Free 26 Hours in Paris by Demi Alex Page A

Her eyes closed, dark lashes rested on her cheeks, and her head fit softly on his shoulder. “All I want is you.”
    Marko beamed with fulfillment and dropped a kiss over her temple. “ Très bien.”
    â€œNo. It’s not good,” she said, opening her eyes and turning in his embrace. She tapped a soft finger against his jaw and met his gaze. “How am I going to manage to write this article on Paris if all I think about is you?”
    â€œKat, what is the premise for your article?” Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from inside her coat and turned her to face him. He cupped her face. “What are you going to write about?”
    He could see her thinking and reaching for a logical answer. Kat’s rational mind was one of her greatest assets, but her conservative choices had also held her back from her true self.
    â€œThe premise is rather simple,” she said. “I’m writing on why Paris is the perfect place to find love.”
    â€œSpecifics, Kat. Narrow it down.” He moved his thumb over her lips, parting them slightly. “Verb and noun.”
    â€œFinding love?” Her voice trembled and her pupils dilated. “The article is about finding love,” she reiterated.
    â€œThen why are you denying what you want and feel?”
    She pushed against his chest and stepped out of his embrace. Turning to look out over the river, she folded her arms beneath her breasts and stood in a very defensive stance. “Because, sometimes we need to accept the circumstances for what they are. Because, one day is not going to be enough.”
    â€œThat’s where you’re wrong,” he said, refusing to let her set the terms of their relationship. He knew what she wanted, even if she wouldn’t admit it . . . yet.
    Marko wrapped his arms over her and held her close, waiting for her breathing to calm and her mind to settle. Words wouldn’t work in his favor, so he dismissed the idea of arguing with her. He’d show her. He’d act.
    â€œWe are going to enjoy today, and you’re going to get enough material to write that feature,” he said. “Stop thinking so hard. The driver is waiting for us on the other bank. Let’s walk over the Passerelle. Now.” Or I’ll take you into the subterranean passage, claim you against the cold wall, and show you exactly how wrong you are—regardless of the consequences , he thought. “Next destination is the Eiffel Tower.” Then my bed. “You’ll write an amazing article and have your byline.” I’m taking you.
    â€œThank you,” Kat said, a mix of disappointment and relief in the simple expression of gratitude.
    Yes, Marko knew what she needed.
    * * *
    Kat squared her shoulders and stuffed both gloved hands in her pockets, pulling into herself and rebuilding the wall of protection she’d sworn to leave in the States. A sense of loss and sadness knotted in her chest, and she blinked back the sting in her eyes. Marko pulled on her right hand and took it in his, intertwining their fingers and holding her close. She let out a long breath as his body brushed hers and she realized he wasn’t accepting her lame cop-out and moving away from her. He wasn’t letting her go. Even if only for the day, she wouldn’t deny herself. She wanted him as close as possible.
    â€œHow are your feet holding up?”
    â€œMy feet?” The question had her wrinkling her forehead. “Okay. Why?”
    â€œThose boots,” he said, smiling casually. “They’re killer on the eyes, but they look hard on the feet.”
    â€œNo.” She chuckled at his concern. “They’re actually rather comfortable.”
    â€œToo bad you’re not prepared for a bike ride around Paris,” he goaded, lifting a teasing brow and pointing to the area of bicycle rentals. He sidestepped the collection of bikes and made of show of tapping one of the wide seats.