Los Angeles 208

Chapter 208

Olivia

We spent an hour there, me examining every window while Alexander watched with amused patience. When we finally left, the afternoon sun was warm on our faces.

“Hungry?” Alexander asked.

“Starving. Where are we eating tonight?”

“There’s this tiny bistro near our hotel. Nothing fancy, just really good French food.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Dinner was exactly what he’d promised: simple, classic French cuisine in a cozy space filled with locals rather than tourists. We shared escargot, duck confit, and a bottle of wine that Alexander insisted would change my life.

“Well?” he asked as I took my first sip.

“It’s good,” I admitted. “But life–changing might be overselling it.”

“Give it time. The wine needs to breathe, like our marriage.”

I nearly choked on my next sip. “Did you just compare wine to our marriage?”

“Both need time to develop properly. Both improve with age. Both can give you a headache if you’re not careful.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep being ridiculous.”

Our waiter appeared with the check, which Alexander paid without looking at the total. Outside, Paris was alive with evening energy. Street musicians played on corners, cafés overflowed with people, and couples strolled hand in hand along the narrow sidewalks.

“Walk?” Alexander suggested.

“Always.”

We wandered aimlessly, ending up at a jazz club tucked down an alley. Music spilled out into the street, sultry and inviting.

“Want to go in?” Alexander asked.

“Yes.”

:.

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Inside, the club was intimate and smoky despite the no–smoking laws. A woman with a voice like honey and whiskey crooned into a vintage microphone while the band backed her with lazy, sensual notes.

We found a table in the corner. Alexander ordered whiskey for both of us while I soaked in the atmosphere.

“This is perfect,” I said, watching the singer sway with the music. “How did you know about this place?”

“Lucky guess. Saw the sign and took a chance.”

“Well, your instincts were good.”

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. Around us, couples swayed together in the limited. space between tables.

“Dance with me,” Alexander said, standing and offering his hand.

“Here? There’s barely room.”

“Then we’ll make room.”

He pulled me from my seat and into his arms, guiding me to a spot near our table. Other couples pressed close around us, everyone moving together in the dim light.

Alexander’s hand spread across my lower back, holding me tight against him. His other hand captured mine, bringing it to rest against his chest, where I could feel his heartbeat steady and strong.

“You’re a good dancer,” I murmured.

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“Worth mentioning again.”

We moved together to the music, our bodies finding a rhythm that felt natural and right. The singer’s voice washed over us, singing about lost love and second chances in French I couldn’t fully understand but felt in my bones.

“What’s she saying?” I asked.

Alexander translated softly. “Something about finding love when you weren’t looking for it. About two people who thought they were alone discovering they’d been waiting for each other all along.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Or devastatingly sad, depending on how you interpret it.”

I tilted my head back to meet his eyes. “Which way do you interpret it?”

“Tonight?” His hand tightened on my back. “Beautiful.”

The song ended, but we didn’t move apart immediately. The next song started, something upbeat and jazzy, breaking the spell.

Another drink Alexander asked.

P:

I should probably switch to water. Getting a little tipsy.”

You’re adorable when you’re tipsy

I’m adorable all the time.”

True.

AG

We stayed at the club for another hour, listening to music and nursing our drinks. By the time we left. I was pleasantly buzzed, and Alexander was more relaxed than I’d seen him in weeks.

This was a good night,” I said as we walked back toward the hotel.

“One of the best.”

“Even without working?”

“Especially without working.” He pulled me closer. “Maybe you’re right about me being too focused on business.

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

At the hotel, we rode the elevator in comfortable silence. Once inside our suite. I headed straight for the bathroom.

“I’m taking a bath, I announced. “That tub is too good not to use every day.”

“Want company?” Alexander called after me.

“Maybe later.”

I filled the enormous tub with hot water and the complimentary bath oils and sank in with a sigh of pure contentment. My sore muscles, sore from days of walking, relaxed in the heat.

My phone buzzed from where I’d left it on the counter. I reached for it and saw a text from Emilia.

Emilia: How’s Paris??? Send pics! I need to live vicariously!

I snapped a quick photo of the tub, being careful not to include any nudity, and sent it.

Me: Living my best life over here.

Emilia: I hate you. That tub is bigger than my apartment.

Me: Don’t hate me because I married rich.

Emilia: Gold digger! Just kidding, love you. Have the best time!

Me: Love you too. Miss you.

Emilia: Miss you more. Now go be romantic with your hot husband.

&am

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I set the phone aside, smiling, Emilia’s enthusiasm for my new life was infectious, even when she was teasing me about being a gold digger.

The bathroom door opened, and Alexander appeared, now wearing only pajama pants. “Room for two in that tub?”

“Possibly. But you’ll have to squeeze.”

“I think I can manage.”

He stripped off his pants unselfconsciously and climbed in behind me, his legs bracketing mine. The water level rose dangerously close to the edge but didn’t spill over.

“This is nice,” he said, his chest against my back.

“Told you the tub was amazing.”

His hands found my shoulders, kneading gently. I groaned and let my head fall forward, giving him better

access.

“Sore?” he asked.

“Little bit. All that walking.”

“You loved every minute of it.”

“I did,” I admitted. “Even the blisters.”

Alexander’s hands moved down my back, working out knots I didn’t know I had. His touch was firm but gentle, more therapeutic than sexual. I melted under his ministrations.

“You’re good at this,” I murmured.

“I have many skills.”

“Modest, too.”

His hands slid around to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples. “Some skills more than others.”

“There it is. Was wondering when you’d make it sexual.”

“Took me twenty whole minutes. New record.”

I laughed, turning in his arms to face him. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, splashing onto the floor.

“Now look what you did,” Alexander said, though he made no move to clean it up.

…

“Pretty sure that was your fault.”

“My fault you can’t sit still?”

“Yes.”

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I straddled his lap, my hands bracing on his shoulders. His cock was already hardening between us, pressing against my stomach.

Sara Lili

Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.