“Hey! Watch it,” a soft voice squeaked as he continued on. “Jerk!”
The sound of the voice was so beautiful, it seemed to melt away everything around him. Paris stopped and turned to face whoever had shouted to him.
Everything stilled.
There was no more music.
There was no more crowd.
There was only her.
Mate, his dragon roared.
Paris barely heard the beast over the blood rushing in his head and down south.
All he could do was focus on the beauty in front of him. She was nearly a foot shorter than him, with her long blonde hair curled around her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes were clear and captivating. The low cut of her top and painted on black jeans stole his breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I bump into you?”
She nodded, gesturing to her spilled drink.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
Why are you apologizing? Tell her she is our mate. Kiss her, touch her, do something. We want her. We need her.
“It’s just as well,” she sighed, looking down at her empty glass. “I don’t even like drinking. Or dancing where other people can see me. I always feel like a fool since I have like, no rhythm and no moves. I don’t know why I’m even here, or why I’m telling you all of this.” She shook her head and made to turn away from him.
Without thinking, Paris grabbed hold of her hand and turned her so that she was facing him.
“Let me make it up to you,” he said.
His fingers were burning and tingling against the smooth skin of her hand. He was overjoyed that she didn’t push away from him. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. He watched her tongue, tracking the moisture it left behind. It took all of his self-control not to reach out and trace her lower lip with his own tongue. Her blue eyes are bright and clear. God, he wanted to reach out and touch her blonde hair. The strands looked like softness personified.
“What’s your name?” he asked. He knew it was a dirty trick to put his lips right next to her ear. Paris saw goosebumps all across her arms. He could hear the sound of her heartbeat, and he inhaled her scent deeply.
Her breath caught, and she reached up to speak in his ear. “I’m Corinne. You?”
“Thomas,” he answered with a lie without missing a beat.
No! Why are you lying to our mate?
Paris ignored his dragon. He didn’t want the woman to know he was a Warwick. He knew what would happen the second she figured out who he was. She would fawn and gawk. She wouldn’t be herself, but would turn into whatever she thought he wanted.
That had happened too many times before, and that’s not what he wanted. Not with her.
“Want a cup of coffee?” he asked, his eyes not leaving hers.
She looked around nervously before nodding slowly. She took out her phone and sent a quick note, but he didn’t bother asking. He knew she was letting her friends know she was leaving. Never mind that he read the message. It was a possessive feeling that made him do it, and he was overly pleased that she hadn’t been texting a man.
Paris took her hand in his and led her out of the club and onto the sidewalk. The night was crisp, and the sky was clear. The moon was out, but it was impossible to see the stars through the glow of the city of lights. They walked along the streets of Paris, the city alive and full of people despite the late hour.
“Oh, it’s so loud in there. I swear I’m going to have permanent ear damage from that.” She smiled at him. “You didn’t look comfortable in there either.”
He shrugged, still holding her hand. “I don’t like loud music.”
“Then why were you in there?”
“My friend dragged me in.”
She laughed softly. “Same. Some friends we have, right? Though, Solange is more of a coworker than a friend.”
“You’re American, right?”
Her face fell, and her fragrant scent of flowers turned sharp with fear. “How did you know?”
“Your accent,” he answered, giving her hand a tight squeeze. “Come on. I know a cafe not too far from here.”
Paris knew this was a mistake.
He didn’t want a mate.
He didn’t need one.
It would only complicate his life. He didn’t want his attention to be all wrapped up in the beautiful creature in front of him. He had his art career, and that’s all that mattered.
He knew that he couldn’t focus on Draco, and all of the paintings he had to finish, if he was all mixed up with his mate. Shit, he knew what that looked like. His brothers, London and York, had completely changed the way they lived their lives since meeting their mates recently.
He didn’t want that.
Not even a little bit.
He would hang out with her for one night, for one night only, get his fill of her, then he would forget her forever.
It would be that easy.
You’re the biggest idiot in the world, his dragon roared. I’ll make sure you regret this.
Chapter Two
Corinne
As they walked the streets of Paris, Corinne had to remind herself to keep breathing. The moment was just too surreal to seem like reality. Yet there she was, holding hands with a total hunk as he led her to a cafe so they could chat. He said it was to make up for spilling her drink in the bar, but she had a feeling it was a bit more than that. A strange, heavy, but wonderful feeling sat in the pit of her stomach.
She hadn’t felt this light, this happy, this content, in a very long time.
Corinne looked down at her hand, where her fingers were locked with Thomas’s. It was nice to have some human contact. She hadn’t had that in so long, it made her heart ache. Corinne wasn’t the kind of woman to just go off with a man she had just met.
Really.
She had a lot of shit to deal with.
But the way Thomas looked at her, like he wanted to eat her and take care of her all at once, was a heady mix. Corinne decided that for one night, for only one night, she wouldn’t be the girl on the run.
She was going to be Corinne DuBois, American expatriate, artist, and waitress.
Who she really was didn’t matter.
Oh, it sure would matter in the morning.
She knew she would berate herself for deviating even slightly from the plan that would save her life, which would keep her safe.
But what was one night?
She needed a break from the fear and paranoia which had controlled her life since she had run away from the United States, and Gustave Comtois’ clutches. Hell, she wouldn’t even let herself think about what she had done, and who she had been.
Tonight, she was Corinne, the carefree girl in Paris.
Really, Thomas only wanted to go for a cup of coffee. Surely, she could do that with no consequences.
There was nothing wrong with walking down the streets of Paris, holding the hand of a handsome man who wanted to buy her a cup of coffee. It didn’t have to mean anything more than a break in the doom and gloom that had gripped her life since she had run away.
Maybe being a twenty-eight-year-old runaway didn’t have to be pathetic. Not tonight, anyway.
Thomas led her to a small café a few blocks away. They didn’t talk, just watched the city’s nightlife unfold in front of them. Corinne didn’t know why he needed the quiet, but she knew she needed to slow her heartbeat and regain her full hearing. Seriously, why did clubs insist on keeping their music so loud? Was there a law that said they had to break your eardrums or something?