Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (38 page)

* * *

“N
OTRE
-D
AME
IS
GORGEOUS
in the moonlight. So majestic.” Tara's voice was full of wonder and awe—a pleasant, almost childlike quality that Garrett had noticed throughout their night out, beginning with the cruise. It had shifted his focus completely away from the platonic sightseeing tour he'd originally planned.

Attentive, appreciative and enthusiastic about everything he suggested, Tara had been the perfect date. It had been a long time since he'd spent time with a woman who had such a zeal for life, and it felt good. Damn good.

He'd gotten caught up in her enthusiasm, and somewhere between her dreamy sigh as the boat passed under Pont Neuf
and her squeal as the Eiffel Tower shimmered to life, he'd thrown caution to the wind and allowed himself to think of this night as a date.

Now, with her back to him and his arms around her waist, she was snuggled against him with the breeze whipping her hair to the side, the moonlight glinting on that tattoo below her ear. This
all
felt pretty damn good.

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” he answered, and she reached up and caressed his cheek in a gesture that, at that moment, seemed more intimate than a kiss.

He wasn't sure where the night was going to end, but it wouldn't be here on Pont Notre-Dame. Suddenly, he was anxious to get home. “You ready?” he murmured into her ear.

She nodded, breathing another of those dreamy sighs that made his breath catch, and slipped out of his arms, but only long enough to catch his hand. “Ready.”

She was in such a good mood now, he hated to bring it up, but they still had the rest of the stroll home, and he was curious to know what had bothered her so much during the phone conversation at the Eiffel Tower. “When your mom called earlier, you seemed worried. Want to talk about it while we walk?”

“I suppose.” She gave him a small smile. “Nothing could seem too bad when it's filtered by Paris in the early morning moonlight, right?”

Tara told her story with the same enthusiasm that infused everything she did, captivating him with her tale of a family torn apart by a secret over twenty-five-years old. Garrett could almost hear Grandma O'Malley's dishes breaking right along with the hearts of her family members.

His own parents were still devoted to each other after thirty-seven years together, so putting himself in Tara's shoes made his gut twist. “This whole experience must be a nightmare for you.” He pulled her against his side as they approached their building. “So how many of these Jacques Martins have you checked out so far?”

“Fourteen,” she said dully, and the lack of inflection told Garrett just how much that answer bothered her.

“And you're just making cold house calls?”

She nodded. “My telephone French is even worse than my in-person French.”

That made Garrett smile, but then an image of Tara walking naively into a seedy neighborhood popped into his mind and his grip on her shoulder tightened. “I don't want you doing that anymore. Paris is relatively safe to walk around in, but it's a city, and there are places you shouldn't be going—especially alone.”

She shrugged. “I don't know how else to do it. I mean, if I do find him, and he doesn't want anything to do with me, at least I'll know what he looks like. I'll have that to—” her voice broke “—to keep with me.”

Garrett glanced down and saw the hope glistening in her eyes. Tara was easy to read. She might be talking in terms of Jacques Martin not wanting anything to do with her, but her dreams lay in a different direction entirely.

She looked up at him, and her smile trembled. Beneath all that zest for life lay a fragile soul. Garrett was filled with several kinds of desire, but the most prominent at the moment was to protect her. He pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. She melted against him, and he felt the warmth deep in his heart.

When he spoke his voice was huskier than he meant it to sound. “When we get to your flat, I want to see this list.”

* * *

“O
NE
LAST
GLASS
OF
WINE
on the terrace?”

Tara kicked off her shoes as soon as they walked through her door.

Garrett's arms came around her from behind, and he kissed her neck. All of the touching tonight had put her senses on high alert, and this caress sent a shiver into all the right places.

“I was thinking champagne might be more appropriate,” he answered.

She frowned. That did sound like the perfect ending to this date—or perhaps the second most perfect ending. “Sadly I don't have any champagne.”

“I do, and my place is just a few yards away. I'll get it and some glasses. You get your list of addresses.”

They met on the terrace a few minutes later, Garrett with an already-opened bottle of bubbly and two glasses, and Tara bearing her list of possible fathers.

Garrett held her chair for her and then pulled the other one close enough that their thighs touched when he sat. He lifted his glass. “To tonight.” He gave her that half smile that made her toes curl.

“To tonight,” she agreed, and took a sip. The bubbles tickled her nose, and left an effervescent trail from the tip of her tongue down the back of her throat and into her chest.

Garrett scooted her list over in front of him, and began talking to her about the addresses and making notes on where she would be safe to go alone and where she wouldn't.

“I won't be working so late this week, and I might even be able to take off a little early and go with you to these places.” He'd put Xs by the four that were located in neighborhoods he didn't trust. “These two—” he pointed to one on rue Racine and one on rue de Condé
“—are near the Luxembourg Gardens. Have you been there?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“The Sorbonne is in that area, and the Pantheon. That's where Foucault's pendulum is, which is really cool—Dylan loves it.” He looked up from his list and peered closely at her. “You haven't been taking Dylan.” It wasn't a question.

“No. I didn't think I should. What if there was a scene with one of the men?”

“But you've lost a lot of time this week, staying with him. Time you could've been using looking for your father.”

“I've been able to get in about one place a day. And, if Monique gets back by Wednesday, I'll still have almost two weeks. I hope I don't have to go through all forty-three,” she added.

Garrett pushed back in his chair with a disgusted sigh. “You should've said something earlier, Tara. You've made a huge sacrifice of your time.”

“Being with Dylan isn't a sacrifice. Dylan's real and precious. Jacques Martin may not even still exist.” The honesty in her words hit her hard, and she felt a tear slide down her cheek. “I may be looking for someone who has already passed away or somebody who won't want me even if I find him.” A sob swelled in her throat, and she took a sip of champagne to wash it down. She would
not
allow this beautiful night to be marred by an emotional meltdown of any sort.

Garrett's hand cupped her chin, and he turned her face toward him. “I can't imagine anyone who has met you not wanting you.”

He pressed his lips to hers gently, but it was like he'd touched her with a branding iron. She'd never experienced sizzle from a kiss like she did in that moment.

Her hand crept to the back of his neck and she pressed him closer, opening her mouth to the exploration of his tongue. She heard the subtle groan in the back of his throat as he breathed more fire into the embrace.

His arm slid around her waist, and he stood, pulling her with him and against him until the only separation of their bodies lay in the thin fabric of their clothing. She could feel his desire, and she rubbed her palms against his back to fan the flame higher. All the while he kept possession of her mouth in a kiss that made all the others of her life seem like child's play.

She knew without a doubt what she wanted, and she pulled her mouth away long enough to make her feelings known.

“Make love to me, Garrett.”

She didn't have to ask twice.

In an instant, he'd bent down to brace an arm under her knees, and he lifted her as easily as he might lift a child. “Grab the list. Just leave the bottle and the glasses,” he instructed, leaning her near enough to the table for her to grab her papers.

“Do you have condoms?” he asked, and she shook her head in response.

He inclined his head toward his flat. “Then my place it is.”

He strode across the terrace with her in his arms, and she could almost understand what made ladies of yesteryear swoon. If she'd ever played out a scene that was swoon-worthy, this was it. Her heart was beating a strong cadence against her chest, making her wonder if he could feel it.

Between the two of them, they managed to maneuver the doorways without too much distraction, and soon he was laying her on his bed and placing the list on the bedside table.

He sat, his weight pressing the mattress down and rolling her to her side. “Now, it's
my
turn.” The back of his fingers brushed lightly across the fabric covering her breast, bringing immediate heat to the area...and others, as well.

She made an effort to give her voice full volume, but it came out as a whisper, heavy with desire. “To do what?”

His eyes held that mischievous twinkle, and he grinned. “To finally see
you
naked.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I
T
HAD
BEEN
A
WHILE
SINCE
he'd undressed a woman—even longer since the woman had been as tall and lean as Tara—and Garrett wanted to prolong the experience as much as desire would allow.

He stretched out beside her on the bed, and immediately her hands began to unbutton his shirt. He grasped them gently and shook his head. “I'm glad you're eager, but I've fantasized about exploring your body and its tattoos for days. Can I have a little fun before we get to the serious stuff?”

“Ooh.” Tara's eyes lit up. “You want to do some body geocaching?”

“Exactly. How many, um, caches, can I expect to find?”

She held up her left hand, fingers spread. “Five.”

He took her hand and brushed his tongue across the tips of her fingers. “This will be my cache finder. Now, you have to lie still, and you can't give me any hints. Understood?”

She nodded and lay back against his pillow, arms at her side and eyes closed. Her hair spread out like a flower in bloom around her. Even the blue tips, which he'd found so strange in the beginning, now enhanced the effect, adding depth to the overall appeal of the woman.

He brushed back a lock that curled around her neck and bent his head to the mark below her ear that had kept him mesmerized for long periods of time in his daydreams. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the pattern, feeling her responsive shiver at his touch.

The tattoo was an intricate triple spiral that he'd seen before but had never thought much about. “What does this one mean?” His tongue flicked lightly around one of the loops.

“It's the Celtic symbol for life, death and rebirth. Oh! That feels really nice.” She wriggled beneath him. “I got it after my grandmother died. Ironically, she turned out not to be my biological grandmother, and I'm not even Irish—”

He cut off her speech with a kiss. “Shh.”

She grinned, and he went back to tracing the tattoo slowly with his finger and then his tongue.

He allowed his tongue to wander to her earlobe, nibbling there for a while before moving on to the rim of her ear and the delicate skin behind it. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed him closer, her breath coming in pants with an occasional moan of pleasure. The erotic sounds urged him to hurry, but he reined his body in.

Her breath caught as he fingered the first button on the front of her pale blue dress and slid it through the hole. A small V appeared in the square neckline of the dress and deepened as each button gave way, each punctuated by a small gasp.

The third button confirmed what he'd already suspected—she wore no bra—and deep within the area between her breasts, a delicate green stem appeared. Two more buttons and he was able to lay the bodice open. He stopped for a moment to take in the sight.

Her breasts were small, but beautifully shaped with perky nipples, drawn tight with excitement. Below the right breast was a small daisy with a bright yellow center and white petals. Its stem wound across her torso from one side of her rib cage to the other.

“Number two.” Garrett bent his head to trace the flower with his tongue, but the nipple was too enticing. He sucked it quickly into his mouth, and was rewarded with an appreciative squeal that lowered into a moan as Tara's back arched off the bed. He flicked his tongue on the very tip, then made a wet path to the daisy and around its many petals. “What's this one mean?” he asked, as he started across the stem.

“My deflowering. Giving up...my virginity at...at...oh!” Her words came in spurts, and Garrett watched her fist the sheet into her half hand. “Twenty-three...petals. Ah!”

As his tongue continued its journey, Garrett opened three more buttons to reveal a lace thong that matched the color of the dress. The vision shot directly to his groin and he hurried to undo the final buttons and lay the dress completely open.

Tara's pale body speckled with freckles against the blue material...with the delicate daisy and the wisp of blue lace...was worthy of the Louvre. A few small scars that he guessed were from her spleen removal were still visible, but they added an element of danger that spoke of her genuineness. When he sat back to look at her, she propped herself up on her elbows, arched her back in a languid pose and let her head drop back. The straps of the dress slid down her arms in slow motion, and Garrett's heartbeat accelerated.

To hell with the tattoo hunt. He wanted her. Now.

He hooked a thumb into the lace and tugged as she lifted her hips. The lace slid down her legs, exposing a small pink heart on her flat stomach, two inches above the top of her left thigh.

She gave him a coquettish grin. “That one's just for fun. Sort of a reward for getting this far, you know?”

“I think I'm ready to capture the prize.” He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head.

“You're giving up mighty quickly.” She punctuated the challenge in her voice with a raised eyebrow.

Garrett unfastened his belt and trousers, shucking them, his briefs and his socks in one fluid movement. “I'm not giving up. I just think it may be time to probe deeper into this mystery.” He climbed into the bed, sheathing himself as quickly as his eager fingers would allow.

Tara reached out and brushed the back of her finger across his lips. “Will you use the same instrument you've been using?”

“I'll start with that one.” He tried to sound official, but he couldn't hold back the grin that twitched his mouth. “But then I'll probably have to switch to something larger and more sensitive.”

She gave a delighted laugh and opened her arms wide to greet him.

He met her embrace, rolling on top of her, covering her neck and shoulders with kisses, then sliding down to torture her time after time until she was wild with need.

She responded in kind, placing kisses, nips and licks on any part of his body that ventured near her mouth. Her touch burned through him like a set fuse. At last, she wrapped her legs around him, locking him into position, and if he'd had any thoughts of lingering, they were lost in a haze of lust.

He slid into her exquisite tightness, catching her erotic gasp on his tongue. Her fingernails scraped along his back as she met his thrusts, curving into him as her back arched higher.

He reached the edge but backed off, refusing to make the plunge without her.

“No!” She ground out the words through clenched teeth. “Don't...slow...oh! Oh, Garrett!” Her legs, her arms, her hands—it was as though every muscle in her body tightened its hold on him, taking control, throwing him over the precipice to join her in the free fall.

Time stopped, and they floated in midair, riding the currents up and down until they once again touched solid ground.

He collapsed on top of her but worried that his weight might be too much, so he rolled off, gathering her to him.

They each took a deep breath, and the single syllable exploded from both of their mouths simultaneously.

“Wow!”

* * *

T
ARA
WOKE
TO
THE
BRIGHT
morning sun warming her front and Garrett's warm body spooning her from behind. His arm snuggled around her waist, holding her close and secure. She closed her eyes and listened to his slow, deep breathing, reliving the night before.

Garrett Hughes was the stuff of dreams. That he'd planned the perfect date for her spoke volumes, but nothing could compare to his lovemaking. It was as if he could read her mind, recognize all the subtleties and nuances of her movements and breaths. Time after time he'd brought her to climax, and even when he'd finally driven home, he'd held back until he was sure she would make it one last time with him.

She'd never had anyone like him, and—a lump formed in her throat—after she returned home, she might never again.

But she had last night...and hopefully there would be several more repeat performances before she returned to the States.

She sighed and an involuntary tremble of emotion shook her. Garrett's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer. “You cold?” His breath caught the back of her ear, making her shiver again.

“No. It's just my body's reaction to the nearness of you.” She turned a little, so that her head rested against his cheek.

“Mmm. That's nice.” She sensed his smile although she couldn't see his mouth. “Last night was pretty special.”

A contented sigh escaped from her lungs as she nodded. “Yeah. It was.”

Garrett raised himself up on an elbow, and the loss of his embrace rolled her onto her back. He caught her gaze and held it, brought her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss to the palm. “I don't think I've ever enjoyed myself so much with anyone else. It was...fun...and hot...and—”

“Ooh-la-la?”

He chuckled. “Your French has certainly improved.”

She cupped his cheek with her hand, brushing the thick growth of stubble with her thumb, then moved it over to brush the scar that cut through the top of his lip. “Did you get spiked here, too?” She hoped not. His tale of his thigh getting ripped open by a kid sliding into third base with metal spikes made her cringe, but she didn't even want to think about that happening to something as sweet as his lips.

He shook his head. “A memento from Angie. We were walking in our neighborhood late one night, and she ran over and climbed on our neighbor's trampoline and started jumping really high. I was sure she was going to break her neck, so I climbed on to get her off, and when I got hold of her, she head-butted me.” He pointed to his front tooth and ran his finger along the next one beside it. “Lost two teeth, as well.”

Little by little, Tara was piecing together the nightmare his life with Angie must've been, and it made her admire his strength and resilience all the more. “I'll kiss the boo-boo.” She softly pressed her lips to the spot.

Garrett's hand traveled to the small of her back and caressed the site of her largest tattoo. “Tolkien's initials, eh? I knew something was there. I just couldn't make it out through that wet dress you had on when we first met.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, feeling the heat creep into her face. “What a way to meet! I was soaked and frustrated, and you're standing there naked—”

“Trying to figure out if I could subdue you by throwing my towel over your head.”

They laughed together, and then they laughed harder as the memory of the ludicrous situation loomed larger in their minds. She collapsed on top of him, and he rolled her onto her back and started kissing—and laughing—his way down to the tattoo of the small chain that circled her ankle—“a reminder to not be chained down by other people's ideas of who I should be,”
she had explained.

His finger and thumb encircled her ankle, adding a third dimension to the tattoo, and he gave a tug, parting her legs slightly. His lips began a steamy line of kisses that traveled up her calf.

“Oh, yeah.” She wiggled her butt deeper into the bedclothes.

“I think I know the real meaning behind this tattoo.” He tightened his grip on her ankle, and gave her that lopsided grin that made her insides melt.

“And what would that be?”

“I think...” He continued the line of kisses up the inside of her thigh. “I think you are...a slave...to your desires.”

The next set of kisses continued upward, convincing her he was probably right.