Page 57 of City of Love

He shakes his head. “No,” he says, just like I expected him to.

“Come on,” I say, tugging on his arm and leading him closer. “I just want to stand under it! Please?”

“We’re not wearing suits or anything,” he says, still shaking his head.

“Noel,” I say, heaving a dramatic sigh. “We’re instituting a new activity, starting now. Every day from now until I leave, we’re going to do one spontaneous thing. Just one, all right? And this is today’s. It’s not on the schedule, it’s not part of the plan, but it will be fun. Come on.”

I don’t wait for him to respond; I just start pulling my sandals off. We’re the only ones in here, but I still move quickly. I’m just stepping into the shallow water when Noel says,

“I don’t want to get my clothes wet.”

I shrug, looking at him. “Then take your shirt off.”

A slow smirk spreads over Noel’s face. “You would love that, wouldn’t you?”

“You have no idea,” I respond with a coy smile. I crook one finger toward him, beckoning him closer. “Come on.”

It takes me exactly half a second to realize that we’re flirtingbigtime. Crap. I should not be flirting with him. Even if he started it.

He started it.He’s flirting with me. Noel Marchand is flirting with me.

I turn my back to him, taking a few steps further into the water until I’m next to the cascading water. I hold my hands under it, smiling, squinting my eyes to keep out the spray of water.

A laugh bubbles up inside, and I don’t try to contain it. I step in further until I’m as far under the waterfall as I can get without pressing myself against the rocky wall. I hold my hands up over my head, letting the water run down my arms.

“Amusing yourself?” says Noel’s deep voice from right behind me.

I laugh, turning around. “As a matter of fact, I am,” I say, looking at him. He’s removed his shirt, and I force myself not to stare.

Don’t look at his muscles. Don’t look at his muscles. He is not a piece of meat. He is—

Holy tattoos.

My efforts are in vain when I catch a glimpse of the ink that wraps over his shoulder and onto his left pec.

“Wow,” I whisper, stepping out of the falling water and touching the wing of what looks like an eagle. One wing stretches down over his chest, and my assumption is that the other wing probably curves down over his shoulder blade in back. The tail feathers climb up his neck a few inches, which must be what I see over the neck of his shirts. The tattoo isn’t done in color, but the feathers are beautifully detailed—like they should be soft to the touch.

They’re not. They’re muscular and smooth and warm, because they’re on the chest of a gorgeous man. I run my fingers softly over them, and Noel’s breath hitches.

I look up. “Is this okay?” I ask, realizing a second too late that he might actually not want me poking and prodding.

But he just nods, a slow motion, his eyes holding me captive. “You want to see the others?” he says, his voice low.

I swallow. “Yes.” My voice is barely more than a whisper.

He gives me another nod. “I don’t usually let people touch them,” he says, turning his body slightly and holding out his left arm so that I have a better view. “But you can.”

There’s a thick, tribal-looking band that winds around his bicep, and below that is a heart. Not the shape, but an actual human heart, with flowers sort of coming out of it. It’s strangely beautiful. There’s a compass, too, and what looks like a mountain scape.

“You love the mountains,” I say softly, touching them.

“I want to go back someday. To America,” he says. “To the Rockies or the Tetons.”

“Really?” I say, because this is news to me.

He shrugs. “I’ve been in France since I was eight. Old enough that I remember living in Colorado. I loved it. I’d like to go back.”

I nod, looking back at the tattoos. I don’t understand how someone was able to connect them all—how they look like they’re meant to go together. It doesn’t just look like a bunch of tattoos next to each other. They fit seamlessly together, filling the space perfectly.

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