“So.” Rylan tapped his razor against the rim of the sink before dipping it under the stream of water again. “What’s on your agenda for the day?” He smirked at himself in the mirror. “Besides checking out of your hostel and grabbing your things, of course.”

“Of course.” Kate’s eye roll was audible in her voice. So was the sound of the sleep in her eyes. The hint of a yawn. Not a morning person, that one.

She’d slept in later than he’d thought she would, while he’d blinked his eyes open at the crack of dawn, same as usual.

Well, not quite the same as usual. Most mornings, restless energy plagued him, only he didn’t have an outlet for it anymore. He stalked around the apartment or went to the gym or read the business section of the paper, reminding himself even as he did that it didn’t concern him anymore. Today . . . today, there’d been Kate, face soft with sleep. Somehow, just watching her had been enough to calm him. Tracing the line of her throat with his gaze. Gently brushing his knee against her soft, bare thigh.

From the main room, the sounds of her moving around filtered quietly over the running of the tap. He frowned and gripped the handle of the razor tighter.

It was killing him, knowing she was right around the doorway getting dressed while he was standing here, naked but for a towel and the chain around his neck. Still damp from his shower. Half-hard at the thought of what she might be up to out there.

Scowling, he tipped his chin up and swiped the razor across the tricky spot beneath his jaw. He’d promised to be good and not look. It was the only way she’d let him open the damn door to let some of the steam out so he could see his own face in the mirror well enough to shave.

He ran his finger over the damp patch of new skin, feeling for any stubble he might have missed. “Seriously, though. What do you want to do today?”

“I’m not sure. I picked up a new guidebook.”

He scoffed. “Which you obviously don’t need since you’ve got me.”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Which I haven’t had a chance to look at yet. So I guess I should sit down somewhere and go through it at some point.”

“Waste of time,” he muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “But what do you want to do today?” He considered for a second. “How long are you staying, anyway?”

“My flight home is on Friday.” It was Sunday now. They must have both been doing the math in their heads, because just as he was thinking it, she announced, “So, another five full days, including today.”

Plus the two they’d already had. Seven nights in total. He could work with that.

Finishing up, he rinsed his razor and set it aside. “Well, you’re not going to get as much done today as you might like. Hazard of traveling in Catholic countries.”

“Yeah. But there will still be some places open, right?”

“Sure.” He turned the tap to full blast and cupped some water in his hands before splashing it over his face, cleaning away what was left of the foam and hair. He dried off and patted on some aftershave, then tiptoed toward the door to sneak a peek.

Except he’d promised. Groaning at the conscience he’d apparently grown overnight, he slapped his hand over his eyes. Pitching his voice, he asked, “Can I come out yet?”

“Um. Yeah.”

Finally. Grinning in spite of himself, he stepped around the corner to find her perched on the edge of the bed, fingers worrying the strap of her bag, which was sitting beside her. She was wearing last night’s jeans, but she’d stolen another of his shirts. He raked his gaze up and down her form.

There was just something so damn sexy about a woman in a man’s shirt. The thing was two sizes too big on her, but the way she’d tied it off, her waist looked tiny, her breasts and hips fuller. Worse, she’d only buttoned it partway up, leaving this swath of skin across her collarbones exposed, this hint of cleavage. His throat went dry, his cock giving a twitch of interest that he didn’t even bother to try to hide.

All day long, he’d have to look at her like this. See her draped in his clothes. How the hell was he supposed to stand it?

“What?” she asked, pulling his attention from her chest back up to her face. She arched a brow.

He smirked, unashamed to be called out. The way she acted, she could stand to be the subject of some open ogling.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he said.

A flicker of uncertainty passed across her eyes, but she lifted her chin and looked at him head-on. “Is that a problem?”

“Only if you expect me to keep my hands off you today.”

She flushed, but it was with a pleased little smile playing on her lips. “I wouldn’t expect you to keep them to yourself entirely.”

“Good.” He stalked over to her and bent to place a hard, fast kiss to her lips, hooking a finger into the gap of the shirt and peeking down it. Delicious.

Swatting his hand away, she shook her head. Her smile didn’t fade, though. “Go get dressed.”

“Well, that’s no fun,” he muttered, but it was getting late. He made his way over to the corner where he’d dropped his bag, considering for a second as he leaned down to paw through its contents. It was slim pickings for five days, especially with how freely she was borrowing from him, but he’d make do. Plus, she probably wouldn’t notice if some more clothes magically showed up. He could sneak off to the apartment at some point if he needed to.

Unself-consciously, he dropped the towel from around his hips and shook out a pair of boxers. He was standing with his back to her, and he delighted in the little sound she made as his ass came into view. When he was pretty sure she’d looked her fill, he stepped into his underwear, then picked out a pair of pants. After pulling on a shirt, he sidestepped to check himself over in the mirror on the wall, running a hand through his still-damp hair to mess it up a little.

“Would you like to hear what I had in mind for our outing today?” he asked.

She hesitated. “You really don’t have to spend all this time with me. I wasn’t expecting . . .”

Of course she wasn’t. He didn’t like the note of insecurity in her disclaimer, though. He half twisted around. “Do you not want me to?”

And that wasn’t an immediate no forming on her lips.

Huh. He faced the mirror again. “You can have the day to yourself if you want.” Annoying, because he’d thought his plan was pretty good, and he wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of spending the day alone. Not when there was someone interesting to spend it with.

“I want to get some more drawing done,” she said after another brief pause. “But it doesn’t have to be today. What were you going to suggest?”

He’d been starting to think she’d literally never ask.

“Well.” He fixed the collar of his shirt, then turned around. “Since you’re a tortured artist and everything.” With a little spring in his step, he threw himself onto the bed, landing on his stomach with his head by her side, his elbows braced beneath himself. The mattress bounced around as he settled, and he laughed at her yelp of surprise as she was jostled. Sneaking in under her arm, he pushed the hem of her—his—shirt up and planted a smacking kiss to her side. “What do you say we head up to Montmartre?”

Tugging the shirt back down, she gave him a playful shove. He let her go and twisted around, clambering to sit beside her on the bed, close enough to catch the echoing sweetness of her scent.

“Montmartre, huh?” She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair.

“Sure. See some of Picasso’s old haunts, steep ourselves in what’s left of the whole turn-of-the-century art scene. Drink some absinthe. You know, like artists do.”

She smiled, a real, nice, genuine smile. “That’s actually a really great idea.”

“Of course it is. I came up with it.” He nipped his way down her neck, sliding an arm around her waist.