A Perfect Paris Christmas - Mandy Baggot Page 0,90

alcohol you are too young to be drinking?’

‘I do not like alcohol. It tastes like piss,’ Jeanne answered, making a gagging noise.

‘Pizza?’ Ethan suggested.

‘You have pizza at the hotel.’ She sniffed. ‘But… it comes with enough rocket on it to feed a family of rabbits.’

‘We are not going to the hotel.’

‘We are not?’

He saw her small face crumble then, the façade of bullishness dropping away and the reflection of the real vulnerable child appearing for only a moment before her petite features were once more poker-straight. Did she really think he was already turning her back out into the street?

‘You really cannot live in my hotel,’ Ethan told her. ‘But you can have my spare room. Just… until we think of something else.’

With that said, Jeanne snatched the note from between his fingers and was off, sprinting fast, with Bo-Bo in hot pursuit.

Ethan turned around quickly. He was suddenly scared that Keeley would no longer be there and that all they had shared in that brief moment where life had felt so incredibly heightened would be unable to be recreated. But… there she was, still standing in exactly the same spot. Her hair was gently tickling around her jawline as flakes of snow danced down from the sky. He didn’t want to wait a second longer. He couldn’t wait a second longer. But was this right? Was it OK to feel this way about someone he had only really just met? By pure coincidence. Or was the time for all thinking overrated? What? Or What if? Maybe everything was meant to be not regretting things you should have taken a chance on…

He strode forward then, wanting to close the distance between them as rapidly as he could. He only stopped when he was right in front of her, so close he could feel her delicate breath on his face. She was so beautiful. She was so intelligent. So real. He wanted to palm her cheek, feel the weight of her face in his hand…

‘I am feeling braver now,’ Keeley whispered.

Ethan watched her pupils dilate as the connection of their gaze deepened further still and slowly, but deliberately, he made his move. ‘Moi aussi.’

He touched her hair with his fingers and gently edged her face towards his. It was, he hoped, subtle, yet left no room for misunderstanding. He wanted this connection, this moment with her, possibly more than he had wanted any other connection he had had in his life before. And then, finally, Keeley’s lips met his, her intentions completely transparent and he found himself unable to hold back any longer as the depth of his passion took over. This was a kiss he had never known existed. This was every romantic movie scene he had ever watched… and all the ones he had yet to see. He wanted to live this kiss forever.

It was Keeley who broke the connection first, their mouths finally parting. But she kept her body unmoved, it was there so comfortably rested next to his.

‘I’ve… never done that before,’ Keeley breathed.

Her eyes were crisp and alive, her lips a little fuller from their kiss perhaps… and he knew exactly how she felt because it was mirrored in him. He went to make a reply but she continued. ‘I mean… I have obviously done something like that before but—’

‘It was not the same,’ Ethan interrupted. ‘This… was…’ He was caught between saying ‘different’ or ‘special’.

‘It felt comfortable,’ Keeley told him.

The biggest smile erupted on his lips as his heart took flight. Anyone listening in to their conversation, a voyeur to their kiss, might have been mistaken in thinking the moment had just been described as the least exciting, under-valued and boring meeting of mouths that had ever existed. But Ethan knew what ‘comfortable’ meant to her and his insides were dancing.

‘Keeley,’ he addressed her. ‘Would you like to go to the circus?’

Forty

L’Hotel Paris Parfait, Tour Eiffel, Paris

‘They’ve moved me to the death room.’

Keeley swallowed back the tears as she looked into Erica’s eyes on the screen of the FaceTime call. Her friend wasn’t looking well at all. Her breathing was slow and laboured and each edged-out word was wrapped in a throaty rasp that told a story all on its own.

Keeley was sitting on one of the little iron chairs on the suite’s balcony, wrapped up in her coat, looking out at the Eiffel Tower and feeling a whole mix of emotions. When she’d arrived back at the suite, Rach had been still fully dressed,