Page 17 of It Happened In Paris

“And my brother. I’ve spent years taking care of Paris all on my own, I guess I forgot what it feels like to have others to lean on.”

“See, we’ll get through this. You are not alone.” With a final squeeze, he left me there and he returned to Paris.

As if animated himself, he put on quite the show, recounting his misadventure of getting lost in the Amazon rainforest and coming face to face with a jaguar. A tall tale at best, certainly, but she clung to every word and watched his every movement as he pretended to crawl up trees and peek around bushes and row down the river. It surprised me at how good he was with her.

“Did you really see a jaguar?” She asked. The way the two of them got along tugged at my heart.

Richard brushed a curl behind her shoulder as he replied, “I did, sweetheart. But I was lucky. Jaguars aren’t easy to spot in the wild and when you do, they’re vicious creatures. Maybe one day, I’ll take you to see one—but in captivity.”

I shook my head. He’s paying for everything, for us and at least a dozen families on this floor. Who does that? A billionaire, that’s who. A man with more money than he knows what to do with, and with an enormous heart willing to do good with it. Looking at him, people might see his serious face, and often hear his gruff, commanding voice, but I was seeing underneath all of that. So was Paris.

As I quietly absorbed it all, my thoughts churned with an undeniable attraction toward Richard and how wonderful he was to us, yet I had to keep him at a safe distance because my priority was, and always would be, Paris’s well-being.

When she grew up and was off living her best life, then I could focus on mine and think about finding a man to love again. But until then, my entire world revolved around her.

The next morning,I awoke from the sleeper chair in the room, my back aching, begging me to get up and stretch. Paris remained deep in slumber, while across from me, Richard dozed in a regular armchair that seemed even less comfortable than mine.

It had been an exhausting day and night, and although the hospital usually permits only one parent to stay overnight, it appeared the nurse had made an exception for him—likely part of that VIP treatment reserved for men with a family name worth a fortune.

He had been with us every step of the way. He entertained Paris, stepped out to make calls, returned with snacks and coffee, regaled Paris with more stories, then dashed off to make work calls again. The man never slowed down.

Most importantly, he donated his blood—the very lifeblood she needed to survive. Now a part of Richard Buchanan flowed through her veins, a gift that held the promise of making her stronger. A deep gratitude filled me for that, for him, that I didn’t think I could find the words to convey.

I rose, stretched, and moved quietly across the room, coaxing my circulation back into gear. Eventually, I paused beside him to take in his features: his sculpted bone structure, his well-shaped nose, and the gentle cascade of his dark hair, all balanced like a perfect specimen of a man. Temptation nudged me to trace his lips with my finger, but instead, I ran my finger across mine instead.

Oh, how wildly my heart had pounded during our first kiss beneath the Eiffel Tower.

Paris began to stir, so I glanced over to see if she was waking up. Suddenly, something landed on my hip. Looking down, my breath hitched when I saw Richard’s hand resting there.

“Is everything all right?” His tired, gravelly voice stirred things deep within me, leaving my mouth dry. Part of me wishedhis hand would linger, explore, seek out the perfect spot that would ignite a spark in me that had long been dormant. I feared I wouldn’t know what to do in bed with him. I’d bet he’d be really good at showing me how this body of mine works again.

I chuckled nervously. “Yes, good. We’re all waking up, though it doesn’t look like this was the most comfortable spot to sleep.”

“It wasn’t, but I’ll survive. How about your sleeper chair?” he joked as he removed his hand and stretched his arms overhead. My eyes drifted to his torso where the hem of his shirt had inched upward, sparking a playful game of I-spy in my mind—I spied a happy trail. I spied the bottom of a six pack of abs. I spied my fingers itching to touch…

“Um, likely better than yours, not by much.”

“Mommy?” Paris called out as she woke, startled by her unfamiliar surroundings. Ignoring any lingering temptations, I hurried over to her side.

“I’m here. Good morning. How do you feel?Bien?” I gently pressed the back of my hand to her forehead to check her temperature with my motherly instincts. She felt normal—a very good sign.

“Très bien,” she yawned, then climbed up into my arms for a hug, careful of her IV.

“Are you fluent in French, Paris?” Richard yawned, too, and he came to stand beside us.

“Un petite peu,” she giggled, adding, “Mommy does a lot though.”

I explained, “Madame D’Orsay, who teaches French at the County High School, trades a few tutoring sessions with me for cupcakes a couple of times a month.” I deliberately left out how I often swapped my cupcakes for things I needed around town.

“Nice. To be honest, throughout all my travels I’ve only learned a few key phrases in several languages. Luckily, the translator app on my phone does wonders.”

“Taking the easy way out, huh?” I teased. “I could teach you a few things.”

“I’d wager there’d be a lot you could teach me. Maybe later. Coffee first, am I right?” he said as he put on his coat and tapped on his phone.

“Now you’re speakingmylanguage. Yes, please.” I nodded. “If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind at all. I’ll check my emails, and be back soon with a couple of cups. Paris, want some hot cocoa?”

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