A Forever Mate Read online

  Face it, Jill.

  She just didn’t fit in. Ever.

  The others in her art group were rich girls on a “Spring Break” vacation to Paris. Jill was an art student on a sanctioned field trip that set her back into poverty because it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity she refused to miss. She got eight days to study sculpture at the Louvre! In Paris! It was an amazing experience. She’d been happy to go back on noodles and peanut butter for this trip.

  That was before this midnight side-trip, however. She tripped on something, and caught the fall with a hand slapped against the tunnel wall. Nobody noticed. She didn’t really expect them to. They were avoiding her. She didn’t blame them. Her attitude had been going downhill for some time now.

  She wasn’t even trying to fit in.

  It was obvious even to a casual observer. She wore pleated slacks that had some give in them, a loose-fit blouse with a sweater atop it, and flat-heeled, sensible shoes. The others were sporting tight shirts, even tighter pants, and ridiculously high heels. They looked curvy and long-legged. And ridiculous. Jill snickered more than once at a stumble. Somebody was going to twist an ankle. Or worse.

  Shrieks came occasionally as hair got mussed, too. That was amusing. Her fellow students spent hours on their hair and faces every morning. They looked it. Jill rarely wore makeup and usually had her hair up in a clip. She didn’t remotely fit in with any group of gorgeous, giggling girls.

  She was probably born into the wrong century, although none of the past eras, with their lack of technology or cultural niceties like indoor plumbing appealed to her, either. And she was really fond of plastic. Without gas permeable contact lenses, she’d have been in an institute for the blind. They were really bad in dirt-filled situations, too, but she hadn’t another option. She hadn’t brought her glasses for a day trip to the museum. Unfortunately, as it was past midnight, her contacts kept reminding her that they needed lubrication. They needed to come out for the night. And dirt was everywhere in these caverns.

  Jill stopped. Flipped a contact out of her left eye, and violated several optometrist health warnings by sticking the lens in her mouth. She spent the next few seconds rubbing at her eye, attempted to dislodge the dirt speck before reinserting the lens. Nobody stopped for her. Nobody even seemed to notice as she lagged behind.

  A flash of a headlamp speared her, making her momentarily blind. Jerk. She said it silently. Somebody else verbalized their opinion. She recognized the voice.

  Oh.

  Yeah.

  That’s right. There was a reason why she was down here in miles of tunnels beneath the streets of Paris with a group of guys who called themselves cataphiles. The reason was named Sebastian Rashe.

  They’d met in the Louvre, studying Flemish paintings. A small group of physically fit and attractive men had appeared. They’d stopped to flirt, and then actually talked the art group into this excursion. Every single guy was cute... some more than others. Especially the one named Sebastian Rashe. He was really something. Tall. Lean. Light brown hair that he wore short-cropped. Spiked. He had a hint of a mustache on his upper lip.

  Oh my.

  Even now, hours later, Jill could still remember how her heart had ticked up when he’d looked down and spoken to just her. Wow. The guy had magnetism. Or something. He’d made her head spin. He’d made it sound like he’d be with her. Every step. He’d make sure nothing happened to her. She’d be back in the little hotel before sunup. Nobody would know. Didn’t she see how much fun it would be?

  Jill actually felt the same jolt. Hours later.

  Wow again.

  Sebastian Rashe could be charming... and then some. Enough that she’d actually agreed to this. She had to. They weren’t taking anyone unless they took everyone. That way, nobody could rat anyone out. That had been a heady sensation.

  She’d actually felt needed. Desired.

  Sebastian had told her they wouldn’t go far. Just a little way into the tunnels. She could view the graffiti – and Jill had to admit – some of the artwork down here was worth the trip.

  Sebastian Rashe had used his charm on her. He had a deep, baritone-range voice. He’d even promised to hold her hand if she got scared. He’d take care of her. Besides, there were ten of them and only five cataphiles. What could go wrong?

  Sucker.

  She’d been watching as the girls paired off with guys, holding hands. Caressing shoulders. Giggling. Disappearing for a span. Five men to ten women were great odds, but they could just factor her out of the equation. What could go wrong? Unprotected sex for starters. And then add a moron who couldn’t read the thirty-seven pages of hand-drawn maps they carried. Oh. And he should have taken a head count before entering this particular tunnel. Jill suspected they’d lost three more girls. And two guys.

  This was so stupid!

  Ouch!

  Jill sucked in on the instant stab of pain. Unless a person wore the old-style gas-perm lenses, they didn’t know how much it hurt to have a dirt particle in the eye along with a contact. Sometimes it started a stream of tears from the affected eye. That helped a little as it soothed and washed her eye out, but it was like a magnet for more dirt. Jill put her back against a wall and flipped the other contact out this time. She was on her way to putting it on her tongue, when all hell broke loose.

  “Gendarmes!”

  All the lights went out. A body raced by, kicking up more dust, and worse. It jostled her arm, sending her contact airborne, and just like that, she lost her ability to see well.

  Oh. Shit.

  “Run!”

  More bodies rushed past her, showing the cataphiles could move pretty well, even in the dark. It also showed their lack of chivalry. Jill slid to her haunches along the wall, cupping her hand over her left eye. She was protecting this one. She’d gone with one contact before. It wasn’t a life altering situation. She could make it. Depth perception was the real issue, but she wasn’t handicapped.

  But if she lost this lens...

  Shouts came from somewhere to her left. They sounded like they were a long way away. Already. Jill turned that direction, moved her hand, and squinted. Nothing but dark and more dark. Great. Somebody had mentioned that tunnel-exploring was illegal. The fine was sixty some-odd Euros. That’s why someone was supposed to be on the look-out for police. Jill had been a proponent of that idea. Others might be able to afford the penalty. She wasn’t one of them. Right now, however, she was all for finding a cop and getting the hell out of here.

  “Hello!”

  She called it loudly, but it sounded like she’d lost a couple of decades from her twenty-six years. Jill cleared her throat and tried again. And this time she yelled. Nothing but an echo answered her, and it came back twice. She stood, and tried again. This time the echo was louder. And just as fruitless.

  This wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be lost somewhere in the underbelly of Paris with a limited ability to see, no water, and no companionship. And she might as well factor in her limited ability with the language. All told, there wasn’t a range in her stupid level for this shit. Jill’s good eye was still sending a solid stream of tears down her cheek. She kept it closed. The contact wouldn’t scratch much that way, and she wouldn’t lose it. She didn’t dare fuss with anything until she had some light... and why? Because legally blind really was a handicap. She squinted and looked about with the contact-less one. It didn’t do much. They’d taken the light. Everything was pretty much the same shade of black. The fact that it was a blur was completely inconsequential.

  Decision time, Jill.

  She could stay here. Wait for a rescue. The others might come back. Another gendarme might come by. There might even be another cataphile group out and about that she could join. Or... she could work her way out by herself.

  Hmm. Stay here. Or leave. Both sounded bad. And then the strangest moaning sound came, seeming to seep through the area from the ground up.

  Oh, double shit.

  Jill’s heart kicked
into overdrive. This place was the largest necropolis in the world. A literal bone yard. The tour guide brochure in the hotel room had all kinds of info on it. They had over six million skeletons down here somewhere. And that meant a lot of ghosts.

  Oh, stop it, Jill.

  Her entire body broke out in a cold sweat accompanied by a full-body tremor. She’d heard it described. She’d never felt it. She was a grounded, skeptical, sensible woman. There were no such things as ghosts. Why was it easier to think it than to believe it? I’ll tell you why, Jill. Because being all alone in the dead of night lost in the Paris catacombs could trump anything commonsensical. And eat it for lunch.

  These tunnels weren’t just black. They were frickin’ scary.

  She wasn’t staying another second longer than she had to in them. But... which way? She couldn’t just run pell-mell through here. The ceilings had been low in some places, palatial in others. And she didn’t know how many turns and twists they’d taken. They even had to crawl through one section one-at-a-time. But... there had been an exit that way. And no arrangements of skeletons.

  Which was the major issue at the moment. She didn’t think she could die of a panic attack at her age, but she didn’t want it tested. Running into the empire of the dead was completely off limits.

  She started back the direction she thought they’d entered, skimming the fingers of one hand along the wall while the other hand was atop her head, checking for height. And the eye with the contact would not quit watering up as it felt like each dust speck got sucked in for torment purposes.

  Well. Looked like she had another measurement for stupid.

  Something loomed before her, spurring more dust. She sensed size. Solidity. Threat. And it was breathing.

  The next second she was screaming. And that just made it easier to find her mouth and cover it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Cesser!”

  The word was hissed at her ear. It was in French, but it probably meant stop. Or cease. Or something close. It was in a fairly harsh tone, too. Lifting more than goose bumps, it sent solid shivers racing over her skin. Even her nipples joined the fray. She’d never felt such a thing. Every cell on her body seemed to react, sending little spikes of heat through her veins. For several moments, she was in a state of something impossible to define. Was she vibrating? No. More like transfixed in place. Powerless. Stunned.

  “Comprehende vous?”

  She figured that out without much help. Did she comprehend?

  He had to ask?

  She wasn’t stupid but she was in the worst possible position. Vulnerable and available. Easily assaulted. The perfect victim for a crime of opportunity. Of course she understood. She sure hoped he didn’t expect capitulation, however, because he’d picked the wrong woman. And just like that, her immobility ceased. Jill kicked, twisted, and even butted her head against him. It all ended with her getting lifted and clamped against what felt like a really broad, muscled, bare chest. Or a wall. And he was only using one arm? That made it worse somehow.

  He started hissing more words in her ear, using a very sexy accent. On the third burst of words he finally hit English. And he spoke above the gruff whisper.

  “Comprehende? Arrettez de vous batter! Cease that! Understand? Stop fighting me!”

  She only knew one male in Paris with such a baritone voice. She stopped struggling. The hand atop her mouth relaxed just slightly. “Sebastian?” she whispered.

  “Yes. That is my name. Yes.”

  She hadn’t known relief was a tangible force, physically draining and charged with emotion. She’d say the fight went out of her, but that was too cliché. Jill turned into a mass of absolute mush that barely kept from bursting into sobs. She put both hands atop where his forearm was wrapped about her ribcage and tried to mute the sensation. It didn’t succeed. She was doing what she hated most here – turning into a vapid, helpless female. Furthermore, she was making him hold up dead weight of about one hundred and forty pounds. And that’s what she weighed on a good day. He wasn’t having any trouble, either. He wasn’t even trembling at the effort.

  “Wow, Sebastian! Thank goodness! For a moment there, I was really scared! And just when I give up hope, you’re there. Just like you promised. I take back everything I thought. I do.”

  “You are... English?” he asked.

  That was a stupid question. All of them were from the States. Hadn’t somebody already asked that? Or maybe he thought he held Daisha. That was a deflating thought. Daisha was exotic-enough to pass for something not created in the US of A.

  “I’m still American. Can we get out of here now?”

  “Now?”

  “You can get us out of here, can’t you?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  “And then you can get me to the hotel?”

  He straightened, or something that moved her upward a fraction, while his arm smashed her breasts farther upward.

  “You wish a hotel?”

  “Actually, I wish I hadn’t left it this morning. Don’t tell me you’re shocked that I don’t care about the twits I was with? Trust me. I’ll worry about them come sunup. And only if they don’t show up. Right now, all I want is to get the hell out of here.”

  “One moment.”

  He was moving all kinds of man chest against her back without giving her an inch of room to move. She had no idea Sebastian was this strong. She heard a click at her ear, and some rapid-fire French. She heard something about a chamber. Something that included Suite de Enfer. And that seemed to get him an unsatisfactory answer, so he said something that included the word Minuit. And then Oubliette. And she really wished she’d taken French for at least one semester somewhere in her school career. It would be helpful when eavesdropping. Then again, in the pitch-black, just hearing French was a really sexy-sounding experience, especially with Sebastian’s exotic, erotic voice.

  Wow. That was a really dumb observation.

  He finished his call. Another mass of movement behind her must be accompanying him putting the cell phone away. It was too dark to tell, and she was having difficulty concentrating, but she was probably close.

  “You prepared?”

  Not for that question. Or that voice.

  Jill jerked. The arm flexed slightly with the movement, holding her easily. She was grateful for the dark then, as her cheeks heated with what was probably a very visual blush. She’d never reacted to a male like this. Never. Ever. She even felt an insane urge to giggle. Like any other female. She hadn’t known she had that capability.

  “We will be moving rapidly. I do not wish to frighten you.”

  “Uh...” Oh crap. She giggled at the end of that bit of hesitation.

  “Is that... oui?

  Okay. He wasn’t laughing, but his voice was full of amusement. Why was this happening to her? And why now? This was a terrible time to find out that severe sexual attraction equaled brain cell malfunction. She nodded.

  Her reply was the spark to his fuse. And he wasn’t running. Air rushed past, lifting her bangs. This was incredible. Jill turned her face, keeping her weeping eye to him, while the other squinted against the onslaught of wind. Twice she squinted her other eye open, catching a blur of gray... and the second time, she saw what looked exactly like a row of skulls. At her eye level.

  Her gasp wasn’t audible, but he must have felt it, for his other arm reached around her and swiveled her, placing her front directly against his, his arms wrapped about her back... and holy hell. Her palms got pressed against massive rock-hewn pecs, while her breasts were smashed against what felt like hard iron bars. If those were abs, Sebastian had a body to die for. Nothing in her experience was close. Not even the sculptures done by the masters of the Renaissance.

  He had a heavy heartbeat. It thumped through her right palm with a rhythm that seemed to match the pulse in her own ears. Exactly. That was odd, but not as much as how nothing about him felt remotely stressed. Was it truly possible he could carry this much weight at a
breakneck pace through a black tunnel, and not even get winded? She’d never run across such a male specimen. Ever.

  You know, Jill...

  When they got to her hotel, she might have to invite him in. Do some exploring... strictly for artistic purposes. No artist could imagine a finer model. She should find out if this Sebastian had the best body ever imagined. The most sculpted arms. An incredibly defined chest and belly. Massive shoulders. Hmm. Maybe he should have kept his shirt on. This was turning into a highly charged, visceral experience. Why... she was even starting to imagine a nude rendering.

  Wow again.

  Jill licked her lips. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t interested in a romantic interlude. She wasn’t even interested in a relationship. And the last thing she wanted was to have anything to do with a model. Ugh. She’d already sculpted several beautiful male nudes, with egos as large as their appendages. She’d been at the back of the class, trying not to blush. The art department had a knack for finding models with very nice bodies and equally nice appendages. And they were very fond of shedding their clothes to demonstrate that fact. Evidently, not one under-endowed guy signed up to be an art model.

  Jill had snickered over that fact more than once.

  Besides, she wasn’t the kind to fall for good looks and a spectacular body, even if it was well-equipped. Yeah. She’d better just stop there. Even if Sebastian was a perfect male, she wasn’t interested. She’d never move to Paris. The place had way too much traffic, everything was strange, and she didn’t fit in.