Free Poppy Does Paris (Girls On Tour 1) (Girls On Tour Book) by Nicola Doherty

asks our waiter.
    We both shake our heads. When the bill comes he insists on paying for it.
    ‘Make sure you keep the receipt, so you can expense it,’ I remind him.
    ‘No, I want to pay,’ Charlie says illogically.
    I can’t think of anything to say to that either. We walk out of the restaurant and take a stroll down to the Seine. The sun is setting, sending pink streaks across the sky, but you can still see the
bateaux mouches
going by all lit up, the Eiffel Tower with its lights coming on too, and even the Musée Branly, site of our disastrous lunch. I’m racking my brains for something cool and normal to say, but before I can think of anything, our hands are brushing together and I’m holding his. Then he’s turning me towards him. And just like that, we’ve become one of those Parisian couples, kissing the life out of each other, oblivious to everyone around them but themselves.
    We get back on the Metro and make our way to the hotel, stopping every so often to kiss again. He’s exactly the right height to walk beside me with his arm draped around me.
    ‘Suite 105,’ Charlie says, at the hotel desk.
    ‘And room 106,’ I add. I want him to know that I’m not going to sleep with him tonight. Not after what happened with Jonathan; I can’t – though I really, really want to.
    However, there doesn’t seem to be much harm in going into the suite with him. He sits on the chaise longue, pulls me on to his lap, and we start kissing again. I’d forgotten how exciting kissing can be. He’s so gorgeous, and his lips are so firm and soft and he smells so nice: faint aftershave, and laundry detergent, and boy. Now his hand is inching up my leg . . . If I don’t leave now, I won’t be able to leave at all. I
should
leave.
    But I can’t. I physically can’t tear myself away from him. And I don’t want to. Instead, we continue kissing, and then I help him pull my dress down, all the way. I take off his jacket and his T-shirt, and kiss his chest while he wriggles out of his jeans. He has lots of trouble with my bra strap, so I have to help him take it off, which makes us both laugh. And then we’re on the floor of his suite, and it’s far too late to stop. It’s not soft-focus and perfect, like it was with Jonathan: it’s passionate and raw, and I probably look sweaty and unglamorous but I don’t care; it feels so amazing that I lose all my inhibitions, and soon I lose control completely, right before he does.
    ‘I’m parched,’ he murmurs later, when we’re lying curled up together in his bed. ‘Do you want anything to drink from the minibar? Some water?’
    ‘Oh, we shouldn’t. The minibar’s so expensive. I shouldn’t have had anything from it.’
    He smiles. ‘Given how badly we’ve behaved already this weekend, I think a mineral water from the minibar is the least of our problems.’
    He goes and pours us both a glass of Badoit. I’m half admiring his naked body, and half ruminating on what he said: given how badly we’ve behaved already this weekend.
    Of course, what he really means is: how badly
I’ve
behaved. Sleeping with two men in forty-eight hours.
    ‘Come here, gorgeous,’ he says, handing me the mineral water and pulling me into his arms for another kiss.
    But I can’t relax. I keep thinking, What if he thinks I’m easy, because I slept with Jonathan and now him? I couldn’t blame him. What if he has the same idea I had, when I came on this trip, and he just wants a one-night stand?
    ‘When you say how badly we’ve behaved, you mean me, right?’ I ask, sitting up.
    ‘What? No! I was joking.’ He pulls me back down beside him.
    ‘Well, I could say the same thing. What about whatshername in publicity – and those other girls?’ I know I’m being insane, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
    ‘What about them? I’m single, they were single –’ He looks angry now. ‘Look, I can forget about Jonathan – why can’t you forget about them?’
    I sit bolt upright