feel naked in the middle of the green grass near the Eiffel Tower.
“I asked if you were alone and would want to get a drink after.”
My heart thrashed like I’d just met the perfect man. Not that one existed, but I wanted to believe anyhow. I sucked on my bottom lip. No one could handle the adrenaline pumping all the time from his nearness, but maybe he’d be the guy to help me forget my ex.
Or maybe that was another fantasy brought on by too many movies about Europe and how I’d planned my honeymoon based on romantic comedies. I let my lip go and said, “Depends on how you kiss, I guess.”
“Une belle femme ne devrait pas avoir à demander un baiser.”
My body trembled, and my lips tingled. I’d asked a stranger to kiss me. Feeling half insane, I met his gaze. As I stared into his eyes, a flush spread through my body, landing on my cheeks. I shouldn’t have asked. If I kissed a total stranger, did it prove I was completely over my ex? And Mr. Wanker made me all achy just from those dark eyes of his, but I turned away. Losing my nerve, I said, “Never mind.”
His arms wrapped around my waist, and I shivered. Goose bumps popped out on my skin as I melted from the nearness of a man who smelled of adrenaline and a cologne I couldn’t quite place but had a woodsy, almond scent.
My nipples pressed against him as my eyelids fluttered closed.
I’d never see him again, but it didn’t matter.
And as his lips brushed against mine, I tugged him closer.
He deepened the kiss of all kisses, and my body weakened in his muscular arms.
Time stood still, electricity crackling between us, for the forever perfect kiss that would fill my wicked dreams for a lifetime. As it ended, he gave me a wink and inched closer.
I held onto his muscular shoulders for support as he stepped onto the elevator and disappeared. Touching my lips, I felt them quiver from the aftershocks.
I’d probably never see Mr. Wanker again. The drink request must be over, but it didn’t matter. At least I knew what a toe-curling kiss actually felt like.
I vowed never to marry without having this feeling.
I regained my strength and glanced at the reason I made the trek up here.
It wasn’t to kiss Mr. Wanker. The view at sunset was supposed to be magnificent. As I glanced around, I noticed most people wore jackets because of the temperature change, though I couldn’t feel it.
Maybe some cooler temperatures might help my overstimulated nerve endings to relax. I needed a minute.
No one was around me when I made it to the first level of the elevators and took a seat on a bench to enjoy the view. I’d head up in a minute. Mr. Wanker played in my mind. The tower still seemed so high now that I caught my breath. I let out a giggle.
I’d kissed a total stranger. Here I was on the second floor of one of those places people call romantic and finally tasted a real man. Clearly, every ex was a frog, and I’d gone through too many of those. I glanced at the elevator to continue my journey now.
My skin buzzed. Hopefully, my brain wasn’t fried, and I’d get back on track. My feet shuffled, and I headed toward the second bank and handed over my ticket.
As I soared higher in the sky, it was like I was shooting straight into the heavens in a glass bubble.
Part of me whispered, be terrified but the threat fell flat. I couldn’t be. Until the doors opened and instantly my body zipped again as I made my way and caught sight of Mr. Wanker.
He handed me a glass of champagne and said, “Je pensais que mon ange ne venait pas. Je suis content d'avoir eu tort.”
“I don’t speak French.” I glanced at his hand and saw no ring on it, not that it was a surefire way of assuring myself he was actually single.
I sipped and quickly swept his marital status to the side. I wasn’t looking for more. In the morning, I’d leave for Italy. Paris had been a one-day stopover, nothing more.
“I’ve not spoken English in Paris before,” he said while he stood close enough to touch. The “en” sounded more like “in” which made me pause, but I let it go.
My heart pounded as I raised my eyebrow. “You do sound sweet talking with that French