Imagine going through a difficult divorce. A divorce that prompts you to do some things you've always dreamed of--things for yourself, like having lazic surgery to ditch the glasses, changing your hair color or getting a tattoo. And taking a trip to Pairs to visit museums and sketch scenes of the city.
As an art teacher, you've always dreamed of seeing the Mona Lisa. So on your second day in Paris, you head for the Louvre. While there you unwittingly foil a bombing attempt by a terrorist INTERPOL believes dead. Your sketch identifies him and he's out for revenge. Suddenly your dream trip turns into pandemonium and you're put under the protection of a younger French government agent.
Of course there's more than one terrorist in this gang and they keep coming after you. Meanwhile your protector gets under your skin and the degree of the passion heats up. You might end up in a scene like this...
“What
is it?” Alyson peered up and down the street.
“Don’t
look. Smile at me. Talk and act normal.” Niko wrapped his arm around her waist
and nudged her up the street.
“But…”
Did he see someone? Did he see Dembri?
“I’m
going to kiss you so I have an excuse to look behind us.”
“Oh
no. No, I don’t think so. Look, I’ve put up with your constant touching, but
I’ll not be kissed on a public street.”
“Don’t
be self-conscious. In Paris, we kiss in public. It’s the Parisian way.”
“For
heaven’s sake! Make it quick then.” She shook her arms to relax them because
she was anything but relaxed. She was about to be kissed for the first time in
years. Did she remember how? Stop being
silly. Kissing is simple. Two pair of lips touch. Kiss done. With her head
tilted back, she whispered, “Okay, I’m ready.”
A
smile tugged at the corners of Niko’s lips. He encircled her in his arms and
stepped in so their thighs touched. Her stomach fluttered. Her breathing
hitched. He lowered his head. “Hang on, Aly.” With his dark brown eyes open, he
placed his lips on hers and pulled her body against his. She kept her eyes
open, too, figuring it would lessen the kiss’ effects.
Niko
kissed her, gentle sips at first, soft and sensual. Someone made a moaning
noise, and she feared it might have been her. My God what a pair of lips! Her toes curled in her new Pradas. She wrapped
her hands around the lapels of his jacket. Then his lips locked on hers and with
his tongue invading her mouth, he turned her to look over her shoulder, all the
while wreaking havoc on her system.
This
was the first time she’d been in a man’s arms in years. The first time she had
tongue from a guy since college and said guy was more interested in looking
behind her for some hoodlum than in the kiss. Just her damn luck.
When
Niko ended the mind-blowing kiss, he pulled her closer, if that were possible,
and whispered in her ear. “We’re being followed. Hold my hand and run.”
Run?
Melting came to mind, but running? How could she run when he kissed her until
the bones in her legs turned to jelly? Plus, she was wearing new high heels,
for heaven’s sake. His arms squeezed her for an instant. “Now.”
He
grabbed her hand, and they took off. They dodged throngs of pedestrians and at
one point, Niko hurtled over a poodle, its protective owner shouting in French
outrage, calling him a fool. “Fou! Fou!
Mon chien, mon chien!”
Alyson
had done her fair share of running, especially after her break up with Chaz,
the stranger she was married to all those years. Running was a stress reliever;
so were the StairMaster and martial arts. Still, those activities were done in
sneakers or barefooted, not high heels. Stilettos, no less. Oh, and the thong.
Let’s not forget the damn thong chafing her in places she didn’t want to think
about. She’d kill Gwen when she got home.
“Faster,
Aly!”
“You
put me in three-inch heels and expect me to run fast? You bossy Frenchman with
a foot fetish.” She stumbled, and he caught her.
“Typical
woman. Kiss her once and she figures she has the right to bitch at you.” Niko’s
head turned, evidently scanning the area as they ran.
She
tried jerking her arm free of his ironclad grasp. “So help me, God, if that
terrorist doesn’t kill you, I will.”
He
pulled her around two uniformed nannies pushing toddlers in strollers.
“Promises. Promises.”
“Yeah,
well look how nice my hips sway now, nutso, running in these damned heels.”
Niko
quickly glanced up and down the wide tree-lined street and evidently seeing a
slight break in traffic, ordered, “To the other side. Now.” They bolted across
the four-lane boulevard and its well-manicured median. Two motorbikes rumbled
past, nearly hitting them. Horns blared as several Renaults and Smart Cars
barreled down the street. Niko shoved her out of the way and she fell, her
hands and knees scraping on the asphalt. Brakes screeched and there was a dull
thud behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder just as Niko rolled across
the hood of a silver car. He never broke stride. “Run, dammit!”
She
struggled to get up, her heel caught in the hem of her skirt. Niko set her on
her feet again. A delivery truck swerved toward them as if to run them down. In
a blur of movement, Niko drew his weapon. He dove and rolled clear of the
truck’s path, shooting the driver between the eyes. Glass shattered. Passersby
screamed. The truck jumped the curb, striking a tree. Sounds of metal crunching
and a tree branch cracking obliterated, for a few horrible seconds, the pedestrians’
reactions.
Still
on the move, Niko barked orders at the observers. A man nodded and reached for
his cell phone. “Quick. In here. While we’re hidden by the truck.” Niko wrapped
his hand around her arm and tugged.
Alyson
trembled, the back of her hand covering her mouth and her eyes glued to the man
slumped over the steering wheel of the truck not five feet away. Blood flowed
from his forehead. Her stomach twisted. She was going to be sick. Niko’s grip
on her arm tightened. “Move it, Aly. We’re still being followed.”
MONA LISA'S ROOM won the HOLT Medallion Award of Excellence for Best Romantic Suspense and Best Book by a Virginia author.
BUY
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