CHAPTER 5 – FIRE IN PARIS
Clarity. That was what I promised myself I would achieve when Adrian travels. A week of quiet, devoid of distractions from his deep voice or burning gaze, would do the magic.
How wrong I was.
Everywhere felt emptier. I no longer heard his voice and footsteps in the halls; I heard them inside my head. Sometimes, I caught a whiff of his cologne around me and unconsciously looked around for him. Now and then, I stared at doorways, expecting to see him standing there. Every drawing I made, every fabric I held, seemed to whisper his name.
Mere crush. That was what I called it. But every night, when I tried to sleep, I could feel his touch and breath on my body.
The trip to Paris was finally here. I was very relieved. The whole academy was shaking with excitement. Paris, the capital of fashion. Katherine Knight was launching her Serpentine grandeur collection, a superb combination of sculptural gowns and metallic fabrics. Seamstress, model, students, everyone was running on nerves and caffeine. For me, Paris meant one thing: Seeing Adrian. I tried to take my mind off him. I failed.
The first day in Paris was a frenzy of activities; last fittings, lighting tests, and last-minute stitching breakdowns. We tried to handle the disasters as smoothly as possible. The venue was like an opera house, gold and glass everywhere, the kind of place that wipes your slate clean, and you forget how ordinary you used to be. Models floated across the stage as if art came alive, while Katherine directed it all with detailed precision and expertise.
By evening, the whole team was burnt out. The first day had gone smoothly, but Katherine wasn't satisfied. She rarely was.
"Rain," she called as we packed up. "I dropped some sketches in my hotel suite. They are for tomorrow. Go pick them up for me."
"Yes, ma'am."
She threw me a key, eyes on her phone.
I arrived at the hotel ... or should I say a palace. The chandeliers looked costlier than my apartment back home. Katherine's suite was on the tenth floor.
The soft carpet greeted my tired feet. The lights were dim, the air filled with the faint scent of soap and steam.
And then I froze.
He was there.
Adrian.
Just coming out of the shower, a white towel around his waist... low... loose, his skin wet. Drops of water ran down his face and chest, looking like liquid diamonds.
My heart almost jumped into my mouth. "I... I thought this was Katherine's room...I... I'm sorry, Sir..." I stuttered, turning away and covering my eyes with my palm.
He laughed. "You are not in the wrong room, Rain," he said calmly. "I'm staying here too."
My mouth went dry. "Oh. I didn't know you were back." My eyes were still closed.
"Open your eyes."
I obeyed slowly, and there he was, right in my face, "You seem to walk into my rooms often, Rain."
"I didn't... I wanted... I came to..." I fumbled my words.
"Go ahead," he gestured, his eyes smiling.
The large room suddenly felt much smaller. I dragged my legs to the desk. My fingers trembled as I flipped through files, pretending not to notice that he watched me.
For reasons best known to fate... my elbow touched his arm as he walked past me.
Electricity. Strong, magnetic force.
I froze, every nerve awake. His towel brushed my thigh, his warmth covering me.
He didn't move away. Instead, his voice came low, close enough for my skin to imbibe it. "Where are you rushing to?"
"I... I just... this..."
"We're finally alone," he whispered. "Far from Katherine's controlling eyes."
His words sank into me, deep and dangerous.
"This is wrong," I breathed, but there was zero conviction in my voice.
He came closer, so close that the heat from his body seemed to seep through the thin fabric of my blouse. "Tell me to stop," he said softly.
I turned to face him, my heart hammering. "Adrian, please..."
His facial expression stopped me. His eyes were red, burning, not with arrogance, confidence, or cruelty, but with a kind of intense hunger that mirrored my own. I saw the man beneath the billionaire; one who wanted to feel something real... again.
"Did you miss me, Rain?" he asked.
The question straightened me out. I could have lied or at least run away. But instead, I helplessly whispered, "Yes."
His hand moved slowly, intentionally, tracing the side of my lips. "I know I shouldn't want you," he said. "But I see you even with my eyes closed."
My pulse danced wildly. My body moved faster than my mind, my hand rested on his chest, wet and warm beneath my palm. I ran my nails through the hairs on his chest, trying to avoid his eyes, "Adrian..."
He lifted my face, his eyes and breath on my lips. "Tell me to stop," he whispered again, his voice shaking.
I couldn't speak. The world had disappeared. All I could hear was the rhythm of our breathing, the rain tapping softly on the balcony glass, his scent, dizzying and forbidden.
When our lips finally met, it wasn't gentle. It was fire.
Months of restraint, weeks of denial; all of it burned in that kiss. My fingers tangled in his damp hair, his arm pulled me closer, and for a heartbeat, there was no Paris, no Katherine, no consequences... only the taste of him, the ache of desiring more.
When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against mine. His voice was rough. "You should go."
My knees felt weak. My lips were wet. I grabbed the documents, rushed out, afraid that I might be unable to leave if I stayed one more second.
As I closed the door behind me, I rested on it, gasping for air. My heart was still racing.
Paris had barely begun, and I was already burning alive.
