“It could just be indigestion,” Andy said ever so helpfully.
Dorie twisted around and glared at him.
“Just saying,” he muttered.
Christian took Dorie’s hand and stared down at her fingers for a moment, before lifting his head. “I thought I wanted to go back to France, because that’s the last real home I remember. I wanted to go there, work in an urgent care clinic, or the ER, because I figured that’s what would make me happy.”
“I know.” And it would be okay. Somehow, it would be okay. If only she could keep breathing, but she couldn’t seem to do that.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the headset guy tap his watch. She refused to acknowledge him.
“But I realized something,” Christian said. “Home isn’t a place. It’s a who.”
“Aw,” Cadence murmured. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“A who?” Dorie repeated.
“You.” Christian cupped her face. “I never thought I’d feel this way, never wanted to, but I want you with me, Dorie. Smiling that smile, the one that snags my heart every single time. I don’t care if we’re in France, or at the damn Los Angeles Shop-Mart, or this island. The where doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Not a damn bit. Not as long as I’m with you.”
They heard a sniff. Cadence was smiling with tears on her cheeks. “That’s beautiful,” she said, and sighed.
“Romantic, too.” This from Brandy. “Especially with that French accent.”
With an apologetic smile, Michael tugged both Cadence and Brandy away, and even though they were still surrounded by people and the damn helicopter, Dorie felt like they were the only two people on earth. “I can design clothes from anywhere,” she said.
“I like the sound of that.” Christian stepped close and hauled her up against him, smiling at the cheers around them but not letting her go. She hoped not ever letting her go…
EPILOGUE
Six months later,
with all the French chocolate one can eat…
The night sky was city, not island, and therefore the stars weren’t quite as bright as they’d been in the South Pacific, but Dorie didn’t care. Her view from the twentieth-floor balcony-which if she leaned out just right included the Eiffel Tower-was gorgeous.
Next to her, Christian was flipping through the day’s mail, and came across her Vogue. “Mrs. Dorie Anderson Montague.” He lowered the magazine. “I didn’t realize you were going to add my name to yours.”
“That’s what American wives do, take their husband’s name.” She grinned and admitted the rest. “Plus, I married a doctor. My mother would never have forgiven me if I didn’t take your name.”
“So glad to oblige.” His slow, warm, sexy smile was never ever going to stop making her want to jump him. She’d been doing plenty of that this past week, on their honeymoon, which was not on an island, thank you very much, or a boat.
Nope, after a small, intimate wedding with only her family, Cadence, Brandy, Andy, and Michael in attendance, they’d honeymooned right here in Paris, where they were going to buy a place and live, where Christian would do what he’d wanted to do forever, work in an ER, where she could be in the fashion center of the world.
She loved this world, Christian’s, hers… theirs. So much that she had been attempting to learn French-attempting being the key word here.
Tossing the paper aside, Christian leaned back in his chair. He looked so good, all long and toughly muscled, sprawled out without a care.
With a smile, she stood and slipped out of her sweater. Beneath, she wore only a pale lace bra.
“Too warm?” he asked.
“Not exactly.” She began to work the long line of buttons down the front of her skirt.
His brow shot up. “You going to take a bath then?”
“No.” Any second now he was going to realize she was currently commando. “There’s a matter between us, something that was never settled. I don’t like to leave things like that.”
“Is that right?”
She let her skirt slip to the floor before she went still. “Damn, I forgot the music.” Maybe he wouldn’t mind.
His breathing was satisfactorily uneven now, more so when she reached for the hook of her bra, and she thought maybe he didn’t mind at all.
“What do we need music for?”
“The dancing.” She sighed. “I was going to dance for you. Naked.” She pointed to the balcony. “Beneath the stars.”
“Ah, the bet.” With a thrilled grin, he stood up and kicked his chair aside. He was out of his clothes so fast her head spun. “Don’t worry, I don’t need music.” And then he snatched her close, up against that body she knew she’d never get enough of. “All I need is you.”
He looked so damn sexy. And happy. She made him happy. The thought made her heart soar. “Then you’re in luck,” she whispered, holding him fiercely, “because you have me, all of me…”
Jill Shalvis
