Breathe Me - C.R. Jane Page 0,63

magic pills and pop one in my mouth followed by a quick gulp of coffee.

"Ready to go?" Quaid asks jovially as he holds out his hand for me.

Despite how crappy I'm starting to feel, I take the moment to relish the fact that it's actually possible for me to hold his hand. The fact that I'm getting this chance with them is unbelievable.

Carter is still looking at me searchingly, and I give him what I hope looks like an authentic smile. I have to believe that he'll come around and I'll get this chance with him as well. Hell, I would happily deal with his sullenness for the next three months if he did it by my side.

We walk out of the café and head to the Louvre. Quaid holds my hand the whole time we walk, while Logan stays close to my other side, bumping me from time to time so I don't forget that he's there. Carter is the silent sentinel behind me, and I can feel his questioning gaze probing into the back of my neck as we walk.

I'm going to need to find a way to distract him.

We walk into the large square, and there the famous glass pyramid waits for us. I pull away from Quaid and squeal, throwing my hands up in the air with excitement, my symptoms fading for a short moment as I realize that I'm about to go to the fucking Louvre.

Even Carter looks excited, despite the fact that he's been here several times based on our conversation last night.

I settle down and grab one of Carter's hands unexpectedly, so he has no choice but to come with me. Since Paris was always our place, it feels fitting that I be attached to him as we enter the museum.

"I have a list of what the New York Times and a few other places say we have to see," I gush, pulling a piece of paper out of my purse shakily with one hand while I continue to keep a tight grip on Carter's hand. I can probably ease up, he hasn't made any attempt to move away and actually looks amused at my antics rather than annoyed…but I don't want to take any chances.

"What's on your list, princess?" Quaid asks, only semi-interested. He's never been one for museums…at least he hadn't been when we were younger. Judging by the way he seems more interested in how my dress fits over my ass than the priceless artwork we've just started walking through, I don't think that's changed at all.

"Well, there's the Mona Lisa of course. Winged Victory of Samothrace, Michelangelo’s Dying Slave, Venus de Milo, Lamassus, Eugène Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People, Great Sphinx of Tanis, Botticelli’s Venus with Three Graces, Law Code of Hammurabi, and Gabrielle d’Estrées and Her Sister, The Duchess of Villars," I recite, reading my notes.

"Hmmm," Carter makes a noncommittal sound like he disagrees with my carefully prepared list.

"Are you mocking my list, Mr. Hayes?" I ask playfully.

Carter almost smiles at me. Almost.

"I wouldn't dare, Ms. Rossi," he purrs at me, and I swear my panties get damp. Carter Hayes was a sexy teenager. Who doesn't love the brooding bad boy?

But he's had ten years to perfect that broodiness and mysteriousness that drove me and all the girls wild, and it's really something to behold.

"Might want to close that mouth, sweetheart, wouldn't want something to fly into it," teases Quaid, gently tickling my chin as I gaze twitterpated at Carter.

"Alright, we will go through my list, and you can tell us about your list as we go through all the rooms," I tell Carter haughtily after I've recovered from the near orgasm I had just from flirting a small amount with him.

We begin to walk through the rooms. Sometimes I listen to the guided tour blaring from my headphones, other times Carter has different things to offer. Occasionally, Quaid will interject a penis joke since they seem to be everywhere, and Logan will comment on the people he's watching instead of the art.

It's pretty much perfect. Far exceeding anything I could have dreamed.

Yeah…because you didn't ever dream about being on death's door, my inner bitch whines.

Shaking my morose thoughts off, I focus back on the tour.

"You have to see this one," Carter suddenly says excitedly, grabbing my hand and pulling me across the hall to where a painting hangs of a young woman, either asleep or dead, lying in a pool of water with a dark figure watching