Page 64 of City of Love

Lydia’s eyes flash as she looks at me. “Okay, I’m sorry, but no. I’m anexcellentkisser.”

And with that ominous claim, she reaches for me, fists her hands in my shirt, and pulls me toward her. Before I can process what’s happening, she kisses me in a chaotic tangle of her lips and mine. But the chaos quickly morphs into precision, and for two seconds, I’m helpless—all I can do is kiss her back, kiss her like I’ve never kissed anyone before, because this girl has so much of me, and she doesn’t even know it.

How long have I felt like this about her? How long have I wanted this? Days? Months? Years? Because as her lips move over mine, it seems like she’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted, ever craved. The feelings inside of me are roaring, raging, and they wanther, all of her, always and forever until the end of time, and then beyond.

But I can taste the alcohol on her lips, and it’s wrong; if I kiss her, I should taste only her cinnamon sweetness. It should be because we want to kiss—not because she’s trying to prove a drunken point.

I remove my hands from her waist—how did they end up there?—and move them to her shoulders, pushing her gently away. “Lydia,” I say, my voice hoarse, my heart thundering so loudly it’s drowning out the noise of the crowd around us.

Her confused gaze travels from my lips to my eyes, and I shake my head.

“You’re drunk, sweetheart,” I say. “Now isn’t the time.” It kills me to say, but I do it.

“Chérie,” she says.

I frown slightly. “Chérie?” I repeat.

She nods, a wobbly, dazed motion. “I like it when you call me ‘chérie.’ When you speak French at all, actually. French sounds different when you speak it.”

My eyebrows shoot up, and I glance at Luc, trying not to smile. He gives me an amused smirk, and I look back to Lydia. “How so?” I say.

She gestures vaguely to my face, her eyes moving back to my lips. “It’s sexy when it’s you talking. Jade said I should fall in love with a French boy, you know—well, a Frenchman, she said, and she said he should feed me baguettes and write me bad poetry. But I think French poetry could only be beautiful, don’t you?” She brings one hand up and skims one finger over my lips, and my entire body tingles. “Especially if you read it out loud. Your lips do pretty things.”

I can’t fight my smile now. “Pretty things?”

Lydia sighs happily, and I wish she would look somewhere other than my mouth, because it’s making it difficult to concentrate. “Pretty things,” she repeats. Then a little furrow creases her brow. “But manly—don’t worry. Very manly.” She tilts backward, and I grab her quickly, winding my arm firmly around her waist to keep her sitting upright. This pulls her body flush with mine.

“As amusing as this conversation is, you’re going to regret saying all this to me,” I say with a sigh. I look at Luc. “I think it’s time to get this one home. I’ll call us a taxi so I don’t have to worry about getting her through the metro and all that.”

Luc nods, looking at Lydia with amusement. “That’s probably good. Don’t try anything with her though.”

“He would never!” Lydia says, clearly outraged on my behalf.

I glare at Luc too, though, offended. “I wouldn’t—”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he says, waving my anger off as he laughs. “I know you wouldn’t.”

I bristle. “Good. Oh,” I say, remembering something I needed to ask him. “The meeting with Laurent went okay?” Luc was supposed to have handed off the watch this morning.

Luc nods. “It went smoothly, and I took the payment back to your flat.” He pauses, looking between me and Lydia, and then says, “You’re still thinking about shutting everything down?”

“Yes,” I admit. “I’ve already decided. Things are getting out of control. If you want to carry on, you can—”

“Nah,” Luc says. “It’s a good choice. I think we’ve run our course.”

I nod. “Me too.”

“Me too,” Lydia says sagely, and I give a snort of laughter.

Luc grins at her, then looks back to me. “I’ll get in touch with everyone.”

“Thanks. I’ll make sure Maurice is okay with our present arrangement continuing even if he stops receiving donations,” I say. “Make sure he’s okay with letting the guys stay at the shelter any time they need.”

He nods. “Good. Oh,” he adds, “I’ll return your tool box either tomorrow or the day after. I have to get my mom’s sink fixed.” Then he gestures at Lydia. “Now get your girl home.”

“She’s not—” I begin, but I break off, because I don’t know how true those words are anymore.

Luc just smirks, like he knows what I’m thinking.

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