Page 70 of The Last Kiss

“Home.” He nods, and his eyes flash. “Tell me, ma petite, will I have to carry you the whole way?”

“No. I have a better idea.” I scramble for my handbag and fish out my phone, trying to protect it from the persistent rain. I flick the screen and type. “Down the road there’s a late-night café. We could stop in there instead of trying to make it all the way to the Tube.” I try to peer through the park at the road. We are a little way off the main streets and there’s no traffic, no cabs.

“Coffee at midnight. I think I’m turning you French.”

I snort a laugh and it’s the perfect medicine to eradicate any lingering side effects of my turn. I flex my fingers and rotate my ankles one by one to check their circulation. All seems in order, so I shut my worries down into a deep, dark place to think about another time. I’m sure as hell not going to waste Henri time on it.

That tick of my internal clock vibrates loudly. A scream of frustration builds in my chest.

“Julianna, what are you thinking about?” Henri clutches my face, pulling me closer until we are nose to nose.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

I breathe a little weak exhalation, saying, “Just that I wished I met you sooner,” and then drop my gaze. “Sorry, I know it’s not what we discussed. This is just a thing, a casual… fling.” The last word is a stretch to say.

His lips seek mine, still warm. His tongue sneaks into my mouth, stealing my half-mumbled thoughts and words like he can read them directly from the source rather than what I’m attempting to say. I lean into him, sighing with the perfection of it. His hand grasps my knee, running across the damp rain washed skin.

Eventually he pulls away and I’m breathless for all the good reasons and none of the bad. “I wish we had too.”

“This is crazy right?”

He pulls back slightly. “Would you be saying that if we’d met at your local pub or met at work? How quick would you fall in love with me then?”

I freeze at the L-word. Did he mean to say that? A slip of the tongue?

I try to read the expression on his face, the shadows, a solemnity that makes the world stop turning.

“The moment I met you.”

He nods.

Is that what this is? Love.

It can’t be. I can’t offer love because it isn’t mine to give. I’m no longer me to give. I’ve got a date with destiny that no one can avoid.

I clamber off his lap and then hold out my hand. His face darts with an expression I can’t read. “Come on then, show me how to be French.” I laugh, forcing it out into the night sky. “Because I’m sure as hell ordering a cup of warm, sweet tea.”

His face is adorable.

“You should try it; it’s good for the soul.”

I take a sip of the coffee, ready to pull a face. I don’t have a personal vendetta against the drink; in fact, I like a latte with my breakfast. This is no latte.

Henri is standing behind the counter of the small café. His almost dry shirt sleeves pushed up. The jumper got discarded somewhere with disgust and some muttered guttural French.

Midnight eyes watch me carefully as I wet my lips and lick. I purr like a cat under his satisfied smile. I’m a quick learner and I’m learning Henri’s ways like an A-Star student.

“It’s sweet.” I meet his eyes in surprise.

Samantha, who should be on the other side of the counter but is instead sitting with me, takes a sip of hers. I smile smugly as she fails the lick and taste test. Ha. See. A-Star student.

Henri is behind the counter because when he’d seen her assaulting the coffee machine with barely concealed disdain he’d started offering pointers to help. Enough pointers that she’d then said, “Do it yourself then,” and stropped her ripped jean-wearing ass all the way around to my side.

“This is what we would have after dinner to settle the digestion.” Henri’s focus is all on me, not the punk-haired twenty-something next to me. I twinkle like a little star in response.

“After dinner? How do you ever sleep?” It’s sweet. I take another sip to reconfirm, but there’s a smooth power there.