Her companion was a real gentleman, and he insisted on paying for her cup of coffee. It was a small gesture, but it went to her heart. No one had done that for her in a very long time.
“Here you go.” Thomas handed her a cup of cafe au lait, and they sat down at one of the small tables which were in front of the cafe. The entire plaza was lit up with small, twinkling lights.
It reminded Corinne of fairy lights, and for one second, she did let herself believe that she was in a fairy tale. That Thomas was a valiant knight, who had come to rescue her from all of her troubles.
That was laughable.
Corinne knew that life wasn’t that way. She had to save herself. She could only rely on her own brain and preservation skills to survive. It didn’t matter how hot Thomas was.
But, oh boy, was the man hot. She didn’t know how he got his soft tanned skin, when Paris had seen a bit of a wet summer so far. She could have gotten lost in his dark green eyes, enough to do something silly, like reach out to comb her fingers through his thick, dark brown hair. There was no way a man should fill out a pair of jeans so well, but Thomas could. He had long, sturdy legs and a wonderful butt. She didn’t know what he did for a living, but his shoulders were broad, and she could tell he had rippling muscles under his shirt. The signs were all there, in his corded forearms and bulging biceps.
“Thanks,” Corinne reminded herself to be polite and to stop gawking at the hot stranger in front of her.
“So, Corinne DuBois, what are you doing in France?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I’m taking art classes.” She shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.
“Oh?” Thomas’s green eyes sparkled with interest. “What kind of art?”
“I’m a painter, I guess. I tried to be a sculptress, you know, because of Ghost and how hot that scene was with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze. But I have no patience for it. I like to see colors blending on a canvas.”
Thomas gave her a warm smile, and his hand reached out to squeeze hers again. “I can understand that.”
Could he? Not many people did unless they were artists themselves.
“Are you a painter, too?” she asked, knowing the odds were slim.
He shrugged. “I’ve dabbled.” He leaned in. “Painting is also my favorite medium. I sculpt, but the mess drives me crazy.”
She giggled. A full-on giggle. Who was she, and what had happened to her fear and paranoia? Was it possible that Thomas’s sexy smile could drive away all of her demons?
“Who is your favorite painter ever?” he asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Oh, that’s easy. Johannes Galileo. Though, there is this new up and comer, Draco. He is amazing. Actually, his stuff reminds me of Johannes Galileo a bit. I swear, that painter understands my soul. His stuff could make me cry, it’s so transcendent.”
“That’s interesting.” His smile was sly, and a bit shy. It was a powerful mix that made her think dirty, dirty thoughts.
“You know when you see a painting, and you somehow convince yourself that the artist knows you, and how you feel, because you feel so connected to the piece? That’s how I feel when I look at Johannes Galileo’s stuff. Draco’s, too. That’s probably why I think they’re similar.”
Something like understanding and appreciation, and something else she couldn’t name flashed in his gaze.
“You have very expressive eyes,” Corinne heard herself say before she could think better of it.
Thomas leaned in and brushed her hair back off her shoulder. “I do?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know you enough to decipher what you’re feeling, but I can tell a lot is happening in that head of yours. It’s all in your eyes. I think I’ve seen the green of your eyes shift to at least four different shades in the last hour.”
Thomas chuckled. “You do have a painter’s eye for color.” His mouth quirked up in a grin. He inched toward her, and before she knew it, Thomas was kissing her.
It was soft and sweet, and over way too soon.
“Do you want to go to my place?” she sighed as he pulled away.
What the fuck are you doing, girl? You are on the run, and there are some very bad people looking for you. Why are you inviting this stranger to your apartment? The mean little voice in her head was relentless, giving her shit for even suggesting to Thomas that he should come over.
But she found she wanted to be in his space just a little longer. She wanted to see what other shades his eyes could shift into.
“Are you sure?” Thomas asked before kissing her again. This time, his lips moved faster, and she felt the hint of his tongue, asking for permission to enter her mouth. She sighed into the embrace, wanting nothing more.
“We’re about a five-minute walk from my apartment,” she whispered. “It’s small and dingy, and there are paint supplies everywhere, but…at least people won’t stare.”
Thomas eased back and looked around them. They had accumulated an audience. He gave her a bright smile, pulled away from the table, and held out his hand for her to take. They tossed their coffee cups into the trash, and glued to each other’s side, they made their way down the street.
Corinne could feel her heart beat about a million miles a minute as they got closer to her place. Thomas slowed their progress and tucked her close to him. His hand cupped her cheek softly. His eyes were pale green now, but there was fire there. She wanted to swim in the flames that made up the way Thomas looked at her.
He saw her.
He made her feel like she had worth.
She wasn’t ready to let that go.
“Hey, we don’t have to go up. I can say goodnight on your doorstep, and I’ll be happy to have walked you home.”
She nodded, considering his offer.
But it hurt a little bit to know that the night, which had started in a very shitty way, could end on such a high note.
“Do you want to see my latest painting?” she asked.
It was lame. She knew it, he knew it.
She might as well have said, come upstairs and let’s fuck.
She wanted to. So badly, it hurt a little bit. She hadn’t felt such desire for a long time. If ever. She would have liked to blame it on Thomas, and the fact that he was a sexy French man, but he wasn’t even that. He sounded just as American as she did.
Figures she would go hide in Paris and run into the sexiest non-French man ever to have lived.
“Is that what you want, Corinne DuBois? To show me your latest piece?” Thomas’s eyes were dark green and hooded. His look kept bouncing from her lips to her eyes as if he wanted to devour her mouth, but not miss the emotions playing in her gaze.
“Maybe we can kiss some more,” she sighed happily at the thought of his lips on hers.
The smirk he gave her made her heart slide from side to side in an excited shimmy. He took her hand in his, tugging her close until he could cup her face.
“Like this?”
He didn’t give her the chance to answer. His lips closed against hers, and he made love to her mouth. Corinne’s hands went up around his neck, and she dug her nails into the soft skin of his neck, making sure he didn’t break their embrace.
She could have stood there for hours, just kissing Thomas like her life depended on it.
And in that moment? It sort of felt like it did.