Page 70 of Most Likely to Deny Love

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across his face, worry, fear maybe, before he visibly pushed it down. He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he made what seemed like a conscious decision to stay present.

“Thank you,” he said softly, and I knew he meant it. He raised my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “But there’s no need for that. The situation is being handled. I promised you Paris, and Paris you’ll have.”

His smile was a little forced, but I didn’t push. Everyone was entitled to their private worries, even in Paris.

“Monsieur Sullivan, bienvenue,”a slender man in an impeccable suit greeted us at a side entrance to the Louvre, bypassing the main queue entirely. “Everything is arranged as you requested.”

Jack thanked him in flawless French, his hand resting possessively at the small of my back. The touch was innocent enough, but after our lunch and our visit to Notre Dame, after the way he’d watched me with those intense eyes all morning, even the lightest brush of his fingers against me felt charged with electricity.

“What exactly did you arrange?” I asked as we were led through corridors far less crowded than the main halls.

“A special tour. There’s a one off exhibit that opens tomorrow. We’ve got special access.”

I smiled. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Our guide, Pierre, led us through a series of corridors that seemed to wind deeper into the museum, away from the public areas. We stopped before a set of double doors where a security guard nodded at Pierre before unlocking them.

Pierre gestured us inside. “This way, please. The exhibition is titled ‘Desire Through the Ages’ – a collection of erotic art spanning from ancient Greece to the late 19th century.”

We stepped inside, and I immediately felt the shift in atmosphere. The room was dimly lit, with strategic spotlights illuminating each piece.

“We’ll begin with the classical period,” Pierre said, guiding us toward a series of Greek statues. The marble figures twistedtogether in impossible positions, looking exactly like they’d been captured mid orgy.

“This collection has been brought together from museums across Europe,” Pierre explained, his professional tone sounding so odd, considering what we were looking at, that I almost laughed. “Many of these pieces have rarely been displayed together.”

I lagged behind as Pierre moved on. “Jack?”

He dragged his eyes from the statue, his gaze hooded when he looked at me. “Yes?”

“D-did you know this was, um, like this?” I gestured to the statues.

Jack shook his head. “I just asked for a private viewing of something, without specifying.”

“Oh. Well, that was very nice of you.”

Jack’s hand rested lightly on my back as we moved through the exhibition, completely professional, completely proper. Why did he have to smell so heavenly? Why did he make me imagine what it would be like to strip him right here and lick him all over?

Jesus Christ, you psycho. Pull yourself together.

We stopped in front of another statue. This one was a man, holding a woman in his arms, his hand between her legs while her head was thrown back in ecstasy.

Jack leaned close, his lips brushing my ear. “What do you think?”

I couldn’t form words. Not with his breath hot against my skin, not with the images of entangled bodies surrounding us, not with the growing ache between my thighs. Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m thinking these old guys sure were horny.”

Jack laughed softly as we moved on to the next piece. This one was a Roman fresco. I read the plaque, which said it wasa Bacchanal. Basically, naked people writhing together in wine soaked abandon.

Pierre droned on about artistic technique and historical context, while Jack nodded along with genuine interest. How was he so damn calm? I was practically melting, and he was discussing brushstrokes and historical context like we were looking at landscapes.

“This section features works from the Renaissance and Baroque periods,” Pierre continued, leading us toward a collection of paintings. “Often these works were commissioned privately and kept hidden from public view.”

I could damn well see why.

The first painting was of Jupiter and Io, according to Pierre. He’d made himself into a cloud and wrapped himself around her naked body. She honestly looked like she was about to come.

“You see the use of light and shadow,” Jack commented thoughtfully. “The artist really understood how to create atmosphere.”

Atmosphere. Right. That’s what I was feeling. Pure artistic appreciation for the atmosphere.

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