Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

The two smirked at each other, their long-term friendship obvious, and I felt left out for half a heartbeat before they turned back to me. They were funny and inclusive and I relaxed, even as I noticed—or maybe imagined—people glancing my way several more times.

“So you guys do this a lot?” I asked. “The fancy dress thing?”

“Kinda weird, right?” Rachael popped a tartin smeared with brie and jam into her mouth.

Bri scoffed. “Rachael.”

Rachael chewed and made questioningly large eyes.

Bri turned to me. “This is my Rachael impression. ‘Oh! I have to go to a party and wear beautiful clothes! How peculiar! Excuse me while I look through my closet of sundresses and try to decide what to wear!’”

Rachael finished chewing. “Shut up.”

Bri waved her hands above her chest. “I have fallen down the rabbit’s hole!”

I let out a snort of laughter.

Rach smeared more brie across another slice of bread. “You stink.”

Bri narrowed her eyes. “No. No bad puns. That’s why you’re dating Ryan, so I don’t have to put up with them.”

“I don’t know why you think they’re bad. They’re clearly brilliant.” Rachael appealed to me. “Don’t you think they’re brilliant?”

I held up my own hands, unable to stop grinning. “I just make bad analogies.”

Rachael grinned. “I can work with that.” Then her face closed down a little, to a simple polite smile, and I looked over my shoulder.

A woman with a press badge smiled winningly, a man with a camera beside her. “Pardon... Vous n’êtes pas lié à Tamara Bocharov, êtes-vous?”

I had forgotten how much the eyes were done up.

I had forgotten my mother had thrived in this city.

Because she had thrived here. And I should be proud of that. I smiled up at the woman. “C’est ma mere.”

“You’re an American.” The woman passed a surprised glance to her friend. “I forgot Tamara married an American.”

He smiled winningly at us. “How about a photo?”

He arranged us in a trio, and I watched with interest as Rachael and Briana angled themselves like this was second nature. The photographer snapped away, thanked us, then they were on their way.

I watched them go. “That was weird.”

Bri shook her head. “It wasn’t weird. She writes for a women’s magazine, and you’re a supermodel’s daughter. It’s weird that no one shares gossip with me.”

I liked them. I liked it even better when Mike came back, and the six of us sat in our own circle. I was super awkwa

rd at first, because each time my gaze caught on the elegant planes of Malcolm Lindsey’s face or the shocking beauty of Ryan Carter, I felt like I had, as Briana’d said, fallen down the rabbit hole. If Ireland was emerald as Oz, this was strange as Wonderland, but wherever I was, I didn’t want to leave.

We returned to the hotel after three in the morning. They’d turned the Eiffel Tower off, which I didn’t know was possible, but it was black metal as our taxi wound back through the streets. We slipped into our room and then he was tugging my dress up over my arms, and I was pulling his shirt out of his pants and pushing at the buttons with more enthusiasm then helpfulness. These nice shirts of his were the bane of my existence.

His mouth descended on mine, his eyes dark and wanting, and I shuddered against him, gasping into his mouth and allowing his kiss even deeper. “Did I tell you,” he asked, as I pushed the shirt down his arms and started to blaze kisses across his sternum, “how beautiful you are today?”

I laughed up at him as my hands traced the defined planes and ridges of his stomach. “Because of my eyes?”

His hands gripped my shoulders, his thumbs playing against the tops of my breasts. His hands slid to my bra and undid it, and then he pulled me up and flush against him. “Because you are beautiful.” I reacted with a small moan. “You are strong, and smart, and stunning. You are absolutely everything—” He broke off and kissed me, a burning, intoxicating kiss. Fire spread through every part of me, and then I was boneless, thoughtless, running my hands over every part of him I could touch.

“Oh, God, Natalie,” he groaned, and he ripped my hand away and his dress pants off, and backed me against the wall. I needed him now. I needed to love him the way we were supposed to. His hands cupped my bottom and lifted my hips as I wrapped my legs around him. I could feel him trembling, his entire body shaking with the same need I felt. I flattened my breasts against him and pressed my lips to his. I poured myself into the kiss, all the emotions I didn’t know how to say, all the desire and joy and beauty he made me feel, and he lost control. I let out a shout and we rocked together, losing ourselves in fire and heat and each other.