Moonlight in Paris. Pamela Hearon

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      CHAPTER FOUR

      PEOPLE STAYING AT bed-and-breakfasts do this all the time, Tara told herself as she passed the plate of croissants to the little boy who’d insisted on sitting beside her. Of course, it would probably have been easier to convince herself there was nothing weird about eating breakfast in a new country with total strangers if she hadn’t seen one of them naked a few minutes earlier.

      She tried to focus on the inch-long scar that cut diagonally through the left side of Garrett’s upper lip—the one that disappeared almost completely when he smiled—rather than let her mind wander to the foot-long one on his thigh that pointed like an arrow to his masculine assets.

      “I finally decided it was time to see Paris.” She answered Dylan’s last question just shy of the complete truth. “How long have you lived here?”

      Dylan piped up before his dad could answer. “Three years. We moved here when I was three, but I’ll be seven soon, so I guess then I’ll have to start saying we’ve been here four years.”

      Garrett used his spoon to point at his son. “Quit talking so much, sport, and eat your breakfast.”

      With a grin that could charm the sweet spot from a Louisville Slugger, Dylan opened his mouth wide and shoveled in a spoonful of Greek yogurt and fresh berries.

      The boy’s grin was a replica of his dad’s, as was the sandy color of his hair. But the jade-green hue of his eyes was a far cry from the walnut-brown of his elder’s.

      No mention had been made of a wife or mother. And something about Garrett Hughes’s manner seemed standoffish, despite the fact he’d invited her to stay for breakfast. If he’d kidnapped his son and moved to a foreign country, Josh Essex would’ve let her in on that, wouldn’t he?

      “So you’re originally from St. Louis?” Tara probed, trying to get Garrett to continue where he’d left off before Dylan had started in with questions again.

      Garrett held up the carafe as a question, and Tara offered her cup in response. “I grew up in St. Louis,” he said, “and moved back there after college. Not too long after my wife died—”

      Ah, a widower. “I’m so sorry.” She took another sip of the incredibly strong brew and settled a hand on her chest to check for any hair it might cause to sprout through the T-shirt.

      “Thanks.” Garrett acknowledged her condolences with a curt nod. “The brewery I worked for was bought out by a Belgian company that was expanding. Dylan and I moved here with that expansion.”

      “How exciting that must’ve been.”

      Garrett shrugged one of his broad shoulders, and even though a sport coat now covered it, Tara’s mind flashed back to how it had looked unclothed and damp from the shower. “It came at the right time,” he answered.

      The concoction Garrett called coffee had chased away any effects of jet lag and set her mouth to chatty mode. “And what do you do at the brewery?”

      “I’m head of the marketing department.”

      The formality of the country she was visiting struck her as she wiped away the last remains of the buttery croissant from her lips with the linen napkin that had been part of her place setting. “Were you already fluent in French before you moved here?”

      Her question brought a low chuckle from Garrett that tickled at the bottom of her spine. “Whether I’m fluent now is still debatable.” He jutted his chin in his son’s direction. “Dylan’s the language wizard. He speaks it like a native.”

      Dylan paused, the spoon halfway to his mouth. “C’est vrai, Tara. Je parle le français très bien. La langue n’est pas difficile.” He cocked his head and grinned, looking like the cat that ate the berry-and-yogurt-covered canary.

      Garrett shook his head as his mouth rose at one end. “And he’s obviously quite modest about it.”

      Tara smiled, her heart touched by the endearing relationship between these two. Would she and Jacques Martin ever have anything that approached this? The thought caused her hand to tremble as she set her cup back on its saucer. “How did you get so good, Dylan?”

      “Only French at school. Only English at home.”

      “And speaking of school, we need to be on our way.” Garrett stood and started clearing the table. “Go brush your teeth and get your stuff, bud. We’ll walk Tara down to the front entrance.”

      Hearing her name from Garrett’s lips sent an unexpected, pleasant zing through Tara. She gathered her and Dylan’s dishes as the child hurried to the bathroom.

      “With our key, we can get in the courtyard below and take the СКАЧАТЬ