Her pants and thin V-necked sweater weren't warm enough. Her throat was bare, no jewelry at all, just her skin glowing in the moonlight and distant city lights.
He didn't put an arm around her, but he shifted closer. Close enough so their shoulders and arms touched, a way of simply offering some of his body warmth. But his heartbeat thought there was an implication because his pulse leaped like a pole vault.
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 creditcard 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.
Will thought this had to be the stupidest thing he'd ever done…and then went back for another taste.
CHAPTER THREE
SWALLOWED UP. That's how she felt. Wrapped in Will's arms, absorbed in his kiss, the scent of him. taste of him, look of him.
In some part of her brain, Kelly recognized they were still on the boat, that the music had stopped playing, that the engines had quit, that the other passengers were noisily gathering their belongings and descending the gangplank.
And still, she seemed to be dancing with Will. To unheard music.
To scents she'd never experienced before. To textures she'd never imagined-like his tongue.
His wicked, wicked tongue.
Her fingers fisted around his neck, not clenching so much as holding on. Her balance felt increasingly threatened, as if she was precariously a blink away from falling, awash in silver dizziness.
The image of silver dizziness almost made her laugh. How ridiculous was that? She'd never been fanciful. She'd always been practical, the kind of woman who ran her life on facts, numbers, reality. For darn sure, she didn't go around looking to do wrong things. She suffered enough guilt day by day trying to do the right things.
Only just then her conscience couldn't seem to scare up any sense of doing wrong.
And the silvery dizziness made perfect sense to her.
And so did kissing Will. Being taken in by Will. The scent of him swarmed her. surrounded her, mixed with the silky black water of the Seine and the lights of Paris and just him. Her stranger. Her clean, warm, sexy stranger. Herexotically sexy stranger…
"Monsieur? Mademoiselle?" A staff member patted Will on the shoulder. His expression was tolerant, gentle, as if he was used to regretfully interrupting lovers-this was Paris, after all. The vision of two people lost in each other was nothing new to him.
But it was new to Kelly…and judging from the dazed, dark look in Will's eyes, it wasn't an everyday occurrence for him, either. Finally, Will stopped moving, as if realizing that the only two people still swaying to music were them.
The night had turned downright chilly, midnight chilly, except when she was circled in his arms. And when he dropped his arms, he still didn't look at the uniformed guy, but only at her. His voice was thicker than smoke, lower than blues. "We're going back to my place."