want him to stop touching me. There was magic in his touch, I was dizzy and drunk on Maddox.
His fingers worked the thin straps, and he tied a single knot, before his hands landed on my hips again. “Black is your color, but white makes you look like an angel who has descended on earth. Although, instead of bringing peace, you’re wreaking havoc on my heart.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
My heart was falling… breaking… a loud shatter that echoed in my ears. I wasn’t going to survive the next five days with Maddox.
His grip tightened on my hips. “Leave your hair down.”
I licked my lips and eyed him through the mirror. “You’re really demanding today.” Like always.
Maddox half-shrugged before he flashed me a dimpled smirk. “You like it.”
“Say please.”
“What?”
“First step of wooing me: stop being such an arrogant asshole. Say please.”
His thumb brushed against my hips, moving back and forth. It was a teasing touch through the thin fabric of my dress.
“Please.” My womb tingled at the low rasp, his voice thicker than usual.
Holy. Shit!
Maddox Coulter just said please.
“Shall we, little dragon?”
I nodded, simply speechless. He really was serious about wooing me. Maddox didn’t have a single romantic bone in him, but he was trying.
I wasn’t strong enough to escape his attempts.
I just knew…
By the end of our Paris affair, I was going to lose my heart to Maddox – the heartbreaker.
Hours later, my feet were sore from walking around the streets of Paris, and my stomach rumbled with hunger. I was just thankful Maddox had suggested I put on my flats, instead of heels, when we left the hotel this morning.
Now, the day was slowly coming to an end.
And what a beautiful day it had been.
A date, a… real… date with Maddox Coulter.
We spent the morning at the Modern Art Museum. True, it was boring for Maddox, but he did it for me. He knew how much I loved museums and viewing collections of art over hundreds of years. Paris was rich with culture, and I’d never grow tired of exploring the heart of France.
For lunch, we settled for a small picnic at Champs De Mars, a 60-acre garden that used to grow vegetables and grapevines in the sixteenth century until it was repurposed for military training by Napoleon’s nearby academy. Today, we could just enjoy the view of the garden while having lunch.
We later explored the Trocadero gardens and had our dessert there, from ice cream vendors. Maddox had his favorite mango flavor, and I chose chocolate mint.
Everything had been so… perfect. As childish as it sounded, I didn’t want the day to ever end.
It would have been the same scene if we had explored Paris as friends. A normal outing between two best friends. We would have gone to the same places, ate the same food…
But this was… different.
Maddox held my hand. In fact, he barely let me go. He secretly whispered dirty words in my ear, while we explored the museum. We shared kisses while we ate our ice cream, our lips quivering and numb.
He was completely in tune with me, always reaching out for me, watching me closely, touching me.
His romantic side was finally showing, and I got to be the first woman to see it.
It was special, I told myself.
But it was also a short affair, I reminded myself.
“So, where to now?”
Maddox grabbed my hand, tugging me to him. He folded his arm around my shoulder, anchoring me to his side. He lowered his head, so he could whisper in my ear, “Your last surprise.”
“It’s really not fair. It’s your birthday, and you won’t let me do something for you,” I mumbled, even though my heart was doing somersaults in my chest.
Maddox placed a quick kiss on the corner of my lips. “You already are.”
“Hmm.”
“You’re spending the day with me. That’s enough.”
“A date,” I said cheekily.
“A date,” he affirmed, with a warm, dimpled smile. It transformed his face. Maddox looked happy, and he suddenly appeared younger than before, more his age. All casual, carefree and young.
He was always busy with school and football, always worrying, always tense. It was a burden he carried as he tried to make his father happy, even though if you asked him – he’d lie and say he didn’t give a single fuck what his father thought of him.
He was a good liar, like that, hiding his pain behind the mask he wore, showing the world he was the Maddox Coulter: cocky, arrogant, rich–Berkshire’s star quarterback and now Harvard’s.