Patrick pounded on the ornate beveled door of the hotel room and tried to calm his racing heart without success. His eyes were gritty with exhaustion, but he felt punchy with excitement, almost giddy. Of course, one might argue that was because he hadn't slept in seventy two hours and was verging on delirious, but what did they know? He was going to see her.

"Coming!" a feminine voice called from behind the hotel door.

He straightened and smoothed down the front of his vest, attempting to make himself look presentable. It was pretty much a lost cause. After three days in the same clothes, he was looking decidedly rumpled.

The door opened and there she was, just as lovely as he'd remembered, wearing black capri pants and a royal blue sleeveless top that set off her dark hair and pale complexion in a manner most striking. He drank her in.

She stared at him in unflattering astonishment. "Patrick?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Hi, Teresa."

"What are you doing here?" she said, aghast.

"I came to see you." He gestured at the hotel door. "Can I come in?"

She looked horrified. "You came to see me?"

"Yes. Please, can I come in?"

She drew the door closer to her. "No. What the hell, Patrick?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Have you got someone in there with you?" Jeez. Those French musicians worked fast.

"Of course not," she said defensively. The space between her and the door closed another fraction of an inch.

He resisted the urge to plant his foot squarely in front of the door frame. "Then what's the problem?"

"Are you crazy?" she demanded. "You can't just—you can't fly halfway around the world for a woman you just met!"

Patrick raised his eyebrows. "Ah, technically, I can." He corrected himself. "I did."

"You're crazy," she repeated.

He watched her. "I knew it was a longshot, but I confess, I was hoping for a slightly warmer welcome. We had a nice time together, didn't we?"

"Of course," she said automatically. She fidgeted. "But that doesn't mean you can just… show up here out of the blue."

"Why not?"

She stuck her chin out stubbornly. "Because."

That was hardly a proper answer. "I'm not crazy," he repeated. "Just tired." Perhaps her attitude would soften if he made himself pathetic enough. "I've been traveling for two days."

"Two days?" she said, poleaxed.

"Yes. I came straight here from the airport."

She peered out into the hallway and looked around him. "Where's your stuff?" she asked suspiciously.

"My stuff?" he repeated.

"Yeah, where's your luggage?"

"I didn't bring any."

"You flew halfway around the world and didn't pack a single bag?" she said, incredulous.

He flashed a grin at her. "Well, it was all rather sudden, you know."

Her eyes narrowed. "How sudden, exactly?"

"It would have been more sudden, but I had to stop at the bank to get my passport from my safety deposit box." He left out the part where he had been obliged to hypnotize the security guard into letting him in because the bank was closed on Sunday. And the further machinations it had taken him to actually gain access to the safety deposit box. Teresa was the honest sort—it would probably be best not to apprise her right away of the range of extra-legal activities he was capable of when he set his mind to it. "What I really wanted to do was surprise you on the plane. I thought that would be more romantic. I could have sprinted through the airport in order to catch you, or perhaps scaled a fence to demonstrate the sincerity of my romantic gesture."

She looked like a deer in headlights. "Romantic?"

"Yes, of course." He gestured to his rumpled, unshaven state. "What kind of grand romantic gesture would it be if I stopped for luggage?"

She frowned. "Are you still wearing the same clothes you were wearing the other night?"

Apparently, she didn't find his unwashed state as romantic as he'd intended. He glossed over this. "The point is, by the time I got to the airport, your flight had already left, and there wasn't another one until later that evening. And then the connecting flight was delayed for over eight hours. Plus the time change. So I didn't even get here until eight am this morning. I think." He trailed off. "What day is it, exactly, anyway?"

"Tuesday," she said flatly.

He nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. Tuesday."

She continued to stare at him as though he were an unpleasant substance she'd found on the bottom of her shoe. "How the hell did you know where to find me, anyway?"

"I called the music director and conned him into giving me the address," he said. "It was surprisingly easy, really. Tricking the hotel staff into coughing up your room number once I got here was much more difficult. Apparently they're very close-lipped about such things. Security concerns, you know."

"Yeah, I'm feeling a security concern right now," she muttered.

"Oh, come now, don't be like that. You don't believe I came here with anything less than the most honorable intentions, do you?"

"How should I know? I've only known you a cumulative total of ten hours and you show up here like some kind of international stalker!"

"Don't be silly. Stalkers don't knock at the front door. They skulk furtively in alleys and, I don't know, behind lamp posts."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "What am I supposed to tell Cho about this to keep him from hopping on the next flight to come here and bust your kneecaps?"

"You can tell Cho that you'll bust my kneecaps yourself, should the need arise." He looked at her strong, fierce form before him. "I'm certain you could incapacitate me with very little effort."

She muttered something distinctly unflattering to his person that had the effect of communicating that she agreed wholeheartedly with this assessment.

This wasn't getting them anywhere. He peered around her and spied a breakfast tray on the coffee table in the living area of the suite. "Are those eggs?" he asked, craning his neck for a better look.

She automatically turned her head to follow his gaze. He took advantage of her temporary inattention to squeeze through the door and slip past her.

She whipped her head around. "Hey!"

She was just a shade too slow to slam the door on him. He ignored her cry of protest and made a beeline to the eggs. "Ah, an omelette," he said. "How delightful." He gestured to the plate and sat down. "Do you mind? I'm starved." He helped himself to a mouthful of the perfectly cooked eggs without waiting for permission.

"That's my breakfast!" she said, outraged. She scurried to his side and snatched the plate away from him. She took a huge bite, her eyes fixed on him like daggers.

Riling her up was a lot of fun, he discovered. "Apologies," he said, not meaning it. "You're quite right. I'll get my own." He picked up the phone on the end table by the couch. "Hello? Yes, could you please send up another mushroom and cheese omelette?" He glanced at Teresa, still shoveling in her omelette and glowering at him. "And a large plate of fruit, please," he added, thinking that perhaps appealing to her sweet tooth would sweeten her temper, as well. "Oh, and while you're at it, would it be possible for you to send up a fresh set of clothes for me? I had a bit of a luggage mishap." He ignored Teresa's strangled noise of protest. "You could? Excellent. Yes, you can charge it to the room. And a pot of tea, please. Thanks very much." He gave the concierge his measurements and rang off.

"'You can charge it to the room?'" Teresa mimicked, glaring at him.

He grinned at her. "Don't worry, I'm good for it."

"You'd better be," she huffed, not the least bit mollified.

"I'll pay you back at the earliest possible convenience," he promised. He'd just have to make sure that the opportunity didn't arise too early. Putting yourself in someone's debt was a foolproof way of ensuring they had some incentive to keep you around. He was happy to owe her. He wanted her in a position close enough to collect. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. "Do you mind if I use the facilities?"

"Apparently it doesn't matter if I mind or not," she said sourly. "You're just going to do what you want anyway."

"Thank you, that's very hospitable of you, Teresa," he said, retreating to the bathroom.

He found a robe on the back of the door. Excellent. He flipped the tap on in the bathtub and set about stripping his clothes off.

"What are you doing in there?" Teresa shouted from the living area.

"Just freshening up a bit," he called back.

He heard her approach the door. "Are you showering in there?" she demanded, incredulous.

He opened the door and stuck his head out, only to find her directly in front of him, staring at him in shock. "I thought you would appreciate my presence more if I didn't smell like a man who has been on a plane for two days."

Her jaw dropped in indignation. "Make yourself right at home, why don't you?" she said sarcastically.

"Thanks. I'll just be getting back to it, then," he said.

Her eyes narrowed. Unconsciously, they drifted down his torso, taking in his half-unclothed state.

He raised his eyebrows. "Unless you'd rather join me?"

Her eyes flew back to his. They betrayed the briefest flicker of interest before she succeeded in covering it with a scowl. "Of course not."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He closed the door in her face. He filed that flicker of interest away in his mind for later, though.

He took his time in the shower, investigating the wide range of complimentary bath gels and shampoos provided by the hotel. He found her much larger bottle of shampoo and indulged himself by taking a healthy whiff of the spicy cinnamon scent. He decided he liked it better on her, however, and chose a green tea scented suite of bath products for himself.

When he got out, he found she'd unceremoniously dumped the pile of clothes sent up by the concierge just inside the door. He grinned to himself, surmising that she'd deigned to perform this helpful act not because she was softening to his cause, but because she was afraid of facing him if he wandered out of the bathroom naked.

The clothes weren't what he would have chosen for himself, but they would do in a pinch. He examined the dark blue jeans and black designer t-shirt with interest. The concierge had good taste, at least. He'd very thoughtfully provided socks and underwear, as well. Patrick dressed and returned to the living room.

Teresa was curled up on the couch, picking at the fruit plate and frowning.

He took a seat in the chair kitty corner to the couch and dug into the omelette that had apparently been delivered along with the clothes and fruit tray.

Teresa watched him for a moment. "What are you really doing here?" she asked abruptly.

"Enjoying a perfectly cooked plate of eggs," Patrick said mildly.

She scowled. "Come on, you know what I mean."

He looked deep into her eyes. She raised her eyebrows. He gestured to the fruit plate. "Can I have some fruit?"

"No," she said, drawing the plate protectively towards her. "Answer the question."

"I told you, I came to see you," he said, stealing a slice of orange. She threw a grape at his head. It bounced off his forehead. He recovered it and ate that, too.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

He considered his answer, well aware that the wrong one could very well lead to her forcibly ejecting him from her room and her life. "Because the other night was extraordinary," he said finally. "Because after knowing you for one night, I know your friendship is worth crossing oceans for. And I'd very much like to be your friend, if you'll let me."

She stared at him. "You came to Paris because you want to be my…friend?"

"Well, I'd also very much like to make love to you at some point, if you're amenable to the idea," Patrick said, taking a bite of his eggs.

She choked a little on her fruit and looked at him, alarmed.

"I recognize that is a privilege I will have to earn, however," Patrick continued, unfazed. "I want to woo you properly, with all the care and attention you deserve. But if you're not interested in exploring that side of things, I can learn to live with it. The friendship is the critical thing, you see."

"You realize you sound like a lunatic, don't you?" she said. "I mean, you understand that flying across the world and barging into the hotel room of a woman you just met is not normal behavior, right?"

"What's so great about normal? You've been out with normal guys before, haven't you?"

"Of course," she said, annoyed.

"So what did they do, after spending an amazing night with you in their arms?"

She turned red. "I dunno," she muttered. "Called or texted me the next morning."

"And look what happened to them," he said dismissively.

"Nothing happened to them!" she said defensively. "They're all living perfectly nice lives."

He nodded. "Yes. Without you."

"I—" she stopped, clearly disarmed. "That's not—"

"Honestly," he said, shaking his head. "Texts and phone calls. How trite and unimaginative."

She rallied her defenses. "It's at least not bordering on insane and irresponsible!"

"Let's leave the question of sanity aside for the time being," Patrick said smoothly. One had to choose one's battles, after all. It was preferable to choose the ones one had a prayer at winning. "How is me deciding to come to Paris irresponsible?"

"It must have cost a fortune!"

He shrugged. "So? I have money."

"You can't just leave everything in your life behind at a moment's notice," she said desperately.

What life? he was tempted to ask. There was nothing tying him to California except habit and memories. Since stating flatly that he had no life to speak of would be pathetic, he rephrased. "I don't have to work. I don't have a lot of close social connections. Why shouldn't I fly to Paris on a moment's notice?"

She inhaled deeply through her nose. "It's too big. It's too much."

He read the anxiety in her countenance. Well, he'd just have to do something about that. "I know what's happening here," he announced.

"What's that?" she asked warily.

He pointed his fork at her. "I'm not crazy. You felt this thing between us just as much as I did the other night, I know you did. But when you said good-bye to me, you wrote me off as a fond memory, assuming you'd never see me again."

"Well, that was only logical," she huffed. "I'd just met you, and I was leaving for Paris for three months!"

Meh. Logic. A highly overrated way of looking at the world. "Exactly. You didn't think you'd ever have to face what that night really meant to either of us. And now that I'm here in the flesh, you don't know what to do with me."

"That last part is true enough," she said under her breath.

"Well, I don't want to be a fond memory," he informed her. "I want to be part of your life. And I want you to be part of mine."

"You flew halfway around the world to avoid becoming a fond memory?" she said incredulously. "You really are crazy."

He smiled at her. She really was cute when she was attempting to reason with someone she obviously considered at least somewhat mentally unstable. "Forgive me. This has never happened to me before. I'm not familiar with the protocol."

"What's never happened to you before?" she asked warily.

Falling for someone in the course of a single night, he thought. He gestured back and forth between them with one finger. "This… connection between us."

She feigned innocence. "What connection?"

"Don't do that," he said softly. "Don't pretend you don't feel it, too."

"Maybe it's the jet lag," she muttered.

"I've never felt something so instantaneous for anyone before," he told her, ignoring the crack about the jet lag. "With my wife, it was completely different."

"Your wife?" she squeaked, looking more freaked out than ever.

"We were kids together, grew up together," he explained. "It all happened very gradually. I'd already known her forever when we fell in love."

"Who said anything about love?" Teresa demanded. She looked like she was about to hyperventilate.

"My point is, it's terrifying, isn't it?" he persisted. "No matter the manner of it."

"What?" she asked, looking as though she were afraid of the answer.

"Letting someone get close to you," he said. "It's like donning body armor to protect yourself from the rest of the world, and then handing this person a weapon that can puncture it like it was no stronger than a paper bag. It's especially difficult for people like us."

"People like us?" she echoed.

"People who have experienced great loss," he explained.

She looked away. "Oh."

"What do you say?" he asked lightly. "If I handed you an armor-piercing spear, would you accept it?"

She looked back at him, her expression inscrutable. "Eat your omelette," she said finally.

He smiled to himself and ate his omelette.

Xxx

"So what are your plans?" she asked him brusquely once he'd finished his eggs. Clearly, she was determined to turn the conversation to more neutral territory while she considered what to do with him.

He sipped his tea. "My plans?"

"Yes. Your plans. What are you going to do with yourself, now that you're here?" she asked, a challenge in her tone.

He sensed that 'follow you around like a lovesick dog,' was not the answer she was looking for. "Well, I'll probably do a little shopping," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "Replenish my wardrobe a bit." One wrinkled suit and a single outfit selected by a stranger would only get one so far.

She relaxed ever so slightly. "Good idea."

He watched her closely, cataloguing her reactions. "I thought I might walk around a bit. Do some sightseeing."

"That's great," she said, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "It's a beautiful city. Have you ever been here before?"

"Yes," he said, deciding to leave out the details of the con he'd been running at the time that had brought him here in the first place. "But that was many years ago. Do you have any recommendations?"

"I think you'd like the Louvre," she told him, forgetting her wariness and falling back into the easy rhythm of conversation they'd established over the course of their long night together. "And the Tuileries Garden. I like to people watch there. The flowers there are lovely this time of year. And of course it's always nice to take a walk along the Seine. And then there's Montmartre, and Sacre Coeur…"

He watched her, enchanted by the way her eyes lit up as she thought of each special place. "Which is your favorite?"

She pondered this. "Honestly, I think my favorite thing to do in Paris is just to walk around without any particular agenda in mind and just see what you see." Her eyes went wistful. "You know, to just… wander."

"Wandering sounds excellent," he agreed. He hoped he'd be able talk her into letting him wander with her at some point. The notion of getting lost in Paris with Teresa was decidedly appealing.

She looked back at him. "What else?"

"What else, what?" he asked, taking another sip of his tea.

"What else are you going to do while you're here?" she prompted him.

"I'd really like to hear you play again," he told her. Every night, if possible.

She wavered, but relented in the end. "That could probably be arranged," she said cautiously.

This was encouraging. It sounded like she was coming around to the idea of him being around on a regular basis. He took a sip of tea to hide his pleasure, lest she think he was getting ahead of himself and decide to throw him out after all.

"I think I'd like to enjoy some fine French cuisine while I'm here, too," he went on. He regarded her over the top of his teacup. "I'm hoping I can convince you to join me in that endeavor at some point."

He could see she was tempted. He watched logic and desire wage battle behind her eyes.

"Oh, I—" she flushed. "Um. Sure. Maybe."

Her natural longing for companionship was winning, at least for the time being. Ha. He knew she wasn't indifferent to him! This was real progress. "Wonderful."

She cut her eyes away, flustered. "So, uh, where are you staying?"

He looked around the room. "This place seems pretty nice." Maybe he'd get a room next door. They could be neighbors. He was sure he'd see her often if he lived next door to her. And he could keep an eye out for those pesky French musicians.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you inviting yourself to move in now?"

"Are you offering?" he teased.

"This place only has one bed!"

"So?" he said, unable to resist teasing her. "I already know you don't mind cuddling."

"Never mind that," she said, flushing again. "I only meant—well, I wouldn't put it past you."

He wouldn't put it past him either. "I thought we'd table the issue of cohabitation for the moment. Wouldn't want to rush into anything," he said with a wink. "We can always revisit the topic once we've gotten to know each other a bit better. You know, in a few days."

She threw another grape at his head. "Very funny."

He grinned, pleased that she was relaxed enough with him to give him a hard time. "Will you be here all summer?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "This place is way nicer than I could afford on my own."

"How did you come to be here in the first place?" he asked curiously.

"The Paris Orchestra is putting me up for a few days as a courtesy while I look for a place to sublet for the summer," she explained.

"Guess you're a pretty desirable commodity for them to go to all that trouble for you," he remarked. He didn't need her affirmation. He could vouch for that himself.

"They've been very kind," she demurred.

"So modest," he chuckled. "Maybe you should hire me as your agent while I'm here. If you can get them to put you up in a place like this without even asking for it, imagine what you could get with a master negotiator on your side."

She looked amused. "Now you're a master negotiator?"

"Certainly. I've gotten this far with you, haven't I?"

"I wouldn't say negotiation has been the primary skill you've employed since you got here," she said dryly.

"See, that just proves my point," he said loftily. "You are seeing negotiation in its highest form—the kind where the negotiated party doesn't even realize they're being negotiated with."

She shook her head, smiling. "You're ridiculous."

"One of my better qualities," he admitted. He set down his teacup and stifled a yawn.

"You look tired," she observed.

"I didn't sleep on the plane," he confessed. He looked at her couch longingly. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to take a nap on the couch with me, could I?"

"Now you're inviting me to sleep on the couch in my own room?" she asked, exasperated.

"Well, as we've established, I haven't acquired my own accommodations yet. And your accommodations look very… accommodating."

"I'm not taking a nap with you," she said firmly.

"You've already slept with me," he pointed out. "It's a little late to be getting prudish at this point, don't you think?"

A flush crept up her neck, though she tried to keep her expression neutral. "Not…like that."

"Hm," he said, surveying the couch. "It's true, the hood of my car was more spacious. Of course, if it's room to stretch you're after, we could always go crazy and sleep in the bed."

"Or you could find a nice park bench somewhere," she suggested with a smirk.

"I'm not completely opposed to the park bench idea," he told her. "But I'd much rather share my nap with you than a bunch of pigeons."

"Very flattering," she remarked.

He perked up. "Is that a yes?"

She shook her head. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I have to leave for rehearsal."

Patrick's face fell. "Oh."

She bit her lip. "Look, I'm probably going to regret this, but… you can sleep here for a bit while I'm gone, if you want."

Hope stirred in his chest. This was encouraging. She was adapting to his outrageous behavior more quickly than he had any right to expect. "That's a very generous offer," he commented.

She cut her eyes away. "Well, you look a little worse for the wear."

He fell for her a little harder at that. She acted tough, but she was awfully soft-hearted under that brusque exterior. He bet if he took a nap on her couch, she'd wait until he was asleep and drape a blanket over him when she was sure he wouldn't catch her tender-hearted gesture.

He considered the offer. On the one hand, lingering in the hotel room until she returned would virtually guarantee further interaction between the two of them, forcing her to deal with him when she got back. Of course, that could backfire. If he stayed too long, she might get fidgety and decide to physically eject him from her space. He calculated rapidly. "What time do you have to leave for rehearsal?"

She glanced at the clock and grimaced. "Now, pretty much."

On the other hand, he could sleep when he was dead, he reasoned. "I'll walk you there." For now, he would take the opportunity to remain in her presence as long as possible.

She gave him a sidelong glance. "How did you know I was going to walk?"

"It's Paris," he said by way of explanation.

She shook her head. "Right."

She went into the bedroom to retrieve her violin. He waited for her by the door.

"Ready?" she said briskly when she joined him, violin case in hand.

"Certainly," he said. He looked at the violin case fondly. It felt like an old friend. He gestured to it. "May I carry your violin for you?"

She looked at him measuringly, as though weighing up in her mind whether or not he was to be trusted with such a precious object. "All right," she said finally.

"I won't let any harm come to it," he promised.

"You'd better not," she said sternly, and handed it over.

He took the violin and opened the door for her. "After you."

She looked as though she were about to say something, but then she shook her head a little and turned back to the door. She started forward, then stopped halfway across the threshold. She turned back towards him, almost bumping into him. He'd been following rather closely. She took a deep breath and addressed his chest. "Yes."

He looked at her inquiringly.

"Yes to the friendship thing," she clarified. "I'll be your friend."

His face lit up. "You will?"

She studied his face. Instead of answering, she said abruptly, "Let me ask you something."

"Yes?"

She looked at him intently. "If I sent you away right now and told you I never wanted to see you again, would you go?"

His face fell. He tried not to show how crushed he was at the thought, focusing on her instead. He looked back into her eyes. "Yes. If that was what you wanted."

"The thing is, I don't think that is what I want," she said slowly.

He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Really?"

"That would be the rational thing to do," she said ruefully. "To send away a man who followed you halfway around the world after knowing you one night. I know that. But I… I don't know. You don't feel like a stranger to me. Even though I've only known you a day, it feels longer. I feel like I've never known anyone as well as you. And that no one has ever known me better than you do, even after only one night. Part of me feels that if I sent you away… that if I never saw you again…" She took another deep breath. "Part of me knows that if I sent you away, I would regret it the rest of my life."

"That was why I had to come," he said softly. "I don't want to live with that kind of regret."

She bit her lip. "I don't either."

"So… you'll be my friend?" he said hopefully.

"Well, you're obviously high maintenance and you apparently don't have an entirely firm grip on reality," she said, shaking her head. "But you seem like a good man." She tilted her head and looked into his eyes. "Something tells me you might be a friend worth having."

He grinned. "High maintenance, huh? You sure you want to take that on?"

She gave him an arch look. "I enjoy a challenge."

He chuckled. "Well, that's lucky."

She smiled back, then turned and started down the hall. He placed a hand at the small of her back and followed.

Xxx

When they stepped out onto the sidewalk, he took her hand in his.

She glanced down at their joined hands and raised her eyebrows.

"What?" he said innocently. "Friends can't hold hands?"

She shook her head, but she didn't pull away. Hand in hand, they stepped out onto the streets of Paris.

Patrick breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of fresh bread as they passed a boulangerie. He spied a patisserie and resolved to surprise Teresa with pastries one day while they were here.

He reveled in the sensation of her fingers threaded through his and reflected on his lot with satisfaction. The film of ice that had encapsulated his heart for the better part of the last five years cracked and melted into warmth and contentment. He was… happy. It was a strange concept. He looked over at Teresa, her hair fluttering in the breeze as she walked, her stride long and confident. The sunlight caught glints of red in her dark hair. Happiness. He thought he could get used to it. He stepped closer to her and walked on.

They must have walked about twenty minutes, at least, but to Patrick, it felt like no more than a breath. All too soon, she stopped. Patrick blinked and paused, half a beat behind her.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gestured to an ornate mid-nineteenth century building behind her. "This is me."

Patrick looked around him. The streets of Paris bustled around them, people walking to work, walking their dogs, walking to destinations unknown. Shopkeepers tended their shops. A flower seller set out a basket of tulips on his front steps. The Seine curled lazily behind them. A grand cathedral rose up on the opposite shore, dominating the backdrop. The silhouette of the Eiffel Tower, just visible in the distance, completed the scene.

He looked into her eyes. "When can I see you again?"

She bit her lip. "Well… I'm done with rehearsal at four."

"Really?" he said, delighted.

"Sure," she said awkwardly. "You know, if you want to," she added hastily.

"Of course I do," he assured her. "I'll be right here waiting for you. Four o clock."

She smiled at him shyly. "Okay."

He stepped forward and kissed her. He didn't mean to—it just happened, without him ever forming any conscious intention to do so. His right hand clenched the handle of the violin case. His left snaked around her waist and held her to him. Then, since he was there, he deepened the kiss, taking his time to get to know her mouth better. He felt the subject merited considerably further study.

"In your mind, is this something friends do, too?" she asked, a little breathless, when he released her from the kiss.

He smiled down at her. "Well… we are in France." He kissed her again, unable to resist.

"All right," she sighed a moment later, clutching at his upper arms. "Yes to the wooing thing, too."

He tightened his grip on her. "I'm glad."

He would make her happy, he resolved. He'd help her find an apartment, because although the hotel she was staying in was nice, it was still a hotel, and she deserved a home. He would find her somewhere she'd be comfortable—somewhere charming and cozy. In Montmartre, perhaps. Somewhere beautiful and romantic, where he could walk her home under the street lights of Paris. He'd take her to meals and ensure she had all the best French delicacies available to her. He'd escort her to the theater and listen to her play. Even though she was far from home, she would always know at least one person in the audience. He'd take her on outings and make sure she didn't get lonely when she wasn't working. He'd entertain and amuse her, to make sure she didn't get so absorbed in her work she forgot to have fun once in a while. He would make her smile. He would take care of her.

She kissed him again. "I have to go."

He groaned. "Don't leave yet. This is such a perfect day. And we're in such a perfect place." He punctuated his plea with another heartfelt kiss.

"This is really unfair," she complained, bringing her hand up to rest on his chest. "You're using Paris against me. How am I supposed to be sensible when you have the city of romance on your side?"

He nibbled her delectable lower lip. "Sensible is overrated."

"Give me my violin," she said into his mouth.

Reluctantly, he handed it over. Their fingers brushed as they made the exchange.

He bent his head and claimed her mouth again. He would never get enough of that taste, he was certain. Not if he lived a thousand years.

She kissed him back, then pulled away, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. "I'm leaving now."

He gazed at her with longing. "If you must, you must."

"I must," she sighed. She stepped away from him, then hesitated.

"What is it?" he asked, intrigued by the weight of that pause.

She bit her lip again. "I wanted to tell you—I started a new song. On the plane."

"Really?" he said, pleased. "That's great."

She blushed furiously. "It's kind of… about you."

"Reeeally," he drawled, delighted. "No one's ever written me a song before."

"I thought maybe you'd like to hear it, once it's finished."

He gazed at her fondly. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

"Good," she said, pleased. "It's a date."

"I look forward to it," he said softly.

She smiled. "Great."

"I'll see you later."

She tilted her head to one side. "Four o clock?"

"Four o clock," he confirmed.

She smiled at him once more, a breathtaking thing that lit up her whole face, then headed into the building.

He watched her go, his fingers absently drifting to his chest. His heart was beating too fast again. He thought about her clear green eyes, and it went to double time. A deep, pleasant ache filled his chest, sweet and heavy. He breathed deeply, savoring the sensation.

It wasn't so bad, feeling again.

The End