Page 48 of The Stipulation
“Axel?”
Jo’s voice cuts through the fog in my mind, casual, light, but it’s enough to remind me I’m standing in front of her like a gawping idiot.
I snap back, forcing a grin. “Yeah. Absolutely. Fascinating piece, isn’t it?”
She raises an eyebrow. “You barely looked at the sculpture, you know.”
I watch her, helplessly captivated. Every detail of her, the way she leans in, the soft brush of her hair against her neck, the spark in her violet eyes when she talks about something she loves, I want to memorize it all. Every gesture, every word.
We wander deeper into the gallery, stopping at small paintings and intricate artifacts, Jo talking, gesturing, and me continuing to lose myself in her. Occasionally, I glance at the art around us, nodding absently, but my attention keeps drifting back to her. The way she lights up, the way her face glows when she talks about something she loves, it’s like a fucking drug. I want to touch her, tease her, whisper something inappropriate and make her laugh. I want the restraint we’ve maintained to crumble entirely.
“Careful,” she teases suddenly, nudging me with her elbow as we pause in front of a particularly delicate miniature. “You almost tripped over your own feet while staring at me.”
I shrug. “What can I say? You’re too distracting.”
She shakes her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement and something softer. “I’m a menace, I know.”
“An exquisite menace,” I murmur under my breath.
She freezes, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks. “You …” she starts, then cuts herself off, smiling instead, as if that’s the only appropriate response.
I take that as my victory. Small, perhaps, but enough to fuel the tension coiling tighter in my chest. I want to grab her hand, pull her close, make her forget the Louvre entirely, make her forget we’re in public. I want to feel her pressed against me again, the heat of her body, the sharp inhale when I enter her body. I’m already imagining how tonight will be, what I’ll do, how I’ll make her feel every inch of the desire she’s stirring in me right now. I am going to give her the sort of memories of Paris she will never forget.
“Axel?” she calls, and once more, her voice, sweet and clear, pulls me back to the gallery.
“Huh?” I grin at her, trying to appear casual, though my pulse is racing.
“You’re staring, again,” she says softly, a faint laugh in her voice. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” I counter innocently. “Looking? Appreciating? Learning?”
“Axel,” she says, rolling her eyes, but there’s a tremor in her tone. “Just … don’t.”
I smile, leaning slightly toward her, letting my hand brush hers once more. “I can’t make any promises.”
Her breath hitches just slightly, and I know for certain then that she feels it too. The electricity in the air is undeniable, and for the first time in a long while, I don’t care about control.
Not entirely.
We continue to wander through the gallery, me watching her more than the artwork, and I realize, quite starkly, that I’m done pretending. The art is incredible, the Louvre is wonderful, but Jo … Jo is by far the most priceless thing in here today. And I want her. More than I’ve wanted anyone in a long, long time.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
JO
The Louvre is quieter now, the last visitors shuffling toward the exits as we make our way through the final galleries. My legs ache a little, but in that satisfied, full-of-life way, and I feel a light buzz of excitement and fatigue. Axel is beside me, moving with that powerful, confident ease I can never stop noticing, even when I try.
His green eyes glint in the light streaming in from the tall Louvre windows, all the time I’m pretending to be completely immersed in the art. But all the while, I can feel that pull, the magnetic current I can never quite resist.
We round the final corner and see the gift shop, tucked in a corner by the exit. Immediately, my eyes light up.
“Oh! Gifts,” I exclaim, heading toward the shelves. “I need to get something for Jenny, Serena, and Olivia. And maybe something for my mum too.”
Axel follows me into the gift shop, amusement dancing across his face.
“And let me guess,” he says, his eyes scanning the displays. “You’re going to find the perfect little trinkets for each person?”
