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He was smiling appreciatively at her and for a second she was unnerved. But, no. There was nothing predatory about her rescuer. He had kind eyes, even if the man exuded sex appeal from twenty paces. If her up-close-and-personal alarm was going off it wasn’t because she was scared—it was because it had been jolted back into life. About time too.
He nodded slowly. ‘Crowds can be...difficult.’
It was an odd choice of words, but then again her hesitant French would sound much poorer than his English.
‘And you’d know?’ She was curious.
His face crinkled. It seemed her half-inquisitive, half-sarcastic question was lost on him.
She held out her hand towards him. ‘Ruby. Ruby Wetherspoon from England.’
His warm hand closed around hers. ‘Alex,’ he said simply.
Her eyes glanced up and down his body. White T-shirt, blue jeans and black boots. But the dark wool coat seemed a little strange for a young guy—a little formal.
‘Are you from here?’
The corners of his lips turned upwards. ‘Close enough.’
Mystery. She liked it. Perfect for New Year’s Eve.
Under normal circumstances she might have felt a little nervous, a little wary around a mysterious stranger. But Alex didn’t give her those kind of vibes.
Trust your instincts. That was what her gran had always told her. And she should have. Because if she had she probably wouldn’t have found her boyfriend in bed with her ex-best friend. Truth was, she couldn’t wait to see the end of this stinker of a year.
She glanced around. For the moment they were the only two people perched on this precarious wall. ‘Well, Alex from “close enough”, where are your friends? Am I about to get trampled and thrown back to the crowd when they all want a place on this wall?’
She sent a silent prayer upwards. What was the betting they were all gorgeous and female?
He shrugged. ‘I lost them too. I climbed up here to look for them. Then I decided I liked the view.’
She turned to face where he was looking. Of course. A perfect view of the Eiffel Tower. For now it had a row of white lights running up the outside of its edges. The sun had set a few hours ago and it stood out like a beacon in the dark sky.
She’d been so busy fighting her way through the crowd that she hadn’t really had time to stop and take in the sight.
‘Wow. I just remembered why I came here,’ she breathed.
A few people shouldered past beneath them, knocking into her feet, and she wobbled again. His arm rested around her waist to steady her, and he didn’t move it once she’d regained her balance.
‘So, why is an English girl in Paris for New Year’s Eve?’
Why, indeed? She was still asking herself that question. And Mr Gorgeous Mysterious Stranger didn’t really need the whole truth. Maybe just a tiny part.
‘Visiting a boyfriend?’ he added.
It was a loaded question. Was he really testing to see if she was taken?
She sucked in a deep breath and tried not to let the idiot smile that was whooping and dancing around in her brain actually appear. ‘My flatmate Polly persuaded me it was time to try something new. We usually spend every New Year’s in London. We did try a Scottish lodge once, but that was a disaster. Snowed in with no power and no booze.’
He was laughing at her now.
She held out her hands. ‘What girl would say no to Paris on New Year’s? This place is just amazing...’ Her voice tailed off. ‘And, to be honest, I’m not sorry to see this year go.’
‘You’ve had a bad year?’
‘Somewhere between a wrecking ball and a demolition derby.’
She could almost see his brain trying to make sense of her words.
‘Ahh. You sound sad. But surely not everything about this year can have been bad?’
Perfect. Her own Pollyanna.
He was right. Of course he was right. She’d just needed someone to remind her.
She gave a little nod. ‘Of course not. There have been a few good things. I qualified this year.’
‘As what?’
‘A speech and language therapist.’
‘Well, that sounds great. Congratulations.’
She nodded. ‘Yeah. Yes, it is.’
Three years doing a course she’d absolutely loved. Her placements had been fabulous, letting her practice all her skills and making her realise exactly what she wanted to do.
‘So why aren’t you jumping for joy? You’ll get to do the job that you want. Some people would give anything for that.’
His voice sounded a little wistful.
Wow. She must sound an ungrateful misery-guts. But there was something easy about talking to a perfect stranger. Someone who didn’t know all the people or personalities involved. Someone completely independent.
‘I should be. I know. It’s just that I really, really wanted to work in one area. I did two training stints there, but by the time I’d qualified there was only one job and they gave it to someone with more experience.’ She shrugged. It still stung. She’d had her heart set on working there.
‘Where was it?’
‘In London. A specialist speech and language unit attached to the biggest children’s hospital. I loved it there. The staff were really special and the kids...they just made my heart melt.’
‘What kind of things did you do there?’
He seemed genuinely interested.
‘I worked with children with specific language impairment and language disorders. Those kids made progress every day.’ She held up her finger and thumb. ‘Even if it was just in the tiniest way.’ She smiled again, caught up in the memories. ‘I even worked with children with hearing problems. Seeing the look on their faces when they got a cochlear implant and heard for the first time...’ She shook her head. ‘It was magical. It was exactly what I wanted to do.’ She lifted her eyes to meet his. ‘These things stay with you for ever.’
He was looking at her with such intensity, such sincerity, that it took her breath away. Here, in a city with over two million people, he was looking only at her.
She couldn’t imagine how she’d done it, but she seemed to have completely captured his attention—just as he’d captured hers.
His voice was low and deep. ‘So you don’t have a job now?’
Even the timbre of his voice sent butterflies along her skin. Those two glasses of wine earlier seemed to have finally hit her system. Any minute now she was going to have to find some food before her brain was truly addled. No guy could have this kind of effect on a girl? Not in real life anyway.
She shook her head in an attempt to find some clear thoughts. ‘I do. And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’ve got a job at a stroke unit, working with patients who’ve suffered a stroke and are having trouble with speech.’
He kept smiling at her—one minute looking serious, the next as if she amused him. Those teeth were perfect. Too perfect. He must be a model. He probably advertised toothpaste.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘But that sounds just as important as the other job.’
Clear, rational thought. Easy when you didn’t dream about the place where you wanted to work every night.
She cringed. ‘I know. I know. I don’t mean to sound like that. I’m lucky to have a job. Not everyone on my course got one. And once I get there I know that’ll love it.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘It’s just not what I’d hoped for, that’s all.’
She heard him suck in a deep breath. ‘We don’t always get what we hope for, Ruby.’
His voice was serious. It made her curious.
He couldn’t possibly have any idea of the kind of thoughts that were circulating in her head right now. Her imagination was running riot. Handsome mysterious Frenchman. Gorgeous, smelling good enough to eat. Polly wouldn’t believe a word of this. Any minute now someone would pinch her and she’d wake up.
Time to get back to reality. Time to get a little nosey.
‘So, Alex. What do you do? Do you work around here?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m like you—just visiting for New Year. I’m in business. Boring things. Investment banking.’
Smash. The first dream broken. Not a model. But what interested her most was how he’d described his job. This guy gave very little away.
‘Why do you do it if it’s boring?’
‘Because I’m expected to. It’s a job.’
Another tell-nothing answer. The less he said, the more she was curious.
His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket and frowned.
‘Is it your friends? Are they looking for you?’ She looked through the crowd, expecting to see a bunch of Amazonian blondes charging in to steal their prize back.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing like that.’ He stuffed the phone back in his pocket.
Ruby bent forward and peered into the crowd below. ‘I dropped my phone. It’s probably smashed to smithereens.’
‘Smithereens? What is that?
He wrinkled his nose. It made him even cuter, if that was humanly possible.
‘You know—broken into lots and lots of tiny pieces. Irreparable.’
He nodded. ‘Aha. Can’t be fixed?’
She smiled. ‘You got it.’
His hand tightened on her waist, edging her a little closer, and she didn’t object. She liked his hand there. She was happy standing next to his shoulder with his arm anchored around her.
‘So, your friends... The ones you’re here with. Will they be looking for you?’
He gazed across the crowd. ‘I’m quite sure they are.’ He shrugged. ‘But I don’t always want to be found.’
Hmmm... More mystery. He was so good at deflecting questions. It was almost an art form.
He turned towards her, pulling her so they were face to face. ‘Are you comfortable without your friends, Ruby Wetherspoon? Are you happy to watch the Paris fireworks with some strange man who pulled you from the crowd?’
It was the way he said it. The way he looked at her. The gentle smile on his face and the twinkle in his eyes. For a second she didn’t want to breathe.
The wind caught her curls and blew them across his face. He laughed and took her hair in his hand, smoothing it down and tucking it behind her ear. She lifted her hand and put it on his chest. She could feel his warm skin on her palm through his thin T-shirt. She could feel the curling hairs on his chest.
The man just oozed sex appeal. If anyone had told her this time last year that she would be standing here, now, like this, she would have shaken her head in disbelief.
But right now there wasn’t any place else she’d rather be. ‘You’re not a stranger,’ she said simply. ‘You’re Alex.’
The countdown started around them.
Dix...neuf...huit...sept...
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘Tonight I’m just Alex.’
The world around them exploded. Multi-coloured lights flickered up and down the outside of the Eiffel Tower. And Alex bent to kiss her.
The fireworks around her were nothing to the ones exploding in her brain. She didn’t do this. She didn’t do any of this. But everything about it felt right.
This was the kind of thing she could tell her grandkids about when she was an old woman. I once kissed a gorgeous Frenchman in Paris on New Year’s Eve.
Because this was a fairytale. This wasn’t real life.
Except Alex’s kiss was more than a fairytale. It was right up there with an award-winning movie.
Tingles were going to places that tingles hadn’t been in a long time. One of his hands was resting gently on her lower back—the other was holding the back of her head. Except it wasn’t holding the back of her head...it was caressing the back of her head. His fingers tangled through her hair, gently moving with tantalising softness to the side of her face.
If she could capture this moment and stuff it in a jar she would keep it for ever.
His lips finally pulled free and she had to stop herself reaching out for more. When her eyes finally opened his blue gaze was on her, his fingers still on her cheek. She’d thought the moment would be gone. But it wasn’t.
It was still exploding in the stars all around.
He smiled at her. People were still shouting in the street beneath their feet, jumping up and down, and a million mobile phones were being held aloft to capture the last few seconds of the firework display.
‘Happy New Year,’ he whispered.
‘Happy New Year,’ she murmured. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. It would probably last for eternity.
