The mischief in his eyes and the smile threatening to take over his lips were infectious. Sydney couldn’t help it – she laughed. And once she started, she couldn’t stop. When she eventually calmed down enough to take a breath, she put the gifts he’d brought her on the worktop and stepped over to where he stood by the boiling kettle. She slipped her arms around his waist, and he quickly reciprocated.

Harry leant down for a kiss, then paused, seemingly thinking better of it. ‘Does that mean you’re going to give us a chance?’

Standing on her tiptoes, Sydney pressed a kiss to his lips. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’ With that, he captured her mouth with his, and they quickly became lost in one another, this time with no reason to stop.

Sydney felt much better about their kiss this time. Firstly, she too had spent time during the night thinking about their potential relationship. She’d eventually come to the conclusion that it was pointless trying to guess what would happen. The only way to find out if things would work out between them was to try. She couldn’t punish him – and herself – for her ex’s deceit. If she never trusted another man again, then she’d never be happy. And she deserved happiness – everyone did.

She pulled away, feeling pleasantly dizzy and sucking in a much-needed deep breath.

“Yes, I’m positively quaking in my boots,” Sydney replied dryly. “But thanks anyway, I feel much better knowing you’re looking out for me.”

“I’m doing more than that,” he said quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m wishing I could kiss you.”

“Oh…”

“Can I?”

“Now? Here?”

“Why not? It’s pretty romantic.”

“But people will see.”

“No one will care. This is Paris—they’re all smutty and sex-mad.”

“Really? In that case, that would be lovely.” She twisted her upper body to face him, leaning to meet him halfway. She kept her eyes open a little while, wanting to see his expression, but he quickly got so close he grew blurry, so she squeezed her lids shut. Opening her mouth slightly, a thrill ran through her as she felt his breath against her lips, then finally his mouth on hers. It was tentative at first—she remembered he was as out of practice as she was, even more so in fact—then he clearly grew more comfortable, more confident. His gentle movements grew more passionate, his lips taking hers as though he wanted nothing more in the world than to be kissing her. She certainly hoped that was the case, as it was the way she felt.

Eventually, the relatively chaste kissing was not enough. Harry slipped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her harder onto him and plunged his tongue between her lips. She had to work hard not to let a moan escape—she was sure the people around them were getting enough of a show without her making noises like she was in a porno. Instead, she shifted her own hand to mirror his, tangling her fingers into the thick hair at the nape of his neck and tugging it slightly.

He reacted by kissing her harder, his tongue slipping sensuously against hers, doing a little dance and exploring every sensitive millimetre of her mouth and lips. She was in serious danger of melting into a puddle of lust and being soaked up into the Parisian soil beneath them. Determined to hold her own, she kissed with as much fervour as he, forcing his tongue back into his mouth with hers and returning the favour.

Soon, she became horribly aware that if they continued, they’d be likely to get carried away and end up being arrested for indecent exposure.