The Billionaire's Secret Read Online Free Page B

Paris.”
    “I’d love that even more,” she said, and when he offered his arm to her, she took it with a smile of pure anticipation.
     
    ***
     
    Evan navigated Margie along Boulevard Saint-Germain, letting go of her hand a half dozen times so she could sprint to a shop window and ooh and ahh over the display. Right now, she was exclaiming over the Ralph Lauren window display. The female mannequin was wearing a gorgeous gold dress, and he had to fight the urge to usher her inside, find her size, and have her try it on so he could buy it for her.
    “You weren’t kidding about the people here making art out of their show windows,” she said. “I still remember you telling me that. I’ve been seriously thinking about what I want to do with mine. I have some ideas.”
    “I’m glad it sparked your creativity,” he said. She had done that for him.
    Once she was finished marveling at the display, they continued to stroll along the busy streets. People were already out in the cafes having a coffee or pre-dinner drink.
    “I’ll have to bring you back to this place,” he said, nodding his head to the green café in front of Brasserie Lipp. “Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald used to come here.”
    “They did?” she asked, stopping to peer into the restaurant. “I’d love that.”
    He angled them across the square past the Cathédrale Saint-Volodymyr-le-Grand so she could enjoy the art displayed on the Rue de Saints-Peres leading to Quai Malaquais.
    When they reached the Pont de Arts Bridge, she just had to go up and read a few of the locks that lovers around the world had signed and left to represent their feelings for each other.
    “It’s so beautiful,” she exclaimed with stars in her eyes, touching one of the many locks cascading down the metal railing. “There’s so much love here. Can you feel it?”
    For the first time, he could. He’d always found the display kind of corny, but the look on her face made him want to find the closest peddler to buy a lock for them. Reaching out a hand to touch her face, he said, “I do now.”
    Her face seemed to glow.
    “Come on. Pont Neuf is the next bridge.”
    Her breathing shattered, and she looked away, as if searching for the spot. When she met his eyes again, she said, “Don’t let me dilly dally anymore. Not until later.” So she was thinking about the kiss too.
    His throat grew thick. “Okay, I won’t.”
    When he finally led her down the back stairs off Pont Neuf, her hand tightened around his as if she too could feel the tension, the passion gathering between them. Some people missed the stairs leading to the little inlet in the middle of the Seine, but it was one of his favorite places. The park benches lining the slender field of grass were already filled with other couples and families enjoying the day. He led her down the sidewalk right along the edge of the water.
    When he reached the willow trees whose branches were dancing in the wind, almost like they were beckoning them closer, he turned to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He’d never anticipated a kiss like this before, and it seemed as if everything in him was rising with a force greater than himself. He felt like Edison must have when the lightbulb had first worked. When Henry Ford had cranked that first car.
    “Margie,” he said softly because he had to say her name just now.
    And then he lowered his lips to hers as she rose on her toes to meet him.
    Something electric sparked and fanned out between them, and he couldn’t hold back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her to him. She gave a breathy sigh, and he moaned into her mouth, wanting more. She opened to him like a Paris rose, beautiful and delicious, and he savored every slick slide of her tongue on his. He supped at her lips like she was his last glorious feast, like she was the key to paradise itself.
    She was his paradise now, and there was no end to the feast. Not even when they finally