Blame It on Paris

Or maybe the leap was caused by the way she suddenly looked at him.

Music from the live trio playing inside drifted back to their part of the boat. He heard it, but like the buzz of other passengers’ conversation and bursts of laughter, all sounds seemed to be coming from miles away. Every nerve ending in his body focused on her.

“I can’t believe I’m really here, really seeing this.”

“You mean the real Notre Dame?”

She chuckled. “The one in South Bend is real, too. Which is funny, because we’re here, yet this is the one that seems like a fantasy. It’s all so…magical.”

The old cathedral wasn’t remotely magical, he thought, but she was. And when another spring breeze whisked at her hair and made her shiver again, she didn’t fight his arm scooping around her shoulder, nudging her closer.

He knew at that instant they would sleep together.

“You said you’d been in France around four years now? So all these monuments and museums are old to you. You’ve probably been inside Notre Dame a zillion times.”

“Museums, yeah. But Notre Dame, I’ve never been there.”

“Really? But it’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah, well, might as well get this right on the table. I’m allergic to churches. Especially Catholic churches. My dad had two career goals for me. One was to become a priest, which he must have realized was highly unlikely when he found me sleeping with the babysitter when I was fourteen. I’m pretty sure that incident set off my Recovering Catholic phase. I’m still in it.”

“Hard work, this recovery?” Humor glinted in her eyes.

“You can’t imagine. I’ve had to be really vigilant. Guilt sneaks up on you when you’re not looking. You see a nun, you get this instinct to stand up and recite catechism. You have to fight it all the time.”

“You’re so funny,” she murmured.

“Yeah, so they say.”

She cocked her chin. “I’m a rebel in a different way.”

“Yeah? What way?”

“I stayed with the Catholic fold. Have to admit that. But my senior year, I was suspended from school, almost didn’t graduate. Kind of staged a party at a friend’s house. The party got a little out of hand. Ended up with a car in the swimming pool in the backyard.”

“Uh-oh.”

“A major uh-oh. My friend was the dean’s daughter.”

Will winced on her behalf.

“Yeah,” she said. “So don’t be thinking I’m a saint.”

“Oh, no,” he assured her. “I took one look at you and thought, Now there’s a wild woman. A hard-core rebel.”

“A lot of others don’t seem to recognize it.”

“Imagine that.” A strand of hair drifted across her cheek, mesmerizing him, for no reason that he could imagine. “I attended Notre Dame, actually. The university. Since we’re confessing sins and all.”

“That’s quite a biggie.”

“It was my dad’s choice of school. Naturally. Played tight end.” He added, “That’s an offensive football position.”

“Like there could be anyone raised in South Bend who didn’t know that. Only darn, we can’t talk anymore now that I know you’re a god.”

“Not. Team didn’t do well in those years.”

“Ah. And that was all your fault?”

“Probably. I know it’s sacrilegious to admit it, but I wasn’t that into football. It was just a way to get a scholarship, so I could pay my own way.”

“A scholarship? To Notre Dame? There’s another wow. I’m impressed.”

“Good, good. No one else is, so I’m glad you are.” He still hadn’t brushed away the silky strand of hair on her cheek, but he was thinking about it nonstop. The moonlight. Her cheek. Her eyes. That strand of hair. “It was an athletic scholarship, not an academic one.”

“I get it. You don’t want to take credit for having a brain, just brawn.”

“Actually, the only thing I wanted credit for was paying my own way, however I could do it. Didn’t have to jump for anyone else’s strings that way.”

“Who was trying to pull your strings?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“Always,” she warned him. “It’s what I do for a living.”

“You make money being nosy?”

“Yeah, that’s me. I’ve got a title. Forensic accountant. Sounds like I do taxes for the dead, doesn’t it? But no. My job’s tracking down credit card fraud. To most people, I suspect it’s not too thrilling. Some might even call it tedious. But if you’re really, really

nosy, and like prying into people’s lives and stuff that’s none of your business…well, it’s probably the perfect job.”

“Okay.” He lowered his head.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ve waited as long as I can possibly stand it.”

“Waited for what?”

“To taste you,” he said. And then did.

With his first taste of her, the first kiss…Will heard the music. It was a woman singer with a low, smoky voice belting out a haunting ballad. All the other sensory details around him suddenly came into focus. The endless lights of Paris rippling in the black waters of the Seine, the waves lapping at the boat. He turned to Kelly, as if he were spinning her in a waltz. And kept turning. With his lips glued on hers.

She tasted like the rich, warm wine they’d been drinking.

And like innocence.

Her hands climbed up, up his arms, then up around his neck and hung on, as if she were dizzy from all the spinning. Or from him.