Bear Cuffs (Broken Hill Bears #3)(13)

   

   

    10

   

   


     
       
         
       
        

    An airplane ride followed by a taxi, and Rocco and Harper were standing in front of their hotel on the bank of the River Seine, bathed in the soft, peach glow of Paris' early morning light.

    "Wow, just wow!" Harper had already exclaimed a dozen times, and they'd been laughing a lot, each other's enthusiasm infectious. They'd had first-class seats, and Harper had slept for almost the entire flight, snuggled on her side, facing him. He'd spent at least an hour gazing at those dark eyelashes splayed on her cheeks, the locks of dark hair falling across her face, inhaling her scent, desperately wishing she was in his arms. He hadn't slept much. The seats, though luxurious for humans, were still very cramped for shifters, and his bear had been hard to deal with. It hated being cooped up in the cabin, and was constantly freaking out that it couldn't see outside. Instead, he watched movies, and was attentively waited on by a succession of giggly flight attendants, who seemed to be convinced that he was a celebrity.

    He had been drowsy when they arrived, but Harper woke up bright eyed and full of energy, and it woke him up too. They peered out of the taxi windows during the hour-long ride from the airport, both overwhelmed at their first glimpse of another country. Paris gradually revealed itself to them, one stately building and wide boulevard at a time, while the Seine curved through the city, a broad, sparkling ribbon.

    The hotel was beautiful, with a gleaming marble lobby and a winding spiral staircase.

    "This is  –  I don't know how to describe it  –  just French!" Harper said. "Like, you can totally feel that you're not in the US."

    "True," Rocco said with a grin, fighting the urge to take her hand as the bell hop lead them to their rooms. If the staff were confused about why they'd booked separate rooms they were too discreet to show it, but they'd found rooms for them side by side. Harper gasped as she entered her room. It had a huge, dark wood canopy bed, a beautiful marble floor, and a huge iron-work balcony, looking out onto a perfect Parisian street scene. Rocco dropped his bags off then came into her room and stood beside her, admiring the view. The tall windows were framed by blue wooden shutters and billowing, white drapes, and there were flowerboxes running along the edge of the balcony.

    "This is just like in the movies," Harper said, as they both hung over the balcony railing.

    "I think that means you like it here," Rocco said, chuckling.

    "I more than like it!" she replied, turning her sparkling eyes on him, her lips parted in a happy smile. All he could think was that she'd never looked more beautiful. She was so alive, no sign in her face of the pain that had overshadowed both of their lives. He fought back his bear, which was huffing and scrabbling, urging him to kiss her. 

    "Let's get breakfast!" he said.

    "Just give me ten minutes to freshen up."

    "Sure."

    Rocco took a quick shower and hung out on his balcony while he waited for her, running over the plans he'd been making for the trip. Wanting everything to be perfect, he'd already selected a café for them to have breakfast in.

    Harper had changed into a pair of dark blue jeans and an olive, floral shirt that matched her eyes, the v-neck revealing the top inch or so of her cleavage. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail, and she looked fresh and perky, all ready to explore the city.

    Rocco had entered the address into his map app, and he selected a route that took them through narrow, winding streets. The sidewalks were full of fashionably dressed locals, chattering to each other in a beautiful language that they'd both learned for two years in high school, and he'd all but forgotten. There were lots of bakeries, flower shops, stores selling nothing but cheese or cold cuts. It all smelled incredible. The roads wound past little hotels and restaurants, and at last they were there: a famous café, which had featured in at least two movies.

    "This is it?" Harper said, eyes shining, then greeted the waiter in French. Rocco swelled with pride, amazed that she'd remembered how to speak the language, and that she was adapting so quickly to the new environment. The waiter seemed charmed by her, leading them to a corner table. They took their seats, and Harper gazed out of the window eagerly. And then she let out a small scream.

    "Oh my god! The Eiffel Tower. Rocco!" She leaned toward him, and before he knew it, she'd taken his face in both her hands and kissed him on the cheek, just at the side of his mouth. His skin tingled from the contact, and his bear purred, immediately coming alive. As she sat back down, her eyes glistened with tears. "You organized this for me?" He looked out of the window too, at the world-famous metal structure, towering into the sky, only a couple of hundred feet away.

    "Oh  –  that's the Eiffel Tower?" he said. "I never would've guessed if you hadn't pointed it out."

    "Idiot!" she said, her grin broader than ever. "I can't believe you've done this. You remembered what I said, all those years ago?"

    "Sure," he said, running his hand through his hair with a flicker of self-consciousness, but he was delighted that she was so happy with the surprise.

    "This is so amazing. I could sit here all day and stare at it."

    "In that case we'd better keep your animal fed, if we don't want to cause a national emergency. Mind if I order?"

    "Sure," she said, and kept gazing out of the window, unable to tear her eyes away from it.

    He ordered pains au chocolate, croissants, jam, orange juice and two big cafés au lait, and Harper's eyes glistened when it all arrived on a silver tray.

    "Is it anything like you imagined?" he said as she demolished the first pain au chocolat.

    "Better!" she exclaimed, biting into a croissant. "This is on another level." At last he relaxed. On the way to the café he'd suddenly worried that she'd hate the surprise, and it would be an unwelcome reminder that they weren't really together. But he could see that she was genuinely happy.

    After that, they had an action-packed day, going from one famous landmark to another. They raced around The Arc de Triomphe and Notre Dame Cathedral, shopped in the Champs- Élysées, and sailed straight into the Louvre art gallery, bypassing the crazy lines outside with priority tickets Rocco had bought the previous week. As the day passed, Rocco grew increasingly impressed with Harper, at how she was managing to converse with everyone in French, as if she spoke it all the time. She was even more amazing than he'd realized. And that said a lot. Every male eye turned in her direction, and while his bear growled possessively, his heart ached that he couldn't truly say she was his.


     
       
         
       
        

    After a million coffees in cute pavement cafés, they finished up in the charming hilltop district of Montmartre, having a glass of wine in view of the white Sacré Coeur Cathedral.

    "That wasn't a bad day," Harper commented, sipping on her wine and gazing at the early evening streets, and the whole city glimmering below.

    "Yeah, I've had worse," he agreed. "It wasn't too much for the first day?"

    "Not at all. I want to make the most of every minute here." He gazed at her with affection. The soft light of the setting sun caught her hair, making it glow with auburn threads that usually weren't visible. She looked happier than she'd been in Broken Hill. This was how Harper should be, every single day, he thought with a rush of sadness. She deserved to be happy more than anyone, but a cruel  –  no, two cruel twists of fate had denied it to her. He opened his mouth to apologize to her again for the fact that her life wasn't what she'd hoped it would be. But then he closed it again. She was happy right now and he didn't want to ruin the moment.

    "Where are we having dinner?" she demanded.

    "I've made a shortlist of a few places in the area. I thought we could check them out and you could choose?"

    He gave her a tour of five places, and she picked out the coziest one, and they sat at an outside table, with an overhead heater keeping off the hint of evening chill. Is it a coincidence that she chose the most romantic restaurant? Rocco wondered, as they each devoured a huge, rare steak. She was looking at him with warmth, but he couldn't see anything beyond that  –  any sign that she was interested in being more than friends.