Laughing, she leaned into him, and suddenly it wasn’t just silliness anymore. They fit together so nicely like this, and his throat got tight.

“Plus,” he said. “It’s beautiful. All set up on the hill like that. You can walk to the very top, and there’s Sacred Heart Basilica. All these gorgeous stained-glass windows. And the view from up there? You can see all of Paris, spread out at your feet.”

“Sounds amazing.”

“It is.”

He wanted to show it to her. Wanted to show her a lot of things, and as he held her closer, it was a little too easy to imagine they were any ordinary couple, heading off to explore the city together.

Dangerous, entertaining thoughts like that. They were only fucking, after all—and they hadn’t even gotten around to doing that yet.

Retreating slightly, he cocked one eyebrow in a leer. “Unless you’d prefer to stay in today.”

“Nah. Tempting as you are”—she unwrapped her hand from around his neck, sliding it lower, fingertips lingering for a second at the chain where it crossed his collarbone—“daylight’s burning. And there’s plenty of time for that later.” Her voice wavered, and her thumb stroked lower, drifting closer to his father’s ring. “Right?”

Instinct had him grabbing her hand, but his rational mind stopped him from pushing her away from the ring. Instead, he lifted her knuckles to his lips, kissing each one in turn. “Plenty,” he agreed.

Five more days, he reminded himself.

The golden band against his breastbone felt like a weight.

Five days was more than enough.

Kate didn’t think she would ever get enough of Paris.

Rylan was barely hiding the bemusement on his face as she all but skipped along at his side, her hand wrapped around his elbow. She loved Montmartre. How much time had she spent studying all the people who had lived and died and loved and painted here? Pablo Picasso and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. Renoir and Degas and Van Gogh.

So much must have changed since their time, but the whole place had this feeling to it, like you could picture someone whipping out an easel and a set of paints at any moment. She and Rylan had had brunch in the kind of dingy café she’d always imagined artists sipping coffee in—not one of the fancy ones near the museums down by the Seine. Ducked into little shops and even taken cheesy selfies in front of the Moulin Rouge, and she was bursting. She just wanted to set up shop and draw hungover people in black clothes, smoking cigarettes and talking, forever.

And always, in the background of every one of those scenes would be Rylan. Rylan with his self-satisfied smirk and his fake frown. He liked to stand aside and watch her have her fun, scowling at it all, but she saw through him. He was having fun in spite of himself.

It was sort of strangely adorable. Like a cat who didn’t want to admit he loved being petted.

“Okay,” she said, putting down a hat she did not need to spend any of her dwindling resources on. She tugged at his arm as they set off down the sidewalk again, nudging him until he took his hand from his pocket so she could intertwine their fingers. “You’ve indulged me all day.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

She was ignoring that. “So now what do you want to do?”

Suggestiveness colored his tone. “I can think of a couple of things.”

She could think of a couple, too. Montmartre had kept the lion’s share of her attention today, but it had taken effort not to slip into daydreams about how patiently he’d touched her the night before. Images of those big hands on her breasts and framing her hips. The warm lapping of his tongue . . .

Blinking, she squeezed his hand harder. “Things you want to do in Montmartre,” she clarified.

“You’re not narrowing it down much.”

“Be serious.”

“Well, that’s no fun.” He eyed her legs, but not in quite so suggestive of a manner. “Your feet too tired yet?”

They were, a little, but considering how much walking she’d been doing, that was basically to be expected. “Not too bad. Why?”

He gestured up the hill, and she squinted against the brightness of the sky. “It’s a heck of a climb, but it’s worth the effort.”

She considered. “That’s Sacred Heart up there, right?” A big, old, famous church. That didn’t sound like something that would be particularly enthralling for him.

“Yup.”

“Why do you want to go there?”

“Isn’t it on your list of things to see?”

“Yeah, but I asked what you want to do.”

“I told you.” He wasn’t looking at her. “I want to show you around town.”

“Which you’ve done. A lot of. There must be something you’d like to do for you.”

His mouth settled into the lines of a frown, and he didn’t answer for a solid minute. Finally, just when she’d been about to start needling him, he offered, “It’s got the best view in the entire city. If we’re this close already . . .” He shrugged. “I’d like to see it. And I’d like to see you see it.”

“Oh.”

And it wasn’t lost on her, that half his entertainment really did seem to amount to watching her taking in the city he’d clearly come to know so well. She couldn’t pretend she entirely understood it, but she wasn’t going to question it anymore.

“All right,” she said, looking to cross the street in the direction of the hill. “Let’s go.”

He yanked her back, chuckling at her as he led her farther down the way. “Lesson one about navigating any European city. The shortest path between two points is never a straight line.”

“No?”

“Nope. Gotta go this way.”

She was glad he knew where he was going, because by the time they reached the steep stairs heading up, she was out of breath and completely turned around. He slung an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close as they avoided a couple more aggressive street peddlers, deflecting them with his body language and a short burst of annoyed-sounding French. It made a warmth grow in her chest, to have him looking out for her like this.

Working to keep up with him as they ascended, she asked, “How did you get to be such a good tour guide, anyway?”

“Dunno. Just had a lot of time to learn my way around the city. Figured out what my favorite places were and decided to share them.” His voice trailed off before he could mention how many people he had shared them with.

And it was funny—she didn’t have any illusions that she was the first one he’d given this tour to. He’d taken her to places that had seemed tailored to her tastes, but he was clearly pretty practiced at this whole thing. Hell, he’d basically admitted that his shtick had served him well with women in the past.

Still. Her gaze drifted to the center of his chest, where the drape of his shirt concealed the ring he wore around his neck. Maybe the hitch to his voice as he’d told her about his father had been a part of the act, but she didn’t think so. This time they were spending together was only temporary, and she was far from unique. But she had some claim on him. Something that set her at least a little bit apart from the rest.

That thought made her bold.

“You know.” Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she tested the waters. “You never did tell me what brought you here.”

He hummed, frowning, and subconsciously or not, picked up the pace at which he climbed. She quickened her own gait, hooking her hand into his belt for something to hold on to.

“What brings anyone to Paris?” he asked after a moment, shrugging and dropping his arm. “Great city, good art, better food. I already knew the language, so I figured why not?”

“Those are all good arguments for Paris,” she agreed. She could have let it go there, but she couldn’t help pushing. “But you’re not from here.”

“Nope.”

God, this was like pulling teeth. Why the freedom with his story last night and this brush-off today? “So where are you from?”