“Hmm. I do believe you are right. Know anyone interested in helping me out?”
I ducked my head, pulling her closer to me, and landed my mouth squarely on hers. I’d been wanting to kiss her all night.
And if there was any sort of kiss to be had on the Eiffel Tower, it was this kiss. I touched my mouth to hers, tentatively. She angled her head to meet me. Then I locked my arms around her thin waist while she rose up to pull me deeper into the kiss. Her mouth opened to me and my tongue slid inside to explore her. She gave out the most delicious little sigh, almost like a whimper and my body came alive. My heart thumped and her hands came up my chest, my neck to settle on either side of my face, to hold me in place as if she was afraid I’d pull away.
I let her have her way with me—with that kiss, at least. She was starved, wanting more and more. Her tongue met mine and she was sighing and breathing hard. And the more excited she got, the more enflamed it made me. And the more I realized that she wasn’t the only starved animal here.
Minutes later, I pulled away slowly when she still wanted more. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, and when she looked at me, it was with so much love and trust in her eyes. I brought my hand up to touch her cheek—it was like touching an angel. Her eyes fluttered closed, her too-long fake eyelashes coming down on her cheeks. I was reminded of that first night we spent together, in Amsterdam, on the balcony of our suite at the hotel.
Something I’d inadvertently done had scared her and she’d been so vulnerable. But never fragile. She was strong. Like a warrior. She’d always been. Until lately. Until…
I sighed.
“You know what it’s time for?” she asked.
“What?”
She pulled out her cell phone. “A top-of-the-Eiffel-Tower selfie!”
She moved up next to me and held the phone out, clicking on the reverse camera, and our faces appeared in the center of the screen.
Her hand wavered and when she pressed the button, our faces were cut off just under our noses in the photo. “Crap… I can’t hold it still long enough. You try.”
And someone approached us. “Bonsoir,” The woman said. She had a glass of champagne in each hand. “Pourrais-je prendre votre photo?”
“Bonsoir,” I answered with one of the half dozen words of French that I knew. Then, before she rattled off anything more, I used my favorite word in French. “Anglais?”
The young woman smiled. “Of course,” she answered in clear, accented English. “May I take your photo for you?”
I handed her the cell phone and she indicated her full hands with the champagne. She handed us each a glass. She held up the phone and took our picture and gave us back the phone.
“I noticed you two from over there.” She pointed at the champagne bar behind which she had been working. “And you looked so happy and in love that everyone around you was watching you and neither of you had any idea.”
Emilia blushed and grinned, looking at me. She reached out and squeezed my hand.
“Take the champagne. Toast each other with my compliments.”
Emilia glanced into the flute and I watched her when she looked up. “Top-of-the-Eiffel-Tower champagne. I think this is definitely worth a sip,” she said.
I held my glass up next to hers. “What shall we toast to?”
“I am so not poetic. I think we should toast to all our tomorrows.”
“To us,” I said, clinking my glass to hers. “No greater love since Han and Leia.”
She laughed and took a sip, watching me as I downed my glass. Then she handed hers to me and said, “Finish it.”
So with a smile, I did. I’d call myself a lightweight, feeling the bubbles starting to go to my head, but I’d had almost five glasses of wine at dinner and this added to it.
By the time we set foot on the ground, our limo waiting to take us back to the hotel, I was feeling light-headed, pleasantly buzzed and one hundred percent into the gorgeous woman beside me.
I still had one more surprise in store for her tonight.
“Are you getting tired?” I asked.
“No… I slept very nicely on the plane and it’s only, what? Like three in the afternoon at home? I feel okay.”
“Good. Because there’s still one more thing I want to do.”
She threw me a sidelong glance and a sly smile. “Oh?”
Our hotel had dancing in one of the grand ballrooms, complete with huge polished stone floor, high columns, a private terrace and a live orchestra. And, thanks to my request, they were featuring the tango for part of the night.