Free The Paris Assignment by Addison Fox Page A

from his perusal of the street and the flash of vulnerability that lit up his nerve endings with an entirely different sort of awareness than he’d just experienced in the cab. “This isn’t safe.”
    “Come on, it’ll be fine. I’m just midway down the block.” Yet again, she seemed to underestimate the possible danger that waited for her in a moment of careless neglect.
    “Here. At least put this on. It’s dark and will cover the bright color of your shawl.”
    He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and slipped it around her shoulders before pulling her close.
    “It’s a pashmina.”
    Her words came out on a breathless rush as she stared up at him. Hot, liquid need flared from the center of his chest like fire. “A what?”
    “A pashmina, not a shawl.”
    He shook his head as they began to move. “Does it matter?”
    “Probably not. Look. Just three more doors and we’re there.”
    His gaze roamed the shadows as he did his best to shield her from view. The noises of the city—the horns and honks and general activity he took for granted—faded away as the blood pounded in his ears. Step by agonizing step they moved before she nodded toward the large brownstone that rose up five stories from the street. “We’re here. Just up these steps.”
    With years of familiarity, she had the door unlocked and was through the entrance, already reaching for the blinking panel on the wall.
    Campbell pressed the heavy door behind him as she tapped in several numbers on the keypad and let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Ten-digit code?”
    “Yep. It’s hell on the staff, but it makes sense.”
    “More than you can imagine.”
    A light beep indicated the alarm was disarmed before she rekeyed the instructions to arm it. “I’ll turn it off when you leave.”
    “I’m not leaving tonight.”
    Abby whipped back around to face him from where she set her clutch on a small hallway table. “You can’t stay here.”
    “I can and I will.” He glanced up at the two-story foyer, an ornate crystal chandelier filling the space overhead, and couldn’t hold back the grin. “I’ll sleep on the couch if you don’t have enough room.”
    “It’s not that.”
    “Then what is it?”
    She waved an arm, the long sleeve of his jacket flapping around her wrist as it engulfed her hand. “It’s not decent.”
    “What’s not decent? I’m a friend of the family.” The tension he’d carried for the past half hour relaxed in the face of her protest and the solid door at his back. “Besides, what do you think we’ll be doing for the next week in Paris?”
    “Working.”
    “Sharing a home.”
    “That’s a setup. This is real.”
    At her use of the word real, a different sort of tension returned, coiled in the pit of his stomach, desperate for release.
    “You think so?” Before she could reply, he moved toward her, his hands on her hips as he pulled her against him. His tug on her was gentle, but he clearly caught her off guard by the way she tumbled into him.
    Never one to miss an opportunity, Campbell leaned in and took.
    * * *
    Abby gripped Campbell’s large shoulders, the thin hallway table against her back as he pressed his body to hers. She wanted to protest— knew she should—but the feel of his large form against hers was too lovely to resist.
    So she settled into the kiss and gave as good as she got.
    His lips were firm against hers and she opened her mouth as his tongue slid in to tangle with hers. The kiss was so blatant—so carnal—she felt her grip on his neck tighten as she tried to pull him closer against her body. The heavy tuxedo jacket she still wore felt too heavy, the material hot and scratchy as the urge to strip to nothing but flesh consumed her along with his mouth.
    How can I feel this way?
    Thoughts—deliberate yet fleeting—drifted through her mind as the moment spun out between them.
    And with it, the very real understanding that she wanted this man.
    Desperately.
    It