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Authors: Ivy Adams

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BOOK: The International Kissing Club

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She gritted her teeth. “God! It’s amazing to me your ego actually fits inside the museum. It’s gigantic.”

“Maybe, but it’s also well earned.” He reached for her hand, and an odd tingling started where their fingers connected. She yanked her
hand away, tucked it in the pocket of her jeans. He might be the only French guy she
didn’t
want to tingle with.

Sebastian sighed impatiently. “Come on, Piper. Trust me.”

“Why should I? You’ve done nothing but make fun of me since we met.”

“I’ll stop, I promise. And I also promise that I’ll give you the tour of your life. If you’re unhappy when I’m finished, I know where they sell ten-euro guidebooks.”

She narrowed her eyes, uncertain if she wanted to spend the next few hours with him. It kind of seemed like she was making a pact with the devil. “What if I don’t want to waste the whole day with you? It’s not like you’ve been much fun to be around so far.”

“That’ll change, I swear. Now come on, let’s get going.”

He turned away and walked toward the series of galleries that branched off the lobby, as if he just expected her to follow. For about fifteen seconds, she debated ducking into the ladies’ room and waiting for him to leave, but she was smart enough to know that if she did, she would only end up wandering around completely lost for the next six hours. With a grudging sigh, she started after Sebastian.

What followed was the strangest, most amazing museum tour that Piper had ever been on. They began in front of Géricault’s
Raft of the Medusa
, a huge painting that showed thirteen survivors of a wreck just as they spotted the
Argus,
a rescue ship. When she told him her impressions of the scene, Sebastian nodded enthusiastically and then pointed out a bunch of stuff she hadn’t even noticed.

From there, he took her through the sculpture galleries—which were his favorite for obvious reasons—where they studied the tomb of Philippe Pot and the enormous
Marly Horses
statues, along with some smaller, lesser-known works. She really loved an abstract sculpture of a little girl, and when she pointed it out to Sebastian, he laughed and told her it was one of his favorites as well. Then he pulled her to another room, his voice warm and deep as he regaled her with stories and interesting facts about everything she was seeing.

On and on the tour went, hitting a few works in each of the galleries, though not the ones Piper had originally intended. Sebastian even took her to the Rembrandt room for a few minutes before hustling her into yet another gallery. There was just so much to see, and Sebastian kept up a running commentary on every single piece of art they saw. His knowledge was awe inspiring, and more than a little intimidating.

The day slipped away, along with most of the tension between them. By the time they left the Louvre—after being ushered to the door by two security guards anxious to close up—it was dark out and Piper was starving.

“Thank you so much,” she said as they walked back toward the nearest Metro station. And she was shocked to realize how appreciative she actually felt. “It was amazing.”

“Better than your list?” he asked with a grin that lit up his whole face and reminded her of just how handsome she’d first found him.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that …”

“No? But you have to admit you enjoyed yourself.”

She started to deny it out of principle alone, but one look at Sebastian’s eyes, which were dark and strangely serious, and she knew she couldn’t. In those moments, when he stood so close to her she swore she could hear not only her heartbeat but his as well, the International Kissing Club had never seemed less important.

“I did.”

“Good.” He paused for a moment. He tilted his head and studied her with the same intensity he’d lavished on the sculpture gallery. Really looking at her for the first time. “You have a nice smile.” He sounded almost surprised.

But not as surprised as she was. Feeling a little uncomfortable, she tried to joke. “So do you, when you’re not smirking at me like I’m a lower life-form.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. It’s a hazard of the nationality.”

“So I hear.”

“Now, that’s not right,” he said. “You’re supposed to tell me it isn’t true.”

“Frenchmen are arrogant. And you’re very Gallic.”

“I thought you liked things that are French.” Sebastian’s eyes dropped to her lips.

Piper grinned—she couldn’t help herself—then glanced around in an effort to regain her equilibrium.

It didn’t work. But then, how could it? The world around her was straight out of a movie.

The heavy scent of flowers perfumed the air.

The remnants of the late afternoon rain made everything shimmer while the big round streetlamps reflected off the glass of the Louvre pyramid at the center of the courtyard, making it gleam.

Sebastian must have noticed her discomfort, because his smile grew wicked. “What? No snappy comeback?” He nudged her teasingly with his shoulder.

The contact made Piper’s whole body light up. There was that damn tingle again. Only this time, she almost didn’t mind. Not that she would let him know that.

“Hey, back up, buddy. You’re exactly the kind of guy who gives European men a bad name.”

“Oh, really? Because I was thinking the same thing about you and American girls.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked indignantly.

“Simone gave me the heads-up about you before I came home this weekend. Said you’ve been breaking hearts all over Paris since the first night you got here.”

“Me?” she trilled, pressing a hand to her chest theatrically. A thrill worked its way down her spine at the idea that she was some sort of femme fatale. That was a description she could get used to. “Do I look like a heartbreaker?”

“Actually, that’s exactly what you look like.” He reached up and
pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Raoul still talks about the kiss you gave him at Le Bataclan three weeks ago.”

“That was—that was nothing. I was just …” For the first time, she wondered what her kissing exploits looked like to everyone else. She and her friends knew it was all for fun, but maybe other people didn’t see it that way.

“Just what?” Sebastian crowded closer and Piper took a step back in self-defense. She couldn’t think when he was so close, breathing the same air that she was.

“There’s this competition. My friends and I … we call it the International Kissing Club.”

The eyebrow went up again and she almost melted right there, in the middle of Palais-Royal. For the first time since she’d arrived in Paris, she’d met a guy she wouldn’t mind kissing again and again. Despite their rocky start, she realized she liked Sebastian. He was smart, funny, and ooh là là … she just didn’t know enough French adjectives. What was there not to like? And now that she’d found him, he thought she was just interested in a one-point stand.

Before she knew what she was doing, before she could think better of it, she blurted out the rest. “We get points for kissing guys. One point for each kiss from a different guy and three points if—”

The second eyebrow joined the first. “Three points if … ?”

“Three points if he’s really special,” she whispered.

For a second, Sebastian only stared at her, a puzzled look on his face. Just when she was starting to regret her honesty—what guy liked thinking a girl was interested in kissing him because of a competition?—he threw back his head and laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

He laughed so hard and long that she stiffened, a little offended. But he reached for her hand and finally managed to get himself under control. “You Americans … always competing. Always wanting to
have more, more, more. Don’t you realize that the best things in life are about quality, not quantity?”

She nearly swallowed her tongue at the sizzle in his eyes, in his voice, and for the first time since this whole wild adventure had begun Piper couldn’t help wondering if he was right. “What’s wrong with both?” she asked softly.

“Nothing. But don’t you know, just like in art, you need to master one technique before you move on to the next?” He entwined his long, calloused fingers with her own, and Piper couldn’t believe how right it felt to be standing there, letting him hold her hand.

“So, tell me, Piper,” Sebastian said after a moment. “If I kiss you right now, will that be enough? Or will you kiss me back and then go to a club and kiss some other guy tomorrow?”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Could barely stand upright as heat streaked along every nerve ending she had. “We could—we could try it.” Was that really her voice, that high-pitched squeak that practically broke the sound barrier?

“Oh, chérie, we’re going to do a lot more than try.”

His hands trembled a little as they cupped her face, which surprised her even as it made her intensely happy. And then he kissed her, and it was more amazing, more delicious, more
real
than any and every kiss that had come before it.

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