Page 71 of Most Likely to Deny Love

We moved to the next painting, which was more nakedness, obviously. This time it was Venus, all curvy and hot, while a satyr gawked at her.

“And here we have one of the most famous works in our collection. This is The Turkish Bath, by Ingres.”

That sure was a lot of boobs.

“Painted in 1862,” Pierre explained, “it represents the Western fantasy of the Oriental harem. Notice how the women are portrayed as—” His phone buzzed suddenly. He glanced at the screen before giving us an apologetic look. “Ah, excuse me for just a moment. Security question.” He stepped a few paces away, turning his back to us as he answered quietly.

I seized my chance. “Jack, I need to ask you something.”

“Mmm?” Jack dragged his gaze from the painting to look at me. Hmm, did he seem a little… affected? Or was I imagining things? One way to find out, because I was practically combusting over here and somethinghad to be done.

“This whole, waiting until tonight to bang. Is it just gentlemanly politeness?”

“Of course. I don’t want you thinking it was only about sex here.”

“Ah, I see. Well, that’s very sweet of you, but there’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?” His voice had dropped slightly, finally showing a crack in that perfect composure.

“I went on birth control for this, so you could fuck me bare. And honestly, if you tell me I have to wait one more moment for that, I’m going to commit some indecent acts, right here in the Louvre, that will get us both arrested.”

Jack stared at me, speechless, his pupils blown so wide there was only a thin ring of hazel visible.

“Bare, Jack,” I reiterated, in case he’d missed that crucial detail.

Without a word, he hooked his hand under my elbow and dragged me toward Pierre, who was just slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Family emergency,” Jack said, his voice rough. “We need to go.”

Pierre’s eyes widened slightly, but he recovered his professional demeanor quickly. “Of course, Monsieur Sullivan. This way, please.”

The next minutes passed in a blur. Jack’s grip on my elbow never loosened as we followed Pierre, until he finally opening a door that led into the main courtyard where the glass pyramid glinted in the afternoon sun.

As Pierre pulled the door closed behind us, Jack dragged his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling my driver.” His voice was tight with restraint, letting me know that I’d really got to him. Fucking excellent.

“Too slow,” I argued, spotting an empty cab approaching. I stepped into the street, waving frantically. The driver noticed us and pulled to the curb.

Jack practically shoved me into the back seat before climbing in behind me. “Le Meurice,” he instructed the driver, his voice clipped. “As fast as you can.”

The cab pulled away from the curb, merging into the Parisian traffic. I turned to Jack, ready to continue what we’d started in the museum, but the look on his face stopped me. His jaw was clenched, his eyes nearly black with desire, but there was something else there too. A tightly leashed control that seemed seconds away from snapping.

“Jack?” I ventured, suddenly uncertain.

His hand shot out, grasping the back of my neck and pulling me to him until our faces were inches apart. “If you touch me right now,” he growled, his voice so low I could barely hear it, “I will not be responsible for what happens in the back of this taxi.”

Heat flooded through me at his words. “Is that a promise?”

His grip tightened, and for a moment I thought he might actually kiss me. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another, clearly fighting for control.

“Twenty minutes,” he said, his voice strained. “Twenty minutes, and then you can have anything you want.”

The cab crawled through the afternoon traffic, each minute stretching into an eternity. I kept my hands to myself, barely. The urge to reach over and feel the hard cock I knew was straining against Jack’s pants was nearly overwhelming.

Instead, I leaned close to him, my lips brushing his ear. “Anything I want, Jack?”

His hand clamped down on my thigh, fingers digging in hard enough that I knew I’d have marks later. The thought only turned me on more.

“Anything,” he confirmed, his voice a low rasp.

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