Part-Time Lover Read online

  He beams. “Elise, to what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here tonight?”

  I bring my finger to my lips. “Shh. It’s a best-kept secret.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “Yes, I love our marketing tagline.”

  This small partnership could pave the path to a bigger one. Armand’s business partner is expanding a luxury chain across Europe, and I hope to secure a meeting with him. He’s being courted by several agencies, including the Thompson Group, the same company I lost two of my clients to more than a year ago. That was my fault—my work focus had strayed during my marriage to Eduardo and the fallout after his death.

  This time around, I plan to fight harder.

  I say goodbye to Armand and walk through to an enclosed courtyard. Lush trees climb high, and ivy crawls sensually along the white walls. Strings of lights cascade from the branches of the trees, turning the bar into a glittery adult fairyland. The low beat of a bass thumps from the sound system, an enticing aural embrace.

  A few minutes later, my redheaded friend arrives, and I say hello. By her side is the tall, dark-haired, handsome British man who’s captured her attention and her heart since she’s been in Paris.

  Joy makes the requisite intros.

  “So, this is the woman who says days should be eaten,” Griffin remarks, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

  “So, this is the man who’s so enchanted my friend.” I give him a look over the top of my glasses.

  He wraps an arm around Joy, possessively. “The enchantment is entirely mutual.”

  The way he looks at her stirs something inside me. It’s a reminder that love doesn’t have to be tainted. He stares at her with adoration, but respect too. It’s such a missing ingredient in some relationships, and I can see he has an abundance of it.

  We chat briefly about his work, the hotel, the city. He seems honest enough. I shoot him an approving nod. “You’ve passed my test for the night.”

  He exhales heavily. “Whew. I was worried.”

  Joy laughs and grips his shoulder. “By the way, have I told you Elise is in charge of all the inquisitions in my life?”

  “No. I’m in charge of the fun,” I correct, laughing too.

  Footsteps crunch on the stone path behind me, and a man’s voice drifts across the sultry night air, his accent British. “Fun? Did someone say fun? I believe that’s my middle name.”

  I turn to see a strikingly handsome man striding across the patio to join us. Well, I do believe I’ll be enjoying the eye candy tonight. He’s tall, with legs that go on for days, a broad chest, and a face that ought to grace magazine ads with those carved cheekbones. I must enlist him to sell something. To sell everything in the world. I’d buy it all.

  “Elise, let me introduce you to my mate, Christian. Feel free to ignore any and everything that comes out of his mouth. I know I do,” Griffin says, and we shake hands.

  Christian claps him on the back. “The sentiment is fully reciprocated.”

  “We work together. He’s a translator too, specializing in the Scandinavian languages.”

  Scandinavian.

  A memory from a year ago sits up.

  Something about Christian feels oddly familiar, as if he’s someone I almost met.

  That would be crazy though. Besides, I wasn’t close enough to get a good look at the naked man’s face. And what a face this man has. “Are you from Denmark?”

  “Born in Copenhagen, raised in London.”

  “That’s quite a combo—a Dane with a British accent.”

  His eyebrows wiggle naughtily. “That makes me the best of both worlds.”

  Oh, I like my flirty Danish Brit. I like him a lot. He’s going to make my evening so entertaining.

  Joy and Griffin grab a spot on a nearby couch, entangling themselves with each other.

  “I adore Copenhagen. I visited there a year ago and took one of those canal tours.”

  “What was your favorite part of the tour? Seeing the palaces? Hearing the stories of all our crown jewels?”

  Perhaps I’ll shock him with my tale. “Neither. I most enjoyed when the boat glided past a private dock, where a very fit, very muscular man was doing handstands naked on the dock.”

  His expression turns serious. “A little past the outdoor food market?”

  I nearly bounce on my toes. “How did you know? Have you met the canal flasher? Is he the Mad Naked Handstander of Copenhagen?”

  “Mad? No. More like fit, handsome, and well-hung.”

  “You’ve been admiring his package too?”

  “I’m familiar with his equipment.” His grin is downright wicked. Christian taps his chest. “That was me.”

  I don’t move. He can’t possibly have said that. A strange jolt hits me, like the past has whiplashed into the present. “What? You can’t be serious?”

  He gives a devil-may-care shrug that only the sexiest, most confident men can pull off. “I suppose it’s possible there could be other devastatingly fit men who live on the canal in Copenhagen and like to do acrobatics naked to shock the tourists.” He steps closer, his eyes lingering on me. “But would those men have asked you for a date? Would they have gone to The Jane, looking for you? Would they have been sad you didn’t show?”

  An unexpected burst of excitement flares in me. It’s him. Christian is the man I almost spent my last night in Denmark with.

  “You’re him?” I whisper, shock still lingering in my words.

  “I am. And I went to The Jane at seven.”

  “I did too,” I blurt out, desperate for him to think I’m also bold and daring. “I mean, I went to Jane.”

  A smile curves across his lips. “I figured as much later that night. I didn’t think for a second you’d stood me up.”

  I scoff. This man. I give him a you-didn’t-just-say-that look. “Cocky much?”

  “I am. But that’s not coming from the cocky part of me.”

  “What part of you is it coming from, then?”

  “No part of me at all. It comes from you.”

  I wait for him to explain more.

  7

  Christian

  My little mermaid has swum back into my waters. I have half a mind to toss her on my shoulder and walk out of here right now.

  But, there’s the little issue of not being a caveman.

  Unless she wants me to be one in bed, and we’re not there yet.

  For now, the gentleman is up, and the caveman is standing down.

  “And why does that come from me?”

  “Because a woman that bold, a woman who took pictures, a woman who shouted bravo, is a woman who’s going to show.”

  A smile crosses her pretty pink lips. “Of course I wasn’t going to back out.”

  “Damn, I wish we’d gone to the same Jane.” Finally, I can enjoy a close-up view of the lovely lady who caught my interest, and the view is worth the wait. Her dark hair curls over her shoulders in thick waves. Her chocolate-brown eyes are warm and inviting, and her black glasses intrigue me. I’ve always loved a woman in glasses. While I haven’t been pining for her for the last year—honestly, that would make me a pathetic twit—I am ridiculously pleased that our friends are friends. “And I’d like to know who the hell thought it was a good idea to have two Janes.”

  She narrows her eyes. “I’d like to find that person and give him a piece of my mind. I’d like to tell him I was most dissatisfied to learn of the mix-up.”

  I inch closer. “And if we’d seen each other that night, you would have been . . . most satisfied.”

  Her mouth widens—those lips are so damn enticing—and she points at me. “You are cocky.”

  “But what if it’s true? Is it cocky then?”

  “Since that night has passed, I’m not sure we’ll ever know,” she says coyly. It’s clear she likes the cat-and-mouse tease.

  “Listen, little mermaid, I may never learn, but I intend to try. What do you say we make sure we don’t miss a second chance at a first date?”

/>   “Are you asking me out when we’re already out?”

  My eyes drift briefly to Joy and Griffin, tangled up together, whispering whatevers in each other’s ears. “Shockingly, our friends are amusing themselves without us. Let’s you and I have a night of it. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “You may absolutely buy me one. In fact, I’m not even going to attempt to pay for a thing tonight, and I’m going to tell you right now that I’m not going home with you.”

  I crack up. “That only makes me want to test the strength of your resolve.”

  I set a hand on her back and guide her to the bar. The bartender signals he’ll be over in a minute, so I turn my focus to Elise again. “So, tell me, did you enjoy looking at your nude photos of me?”

  She arches a brow. “So, tell me, do you regularly flash the tourists?”

  “Ah, so this is how we play it.”

  “Yes, this is how we play it. I want to know why you dropped your drawers. Is it a kink of yours?”

  “Is it a kink of yours?”

  “You don’t get to know my kinks until you answer some questions.”

  “But you have kinks you’ll share?”

  She moves in closer and whispers near my ear, “We all have kinks. The question is whether mine match yours and vice versa.”

  A bolt of lust slams into me. She’s everything I imagined she’d be that night. And I’m more determined than ever to learn more about her.

  The bartender arrives and asks what we’d like. Elise chooses absinthe and I do the same. When he leaves, I lean my hip against the silvery outdoor counter, free-standing in the midst of this midnight garden bar. “Just so you know, the canal game is something my mates and I do for fun. It’s high jinx, really. Nothing more. We do it for kicks.”

  “Like a party trick with your friends?”

  “We buy each other beers based on our success rates.”

  “And is asking a woman out part of the point system?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve never asked a woman out from the docks before.” I reach for a strand of her hair, running my finger over it. As soft as I imagined.

  Her breath hitches, but she meets my eyes like a cross-examiner in court. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Why? You’re not a woman lacking in self-confidence.”

  “But I am brimming with skepticism.”

  I rake my eyes over her. “You’re brimming with everything I want to experience more of.”

  She nibbles on the corner of her lip, then shakes her head, clearly amused. “You’re shameless in the way you stare at me.”

  “Why should I feel shame?”

  “You shouldn’t. I’m simply observing. You’re one of those men who doesn’t care if he stares, who isn’t afraid to look.”

  “I like what I see. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But because I like it, I want to know what’s behind it. Even if you’re a skeptic.”

  “Aren’t you? A skeptic?”

  “I am, and yet I can’t help but believe in fate, since here we are.”

  She scoffs. “Oh please. You believe in fate?”

  “You’re telling me you think it’s chance we met again?”

  “I do.”

  I shake my head. “It’s too random to be anything but fate.”

  She stabs a finger against the sleek surface of the bar. “It’s the very meaning of randomness. It’s proof that the world operates on the power of coincidence. It’s like when you spot someone from your hometown in a foreign city. It’s running into somebody on a flight you haven’t seen since childhood.”

  The bartender slides over our drinks, and I slap some bills on the counter then thank him. I pick up my drink. “But isn’t coincidence part and parcel of fate?”

  “Why do you want to believe this”—she gestures from me to her—“is fate? Don’t tell me you’re one of those hopeless romantics.”

  I laugh unabashedly, tossing back my head. “You say that like it’s the worst thing in the world.”

  She lifts her glass, eyes me over the rim. Her tone is serious. “Are you?”

  She truly seems to want an honest answer, not a flirty one, so I give her one. “No. I’m a realist, and realism dictates my feelings about relationships and the power of randomness.” Then I toss out one more knot in the fate skein. “I suppose true fate would have been if we were on the same flight back to Paris the next day.”

  She laughs lightly, and I get the sense she appreciates that answer a lot. She takes a drink. “That seems highly unlikely.”

  I shrug as I swallow some absinthe. “The crazy thing is I actually thought I saw you on the flight back to Paris. I took the mid-morning one the next day.”

  Her eyes pop. She emits a small squeak. Her glass starts to slip from her fingers, and I dart to catch it before it falls. My fingers cover hers, and we hold it together. “Judging from your expression, I’m guessing you were indeed on the same flight. Wearing a blue shirt, lounging in first class. With these sexy-as-hell glasses on and your eyes closed.”

  She takes a deep breath and is quiet as a cat as she whispers yes. We put down the glass.

  “Third time’s a charm, then?”

  “Seems it is,” she says, her voice still feathery.

  I raise my own glass. “Forgive my manners. We ought to toast.”

  “What are we toasting to?” she asks, recovering from her surprise.

  I don’t speak right away. Instead, I stare into her rich brown eyes. Wait until I see a spark there. A hint of desire, so I know she feels the chemistry between us. It’s impossible not to feel it. It’s real, it’s crackling, and I’m not letting her get away from me this time.

  “To fate.”

  She arches a brow, lifting her glass. “To chance.”

  We take drinks, then I lean closer as the music pulses louder. “I want to know how that tastes on your lips.”

  “You’re forward.”

  “I am. And since our friends are friends, it’s clearly fated that I kiss you senseless tonight.”

  Setting down her glass, she wraps her hand around my forearm, and I like the way her fingers feel on me. “Christian, you’re literally the most handsome creature I’ve ever seen in my entire life, but you can’t possibly believe that.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s such a romantic notion.”

  “Who said anything about romance? Maybe I think we were fated to . . .” I move in closer as I tuck a strand of hair over her ear and finish the sentence with a whisper, “Fuck.”

  She shudders, lifting her hand to her neck as if cupping the imprint of my touch as I pull away. She looks dazed, and that’s a most excellent look on her. “You smell like coconut,” I tell her.

  “You’re spearmint and liquor.” Her eyes linger on my mouth. “It’s devastatingly enticing.”

  “Let me devastate you in other ways.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re too handsome. Too much.”

  I’m undeterred. I want her. “Elise, come home with me.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because my mind is a blur of absinthe and spearmint right now.” She raises a hand, brushes her fingers over my jaw, then cups the back of my head. I’m turned on beyond all reason. Brushing her lips over my cheek, she whispers, “And because you’ve wanted to kiss me for more than a year. Think how much better it would be if I let you have a little taste of me every now and then.” She steps away.

  “You’re offering me a third date? Because let’s be honest—this is almost like a second date, and you have seen me naked.”

  She laughs. “This is barely a first date, and only by chance. Maybe buy me dinner, and then you’ll know how my lips taste.”

  “In that case, I know a little bistro around the corner that could rustle up something if I make a reservation for, say, eleven thirty tonight? Care to join me for a late dinner?”

  “Are you always this persistent?”

  “Only when I kn
ow I absolutely want something.”

  She’s quiet as she raises her glass and takes a sip. She sets it down, her gaze never leaving mine. “I’m free next Friday.”

  8

  Christian

  One week.

  She makes me wait one long, torturous week.

  She has to know this only makes me want her more.

  “And then we have this final set of paperwork to review,” my brother says, when it’s four more hours till I see her.

  I stare out the window of the fourth-floor offices that overlook the Paris Opera House, then turn around, meeting my brother’s gaze. “Yes, we should have this wrapped up quickly.”

  I’m in my brother’s CEO office at the firm, plowing through the final details of Grandfather’s estate, which will transfer control of his financial firm to Erik. After we sign this document, Erik will be not only the CEO, but the majority stockholder as well, with the final say over the company—as Grandfather, Erik, and I had wanted.

  Even though I worked on a plum translation gig earlier today, speaking for a Swedish dignitary in town for a political consortium, I’ve spent a few hours with Erik too, though this hardly feels like work. Business has always come easily.

  Well, since I decided to buckle down and focus ten years ago, thanks to the man here with me. I was a fuck-up in school, until Erik set me on the right path. And that path turned golden, paved with euros, millions of them, and I’m so grateful.

  I stroll across the oriental carpet, and as I flop into the seat across from him, I glimpse a framed photo of our grandfather and his bride on the wall. The photo tugs at my chest. “Do you miss him?”

  Erik sighs, dragging a hand through his blond hair. “I do. Even though we all knew it was coming, that still doesn’t lessen the missing.”

  “Sometimes he felt like more of a dad than Dad.” Our father has always been far too preoccupied with women to pay much heed to us. That’s why Erik was the one who gave me a talking-to when I needed to buckle down at university. Our dad had been busy romancing wife number three then. Or four. I’ve lost count.