“Well, I like that the Paris tabloids don’t care about you.”

He nodded in agreement, grateful that Page Six’s obsession with him didn’t extend overseas. Besides, only Casey and Nate knew where he was. “I’m nobody here,” he said.

“Then let’s get back to the hotel, Mr. Nobody.” She looped her arms around his neck as a soft night breeze blew by, kicking up her skirt. He copped a peek. “Pervert,” she teased.

“You love it.”

“I do. You could even grab my ass here and no one would care,” she said, egging him on. Like he was going to back down from that dare. He pushed her up against the stone wall at the river’s edge, reached his hands under her skirt and cupped her cheeks, squeezing them, then smacking her rear once. Hard. So hard it probably stung. Her eyes lit up.

He grabbed her hand, and they strolled away from the river and along the streets of the left bank.

“Are you ready for tomorrow’s keynote?” he asked as they walked.

She nodded. “I think so. I’m as prepared as I can be, and the conference organizers have been amazing at making me feel welcome.”

“You’re going to be incredible. Standing ovation, I bet.”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “You’re such a flatterer.”

“No, it’s the truth! Not that I have a clue about love and sex addiction, except I think I’m addicted to making you come. Does that count?” he said, dropping a hand to her back as a breeze blew by again, smelling like rain this time.

“I encourage that addiction.”

They turned a corner onto a narrow street with apartment buildings all boasting flower planters in the windows of the flats. They walked in comfortable silence for a few more blocks, the sounds of Paris at night their companions, faint music floating from open windows, the clink of glasses and dishes at still-open cafes, the din of an ambulance siren somewhere in the distance, such a different wail than those in New York. The clouds swelled, turning heavy with the promise of a late September storm. The air sang of rain; the heavy earthy scent trailing along with it. The hotel wasn’t far and they both picked up the pace.

But soon he spotted the Palais Royal nearby. He raised an eyebrow. “I think we got turned around. We’re a little farther away from the hotel than I thought.”

She stopped and turned in a circle, then pointed toward the avenue at the end of the next block. “I think we go that way to get back on track.”

The first drops fell then, and within seconds the skies were unleashed. Michelle laughed, brushing the droplets off her face, unfazed. She tipped her chin to an archway at the end of the block. “I think that’s one of the passages,” she said, referring to the dozen or so covered walkways scattered throughout the city.

Ten seconds later, they ducked into the Passage Vivienne, stepping through the tall stone archway that soared high above them. They were inside a shopping arcade, stuffed with a bookshop, an old-fashioned toy shop, a store selling all sorts of hats, and more. Their footsteps echoed across the mosaic-patterned floor. The passage was lined with tall plants, and half-moon windows high above. Michelle craned her neck to look skyward. The curved ceiling was made of latticework windows, dark with the rain pounding out its steady drumbeat. All the stores were closed except for a cafe at the far end, still bustling with patrons drinking wine and chatting into the night.