People might say, oh, there’s an age gap. Or they might say, she’s just with him for the money. They might say, it’s weird how he got her to Paris. But they don’t know what we’re really like, what we really … uh, value, I guess? I’m sorry. I thought I had a really good point there.”

“You do,” I say, my voice trembling with emotion. “I agree with everything you just said. You and I, firecracker, exist separately from the rest of the world. Nobody but us can understand this primal need we have, this certainty that we belong to each other.”

I reach across the table and touch her face, loving the way she turns her head to rub her cheek against my hand, making a soft sighing contended noise that has every part of me alight with my all-encompassing need for her.

“I’m so glad we’re here, together,” she murmurs. “I don’t care how we got here. Maybe I should, but I don’t. I’m just so glad this is happening. And …”

“Go on,” I murmur huskily.

“And I hope nothing happens to end it.”

“I’d die – I’d kill – before I let that happen. It’s me and you against the rest of the world, my sweet Fiona. Never forget that.”

Chapter Fifteen

Fiona

“I’d like to read some of your writing,” Forrest says, his breath spreading warmly across my cheeks as we sit intertwined on our balcony, the sun beginning to set over the city, turning it blood-red and bruise-purple in turns.

My chest goes light and airy when I think back on the day we’ve had, starting with the escargots on the terrace and then heading to the Louvre to walk amongst all that beautiful art.

Of course, I had to get a famous Louvre photo, too, with my finger perched on the top of the glass pyramid. Forrest and I laughed like teenagers as he tried to adjust the angle of the camera, telling me a little this way, a little that way … until I realized he was playing games with me and I ran over to him, giggling.

The only downside was knowing that security was following us wherever we went, never far away, men in dark suits and sunglasses with earpieces watching our every move.

As we walked through the Louvre, I could see them shadowing us, waiting for Zack or one of his cronies to appear.

But, apart from that, it’s been the most magical day of my life.

When I mentioned to Forrest about going up the Eiffel Tower again, he smirked and got this look in his eyes.

“Patience, firecracker,” he told me. “When we go up there, I want it to be special.”

I’m not sure what he meant by that, but I trust him, as crazy as that may seem to somebody who doesn’t know how quickly we’ve fused together, our fate-fueled closeness crashing into both of us with undeniable intensity.