Page 150 of His To Claim

“Both.”

“And I should meet him? Because?”

“Because if you’re staying in Paris …” His voice lowered slightly. “You should know who’s in your corner.”

Something in my chest tightened.

“In my corner,” I echoed.

“Yes.”

“And you are?”

His gaze darkened.

“You already know the answer to that.”

Heat flared between my legs despite the seriousness of the moment.

I stepped away before that energy tipped us back toward the bedroom.

“Lunch,” I said firmly.

“Lunch,” he agreed.

We dressed properly this time. Jeans. Boots. I kept Rose’s sweater on, grounding and protective all at once.

When we stepped out into the hallway, the apartment door clicking shut behind us, something settled inside me.

This wasn’t a visit anymore.

This was the beginning of something.

Outside, Paris hummed with midday life—bicycles, café tables filling, conversations spilling into the street.

Three streets over.

A restaurant Rose had chosen enough times to leave evidence of it in her trash.

I slipped my hand into Kane’s without thinking.

He looked down at it, then back at me.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m … steady.”

That was the best word for it.

Not healed. Not fine.

But steady.

He squeezed my hand once.

“We’ll eat,” he said. “Then I’ll explain more.”

“About you?”