Blame It On Paris Read online

  Kelly was on a completely different track. "I carried those letters on me all the time," she said mournfully. "They're all I ever had of my dad. I don't care about the rest…"

  Will fished in his pocket for a tissue. Came through. But after she blew her nose, she looked at him expectantly.

  As if there was some insane kind of magic between them, he found himself looking back. At those eyes. That mouth. That glow of hers.

  He told himself firmly to look away.

  He told himself that the gendarme would transport her to the embassy or consulate or wherever she needed to go, and the rest of her mess wasn't his problem. She'd be okay. That's what embassies and consulates and cops were for, taking care of people. It wasn't his problem. She couldn't possibly, remotely, be his problem.

  He told himself that his sisters had irrevocably taught him to steer clear of damsels in distress. At the same time he was analyzing her looks again. Her hair was this glossy mass of loose dark waves, not a style exactly. It just looked all soft and silky. Naturally sexy.

  "Monsieur?" The gendarme growled at him impatiently, as if he'd asked him a question a few moments ago and Will had failed to pay attention.

  Which was possible.

  Possibly she'd been talking, and he hadn't been listening to her, either.

  And then he made his third mistake of the day-this one far worse than stopping to help, far worse than failing to pay attention.

  "She can't very well just stand here in the street," he told the gendarme. "I'll take her."

  The instant those three words came out of his mouth. Will realized that he'd completely lost his mind. "I mean for a little while. I'll go feed her. Lunch. But you have to promise to get the police report done pronto, so she can go to the consulate for her passport."

  "Bien, bien," the gendarme said. He probably would have promised anything now that he was off the hook.

  He disappeared faster than lightning. Ditto for the bystanders.

  And Will was left alone with her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "I'M ENGAGED. I told you that, didn't I?" Kelly asked him.

  "Yup. About three times in the last half hour."

  Now, that couldn't have been true, because Kelly knew she hadn't been nervous a half hour ago. It was only now, as they turned down his street and were aiming directly for his place, that her nerves started suffering major hiccups.

  Earlier, it seemed like a superb idea to leave the scene of the crime with a nice, tall, big. tall, strong, tall, protective guy. Especially when the guy was a fellow American. Her judgment had nothing to do with his being cute. Or sexy. It was only about her feeling terrified out of her mind from her mugger experience.

  Only now, approaching his front door, her judgment didn't seem to be quite the same. It was a cool front door. Old. old oak. Shaped with an arch. The handle was a weathered brass lion. Like Will. Not the weathered and brass part, but the tawny lion part. "I have to admit, it feels a little weird, being here," she said with a laugh. "For one thing, it's just crazy for you to feel stuck with me, someone you don't know from Adam."

  "Kelly. You're not worried this is a pickup, are you? The only reason I suggested coming here was because it was nearby. It was the fastest we could get you to a place where you could put your feet up, have a cup of coffee in one hand and a phone in the other. It's not like there isn't another way to handle this, but you've got a bunch of calls to make, no easy way to do it on the street."

  "And you're from South Bend besides."

  "And I'm from South Bend besides."

  "Which practically makes you like family." He stuck a key in the lock and pushed open the door so she could enter first. She did. grazing his arm as she walked past him, thinking that Will would feel like "family" when it rained cats.

  She knew perfectly well she'd been blathering on like a goose. Another time she'd feel embarrassed or guilty, but the truth was, she'd started shaking about fifteen minutes ago and hadn't stopped yet. It wasn't every day a woman got mugged. She kept remembering the creep's stinky breath and body odor, the feel of his arm choking her neck, and that started the shakes all over again.

  They were just little shakes. Not big ones. It wasn't that she was a wimp or anything. At least she never had been before this, and Kelly kept telling herself she was mighty grateful that Will had offered to help her. Being suddenly penniless and without ID in a foreign country would have been pretty darn daunting if she'd been alone.

  Yet she only caught a single glance at the inside of his apartment before some silly instinct made her whirl around and back out again-or try to back out. Will was still standing in the doorway, blocking her escape. Her nose was suddenly an inch from his chin. She was only a breath's distance from those killer blue eyes. And those shoulders. And those disreputable blond whiskers.

  "I'm engaged. Did I mention that?"

  "Yeah, you did. What's wrong now?"

  "Nothing. Nothing. You've really got an interesting place." But interesting wasn't the word for it. One look, and she labeled it bachelor lair. The whole place shouted single guy on the prowl.

  His flat took up the second floor of an old building. She could only see so much from the narrow hallway, but there seemed to be a bunch of rooms, all small. The main living area, off to the right, had long, thin windows; old. rich woodwork; carved tin ceilings. He'd left the French doors open a crack, leading to a step-out balcony. The sunlight and erotic, exotic breeze drifted through the open door.

  Well, possibly it was just a plain old spring breeze, and possibly her mind had totally invented the erotic, exotic thing, but Kelly didn't think so. Reality was that sex appeal poured off Will in sheets.

  She tried to concentrate on being nosy, which should have been natural for her. The living room was tiny, with a soot-stained corner fireplace and an elegant tiled hearth. The couch was old leather, all wrinkled and soft. The Persian rug looked seriously ancient, thick and fringed, in reds and dark blues. One wall had built-in shelves, with books heaped to the ceiling.

  The dust wasn't more than half an inch thick, and Will swooped a shirt off a chair. "Look around, make yourself at home, okay? The bathroom's off to the left. I need to call work, and I'll start some coffee. Then we'll concentrate on what you need to do from here."

  He squeezed her shoulder as he ambled past-an erotic, exotic squeeze, totally inappropriate for an engaged woman.

  Or more likely it was her response to him that was inappropriate. Splashing her face with cold water right then seemed a great idea, so she took off for the bathroom.

  Naturally, she nosed around. The toilet had an antique pull chain from the ceiling-interesting, once she was sure she could make it work. The white pedestal sink and tub were the old-fashioned kind with feet. He used a straight razor, she noted. Didn't have much in the medicine cabinet but deodorant and first-aid stuff and one medicine. She thought it was for colds, nonprescription and more than two years old; he should have thrown it out. It was outdated.

  Her conscience chided her for being so shameful, but really, nosing around was better than musing that the tub was big enough for orgies. Not that she'd ever participated in an orgy. Or spent a lot of time thinking about them. Or planned to take up thinking about them.

  Impatiently she splashed her face with cool water, then grabbed a navy-blue towel to dry off. The towel was almost the size of a bedsheet. A thick blue rug covered most of the marble floor. No question that Will liked the color blue and his creature comforts.

  She opened the door, which gave her away with a telltale creak.

  Will immediately called out. "Across the hall and one door down. I'm in the kitchen."

  So…it wasn't her fault she got to see more of the apartment en route. To the left, an archway led to an alcove. Impossible to guess what the odd-sized space was for. but Will had squished in a small desk, lamp, chair, laptop, so it worked as a miniden. Still, it wasn't ordinary. The walls had some kind of linenlike finish; the carved ceiling looked ha
nd done. Everywhere, the creaky floors were covered with old Oriental rugs. Nothing seemed new. Everything about the architecture seemed older than a few centuries, practically older than America. Will's love for blues and comfortable textures followed through everywhere. And he might not be into dusting, but he was basically a put-away tidy kind of guy.

  "What? Did you get lost?" He stepped out of the kitchen.

  "No. I'm just dawdling around. No amount of guilt ever seems to stop me from being nosy. And I love your place-it's really interesting." Looking around had also given her a chance to catch her breath. Maybe she didn't have a full-bore grip yet, but the adrenaline had finally quit pumping. "Will…thank you for helping me. Really, thank you."

  "Yeah, well. I stumbled around plenty when I first moved to Paris. Might have gotten into real trouble if a few people hadn't offered a hand. Anyway…" He turned away, started pouring steaming water into pottery mugs. "Did he hurt you?"

  She blinked. His tone was so casual that she almost missed it, but then Will wasn't an in-your-face kind of caretaker. Instead he was subtle, found a way to slip in a disturbing question and get it out of the way. Most strangers wouldn't have cared, much less made the effort to steer into a potentially awkward problem.

  She thought that just maybe her attraction to him was more than ordinary old sex appeal. Damned if he wasn't coming through like a seriously good guy.

  And then she tried to answer the question. "I'm bound to have a few bruises show up tomorrow, maybe even a nasty one on my neck. But I don't need a doctor. Nothing serious." Yet suddenly she needed to snug her arms tight under her chest. "I have to admit, though, that I keep feeling…weird. I was never mugged before, never had anyone touch me with the intent to hurt me. I can't seem to shake it off. There's just a high…ick…factor."

  "Sit. I was going to make coffee, then figured that was stupid. You need caffeine like a hole in the head. So it's tea. French-style. With a bunch of sugar. Sugar for shock, right?"

  "Actually, I never need an excuse to use sugar, but that'll do."

  The kitchen was mostly copper and blue, with white trim. There was no dishwasher, and no place for one, she noticed with shock. The sink was messy, but cleaned fairly recently, and the counter just looked typical of a guy, dishes reproducing since the night before. Her scrutiny kept picking up details. A small fridge, a couple bottles of unopened wine, the luxuriously sexy smell of fresh bread, a heap of fresh fruit in a bowl. The eating table only had room for two chairs, was hardly big enough to put plates on, but it overlooked the boulevard below, the whole view of thick, old trees, the steady snake of cars and street traffic. Sunlight ribboned through fresh green leaves.

  "Ever since I got here," she murmured. "I keep seeing the same things I could see at home. Cars. People. Buildings. Spring flowers and smells. But somehow it's incredibly different."

  "It's Paris," he said, as if that explained everything.

  And maybe it did. Heaven knows her response to Will was unlike her response to any other stranger. She couldn't seem to pin down a reason. Maybe being mugged had just thrown her normal reactions off-kilter. Maybe shock and fear just made her senses more acute, inflamed her emotions.

  And maybe burning her tongue on the hot tea would distract her from these idiotic thoughts about him.

  "Better," she pronounced, after she gulped down three long sips of the strong brew.

  He leaned against the counter. '"Okay. I figure we'd better organize a plan of attack here. Obviously the first priority is getting you a new passport. Somewhere, do you have your original passport number, and other ID like a birth certificate or driver's license?"

  "Well. I did have. But that stuff was all in my purse."

  "Okay. But did you leave that kind of information with someone back home? Like a copy of your passport?"

  She nodded. "I left some obvious information in an envelope with my mom-the address where I'd be staying, copies of credit cards, a copy of my birth certificate. I've never traveled outside the country before. It didn't occur to me that I'd need to do more than that."

  "Normally, you wouldn't. So the first thing you want to do is call your mom, get her to fax that information here. By then we should have the police report. That's the stuff we need to take to the consulate, get the process going to get you an immediate temporary passport."

  She frowned. "Temporary?"

  "Well, if you want a regular passport, it'll take a while. The bureaucracy here is no faster than it is in the United States. But you can fly home right away with a temporary, no waiting or hassle."

  "And that would be great," she said slowly, "but I don't want to go home immediately. Will, it wasn't my fault this happened. And I didn't come here on a whim. I've waited a long time for a chance to make this trip."

  "Okay…well…" For a long moment, he studied her, as if suddenly realizing she hadn't come here to Paris just to do the tourist thing. "The way you'd attack a new permanent passport takes basically the same steps. Get the ID records, then the police report, then go to the consulate. If I remember right, a regular replacement passport'll cost you around eighty-five, ninety bucks. But I'd be amazed if the paperwork went through for that in less than two weeks, and it could take longer."

  "But as long as I could get money wired here, replacement credit cards and all that, there's no reason I couldn't stay?"

  "I'm no expert, Kelly, but my understanding is that, yes, you'd be fine as long as you stayed in France. It'd probably be pretty dicey to leave the country without an active passport in your hand."

  "That's okay. This is the only place I wanted to come to." When she swallowed the last sip of tea, she realized that the adrenaline had quit pumping; the shakes had disappeared. Talking to Will, being with Will, she'd forgotten the mugger. Yet, when she met his eyes, her heart rate still seemed determined to heat to an edgy simmer. "You know a lot about this," she said.

  "Not a lot. But I lost a passport once. And I've been living in Paris for the last four years, so naturally I've learned a few survival tricks." He shot her a wry grin. "You can take it to the bank-from replacing credit cards to getting money wired to getting the cop report and the application, you're going to learn a whole bunch of French swearwords over the next couple days."

  She chuckled, but she thought it was about time to stop gazing into those sexy blue eyes and move her butt. For Pete's sake, right now she didn't have a brush or deodorant or even the means to buy herself lunch.

  Will had been a hero, but he certainly owed her nothing. He'd already gone the long mile to help her out. "Okay," she said brightly. "If you'd just let me use your phone…"

  He gave her a look she didn't understand. Then he steered her into the room with the balconies and the high tin ceilings, handed her a phone and left.

  She appreciated the privacy. But twenty minutes later, she was pretty close to curling up in a ball under a couch. Any couch.

  Will showed up in the doorway. "Not doing too great?"

  She sighed. "I couldn't seem to make a direct connection, so I had to use an operator. She didn't speak much English. Or want to."

  "Yeah. You're in France."

  "Got past that. But my mom wasn't home. I tried her landline, her cell. Twice. Left messages. Twice."

  "Okay." He scratched his chin. "I thought you said you had a fiancé."

  She straightened. "I do."

  He looked at her. She wasn't sure what he was thinking, why a sudden silence fell between them, but whatever wheels were turning in that interesting brain of his, he suddenly seemed to come to a decision. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

  FOUR HOURS LATER, Will still wasn't sure what he was doing. She wasn't his problem, he kept telling himself. And once she brought up the fiancé, he'd normally have backed off faster than lightning.

  It had taken him a long time to cultivate an irresponsible, don't-give-a-damn, love-'em-and-move-on kind of lifestyle. Poaching was a bad idea. Not because it was right or wrong but because it was i
nviting trouble.

  Only this was different. Really. The thing was, Kelly kept bringing up this so-called fiancé, but the infamous fiancé wasn't the one she wanted to call for help, wasn't the person she'd left records with, wasn't the person she wanted to ask for money.

  As far as Will could tell, if the fiancé existed, he was in the toad class.

  Maybe that didn't totally explain how they ended up at Pont d'Alma on the Left Bank, with Will forking over major euros at the ticket counter, but by then the day had been so irretrievably awful that he needed a pick-me-up.

  "A boat ride?" she questioned.

  "Neither one of us has had food all day. You have to be hungry by now."

  She was intently trying to read the signs. "This is for a riverboat cruise of the Seine?"

  "Yeah. One of the worst tourist traps in the whole city. But we were close." A complete lie-he'd driven forty minutes out of his way. But she didn't know that, and who cared, anyway? "It'll get your mind off the rest of the day. That was quite a scene at the your hotel."

  The understatement of the year, he thought. When he realized her lodging was in the 20th arrondissement. he almost had a heart attack. Times three.

  "Well. I thought I'd researched places to stay quite intensively on the Internet. This one looked clean in the pictures. And it was the cheapest I found, for sure. And when I looked up the area, it said the place was going through a major renewal, so I just didn't expect it would be quite so…"

  "Rough." He put it in spades as he ushered her up the gangplank of the riverboat.

  "It was okay. Mme. Rossarde seemed nice enough last night." Kelly lifted exhausted eyes. "Not like this afternoon."

  "In French, we'd call her…un peau de vache."

  She thought. "The side of a cow?"

  He chuckled. "Well, literally, it means hide of a cow, I guess. Meaning…tough. Unyielding. A bitch," he clarified. The fiasco at her hotel kept replaying in his mind. He was still on a steam. The damn woman hadn't wanted to give Kelly her clothes or anything else unless Kelly came through with a week's worth of rent. This, after being told Kelly's passport and money had been stolen.