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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

In The City Of Romance

P aris. The city where people supposedly fall in love. You’d think that some of that atmosphere might have rubbed off on me.

You’d be wrong. I was about as far from feeling romantic as it was possible to be.

Playing on clay is in my opinion the most exhausting tennis you can play.

You have to work twice as hard to get the same result as you would on pretty much any other surface.

And I had spent the last ninety minutes working my arse off.

Sweat dripped from me as I returned hopefully the last ball to Gordana Slavanisovich.

It was the last ball – a drop shot after a rally where I’d kept her out deep. She skidded for it on the slippery clay court and missed. I won the third set and the match.

The game ended to applause, and I wiped my forehead on my sweatband as I walked into the net to shake her hand.

“Vun day, Melanie Black, I vill beat you,” Gordana muttered to me as we clasped each other’s arms over the net.

I smiled a little nervously at her – with her eastern European accent, it was hard to tell whether it was a joke or a threat.

But she returned my smile pleasantly enough, so I guessed she meant it in a friendly way.

Joel was practically bursting with excitement when I arrived in the change room, where an ice bath was waiting for me. I stripped down to my underwear and sunk into it, gasping a little at the temperature.

“Great job, Mel! You were awesome out there!” He was grinning from ear to ear.

I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Joel, you’d think I’d just won Wimbledon or something!”

He laughed at me. “Stink, if you think this is enthusiastic, wait till you do win Wimbledon!”

I smiled, starting to relax as the iciness took over.

“Okay, I doubt I’ll ever win Wimbledon, but thank you for your support. It’s just thrilling!” I couldn’t help the teasing tone that slipped into my voice.

He sat on the bench beside the ice bath. “You know what’s really thrilling?” he asked, his voice deep, “The thought of how hard your nipples would be right about now.”

I crossed my arms over my boobs under the water. My nipples were as hard as rocks, and throbbing just from his words, his gaze.

“You are disgusting, Joel!” I snapped, but relief coursed through me. Things had been a bit off between us since our fight in Rome. Somehow, his teasing innuendo comforted me, reassuring me that everything could go back to normal.

“I think I’ve figured out why you’ve never had a long-term girlfriend,” I continued, keeping my tone cheeky. “It’s because you only know how to talk dirty and don’t have a clue how to romance a girl.”

Joel grinned widely. “That sounds like a challenge!”

I groaned and hopped out of the bath, gritting my teeth and stripping off my wet underwear, running the shower to a steamy temperature. Joel watched me from his seat. I glared at him.

“You know, Joel, it’s kind of annoying that you’ve seen me naked loads of times, and I’ve never seen you naked. It’s a bit of a double standard, don’t you think?”

Joel stood up and stripped off his shirt, one eyebrow raised and a smirk curving his lips. “Should we rectify this glaring double standard?” He started to undo the drawstring on his shorts.

I froze at the sight of his broad, shirtless chest, my core clenching at the thought of him under the hot water beside me, naked. I came to my senses just in time.

“No! Don’t be gross!”

Joel huffed out a little laugh under his breath, and tied his shorts back up, pulling his shirt back on over his head.

“Is it alright if I take off for a bit, Stink? Are you right to find your way back to the hotel?” he asked, leaning against the wall and continuing to stare at me disconcertingly as I towelled dry. My head jerked towards him.

“Why? You want to go find some French hussy to bang?” I asked sharply. Joel’s smile widened.

“Let me check the weather first. I can only go looking for a hole if there’s a storm predicted.”

“Ha-ha!” I said sarcastically. His smile faded.

“That’s never going to happen again, Mel. I promise.”

Earnest Joel was too much for me to take.

I busied myself looking around for my bag.

Joel leaned over and pulled my clean underwear out of it, passing it to me.

The thought of him touching my stuff in such a familiar way sent another jolt through me.

Nope, I didn’t need to think about Joel touching my underwear.

I dressed hurriedly, shouldering one bag. Joel grabbed the other one and we walked out together. My hair was wet from my shower, sticking to the back of my shirt. I moved my head a couple of times to try and dislodge it, but I wasn’t having any luck.

Joel reached out and slipped his hand under my hair, just at the nape of my neck. He freed it, running his fingers through it a couple of times. I tried to give him a grateful smile, my heart hammering at a million miles an hour, my skin rising into goosebumps where he’d touched me.

It’s Joel! You know, the big brother you never had. Except big brothers didn’t touch their sisters the way he touched me. Big brothers didn’t joke about getting naked in the shower with their sisters.

Fuck.

We packed the stuff into a hire car and I climbed into the back seat. Joel leaned in and gave the driver the hotel address, speaking in infuriatingly perfect French .

“I’ll see you back at the hotel in a couple of hours, okay?” he asked. I nodded, but before I could ask what he was doing, he closed the door and the car pulled away.

He was up to something, I could tell. I just didn’t know what it might be. I shouldn’t want to know so badly.

It was actually a relief to have some Joel-free time that afternoon. I didn’t realise how much effort it was taking to keep my distance, until he wasn’t there anymore, and I didn’t have to keep up the pretence.

Back at the hotel I did some stretches for my back, ate lunch from room service, and ran a brush through my now dry hair. I was just about to do some channel surfing when the door clicked open and Joel walked in, a large paper bag in his hands and a look of intense satisfaction on his face.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked, stretching out on the sofa. Joel put the bag down on the little bench in the kitchenette.

“It’s a surprise. Now go get dressed.”

I looked down at my yoga pants and t-shirt in confusion. “I am dressed.”

“Just put on some jeans and shoes, okay?”

I shrugged and stood up, heading for my own room. I dragged on a pair of jeans. I changed my t-shirt for a low-cut long-sleeved top – the nights in Paris at this time of year were quite cool. I chucked on a pair of sneakers and finger-combed my hair.

“Do I look presentable?” I asked as I met Joel back in the living room. His eyes roved over me, pausing for slightly too long on my cleavage. I squirmed under his gaze.

“Maybe take a scarf – it could be cool out tonight,” he suggested, lifting the paper bag off the bench. I retrieved my scarf and Joel held the door open for me.

“Where are we going?” I asked, a little disgruntled. “I don’t like surprises.”

Joel smiled smugly at me. “I thought we could dine alfresco tonight.”

As we climbed into an Uber, I peeked suspiciously at him out of the corner of my eye. He noticed, grinning at me .

“Just go with the flow for once, Mel! Believe it or not, I’m actually not trying to annoy you tonight.”

It was a short trip, and when we got out Joel gripped me gently by the elbow and steered me.

The night was cool and a little crisp, but the air was still and the sky was clear. We couldn’t see the stars; a small country could have been powered for a year with the amount of electricity Paris used to light all its fancy landmarks.

Joel led me onto a wide bridge stretching over the River Seine.

Lamp posts dotted little patches of brighter light along either side, and there were benches at intervals all the way down the centre.

At the far end was an absolutely stunning building with a large dome, directly at the end of the bridge.

“ Le Pont Des Arts ,” he explained, gesturing to the bridge. He reached into the paper bag and pulled out a picnic blanket. I gaped in stunned silence as he led me further onto the bridge.

There were people everywhere, sitting on the bench seats or leaning against the railing taking in the view. Some people were sitting on the ground, eating or chatting and laughing with each other.

Joel spread the blanket out to one side of the bridge and sat down, his back against the railing. He patted the space beside him, and reluctantly I sat. He started unpacking things from the bag: olives and cheeses and cold meats and bread and fruit. I gawked at him in astonishment.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m making you dinner,” he replied with a smirk. “Same as I do every night when we’re travelling.”

I leaned back against the railing and watched. Finally he pulled out a bottle of red wine and two plastic wine cups. He poured a small one for me and a slightly bigger one for himself.

“That’s all the wine you’re allowed tonight, seeing as you have a quarter to prepare for, so you’d better make it last,” he warned in a teasing tone. He clinked his cup against mine and took a sip. I stared down at the wine, at the array of beautiful food, and then back at him .

“This feels a little too much like a date for my liking,” I muttered, sure that he could hear the thunder of my heartbeat.

I looked away from him, straight at a couple who were kissing each other like there was no tomorrow, their hands wandering to places that it just wasn’t appropriate for them to wander in public.

Definitely the wrong place to look – it made me wonder what it would be like to be doing that with Joel.

“Don’t get too excited, Stink. It’s just dinner.” Joel was already filling a plate with food. He passed it to me and then made one for himself.