A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,37

he saying? Had he lost all his brain cells the moment inspiration had whispered ‘penguin’.

‘Yes, but…’ the woman began, obviously about to tell him there were countless guidebooks available to purchase, plus the internet.

‘Places that are… not on the tourist trail.’ He smiled. ‘Hidden Paris.’

‘I don’t know…’

‘Where do you stay?’

‘I’m at the Perfect Paris hotel.’ She smiled a little then. ‘I know. Straightaway a tourist cliché.’

She was staying at one of his hotels… and she hated the name of his brand. Disappointment wrapped around him like gift paper and the tightest of bows. He quickly regrouped. ‘Allow me to leave a map in reception for you. Places to see. Restaurants to try. The sights you should not miss. A thank you for helping me with Pepe.’

She smiled and Ethan felt its warmth sink through his skin and into his bones. This wasn’t normal. This was completely unsettling.

‘OK,’ she replied.

‘OK,’ he parroted. Stupide. He cleared his throat. ‘So, your name? To leave the map for your attention?’ He was eagerly waiting to find out exactly what this enchanting woman was called.

‘Oh… um… Keeley,’ she answered. ‘My name’s Keeley.’

‘Ethan,’ he replied, holding out his hand. ‘Enchanté.’

She placed her fingers in his and gave his hand a firm shake. It wasn’t the skin-on-skin contact that rocked him, it was again the meeting of their gaze. He found his heart caught somewhere between stopping and pounding out the national anthem.

‘It’s nice to meet you,’ she responded. Then she dipped her head to the animal carrier. ‘And you, Pepe.’

He wanted to offer to walk with her. To say he was going to the hotel himself. But something was holding him back. Perhaps his subconscious reminding him that caring about anyone wasn’t on his agenda…

‘I’d better get back,’ the woman told him. ‘Bye.’

Ethan watched her turn away, walking with still a little fragility back towards the hotel.

‘Au revoir,’ he whispered. But the sentence was lost in the air.

Sixteen

L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Tour Eiffel, Paris

Keeley’s ribs were on fire, but she wasn’t going to give in to the pain on the street in front of the whole world, a penguin and a gorgeous guy who already wanted to put her in front of a doctor. Still, the throbbing sensation in her torso, was taking her mind away from the irritation that she obviously wasn’t going to meet with Silvie today.

This day! She just needed to sit down for a bit, in the warmth of the restaurant and see if she could make herself feel better with scones and tea. She took a deep breath and willed her legs into further action.

‘Oh! Keeley! Come and sit down! Come and meet Louis!’

It was Rach up and out of her seat, waving like she was the lone party sending off a packed-out cruise ship. And who was Louis?

Steeling herself for more movement, Keeley offered a weak smile and made her way across the restaurant and back to the table. When she got there a tall, fair-haired man got to his feet and extended his hand. He looked immediately familiar.

‘Louis,’ he said. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you… again.’

His accent was a cross between French and American and it was then Keeley fully recognised him. ‘You’re the man who helped with the revolving door earlier.’

‘Yes!’ Rach said, all wide eyes and excited. ‘Our real-life French hero.’

‘Believe it or not,’ Louis said, ‘you are not the first people to become trapped in that door. And I suspect, sadly, you will not be the last.’

Keeley tentatively sat down and preceded to try and find the position that eased rather than made things worse. ‘You have been here before?’

‘Yes,’ Louis answered. ‘My sister is… that is, she was, working here.’ He picked up his cup of tea. ‘I am visiting family.’

‘From America,’ Rach added, sending Keeley some sort of conspiratorial wink like ‘America’ had a whole double-meaning that could involve squirty cream.

‘Are you OK?’ Louis asked. He was looking at her rather intently and Keeley wondered whether she might have ripped her new coat or that she might have something hanging from her like the orange peel Ethan had had in his hair from the Pepe pursuit…

‘Yes, I—’

‘Shit! Keels!’ Rach exclaimed, leaping from her seat. ‘Your nose is bleeding!’

Keeley put a finger to her nose then drew it away, a thin bright red trickle on the pad. ‘Oh… I…’

Rach practically vaulted a chair to get to her, swiping up serviettes from the afternoon tea and pressing them to Keeley’s nose like she was trying to