For one night only, Paris, the City of Light and Love was also the city of Sin.

Virgins & Vixens Valentine's Day event promised to be the hottest party anywhere with an impressive DJ line-up alongside the best of the adult entertainment industry from around the globe.

Standing in the steamy night club, Vinessa Hillis was surrounded by nearly naked men and lingerie clad women wearing wispy bits of lace or silk, some painted to glow-in-the-dark or dusted in nothing but glitter.

Not that it bothered her to be partying with porn stars.

Though vastly inexperienced, she was far from a prude. Vinessa recognized more than a few of the faces in attendance and envied their sensual confidence. This solo trip to the beating heart of France was about breaking out of her shell. Of self discovery and starting over. Of taking a chance. And she had come out tonight with that game plan in mind.

Two years was a long time to be alone. To go untouched. Unloved. Undesired. Now she was ready to put the past behind her. To open up herself up to intimacy, both emotional and physical, to take the first, tremulous step toward something unknown and new. Into her future. To do so on a day centered on love in a city known for sweeping romance was not only appropriate to Vinessa's mind, but almost poetic.

Phone vibrating within her clutch, taking it out, she unlocked the screen and smiled at a new message from her best friend, Caryn:

You better be getting laid tonight

Call me in the morning

Love you

Then she saw him. And her heart lurched to a stop before galloping back to life in the cage of her ribs. Rattling between her lungs, making it hard to think. To breathe.

She'd seen him a thousand times on screen, and he'd always had this staggering effect.

Marco Luna stood, bracing a wall of glass, his gaze skimming over the dance floor from the private terrace of the VIP lounge. She'd known that tonight had drawn out the industries elite, but she hadn't expected to see him. The man who'd occupied her steamiest, most sensual fantasies for the better part of two years.

Here. In the flesh.

And though far enough that Vinessa couldn't get a clear visual of his face, she would know him even with her eyes closed. From the way he moved, to the casual lines of his muscular body poised just so—there was no mistaking him with anyone.

He was one of a kind. A marvel of masculine perfection that could never be replicated or imitated.

Throat dry, palms clammy, she released a single, trembling breath as one of the hostesses descended from the lounge and approached the bar. Topless and wearing gold lacquered shorts, her exposed skin painted with swirling metallic strokes of colour to imitate writhing flames of passion.

"Excuse me." Sidling closer, Vinessa spoke above the heady thump of music. "Can I place an order with you?"

The hostess smiled over her shoulder, all apology, revealing a slight gap between her front teeth. "I'm sorry, but I cater to the VIP clientele only."

"Oh, it's not for me. It's for Marco Luna. I thought I saw him up there?"

"Oui, c'est vrai." Interested now, the hostess turned to her, entirely unapologetic or embarrassed with her nudity, not that she needed to be. Her body was smooth and lean and flawless. The kind that should be on display because it was that perfect. "He reserved the whole section to keep away from the adoration of his 'Lunatics'," she said, miming grabbing hands.

Then her eyes dipped over Vinessa's outfit—a white blouse over fitted jeans—and the amusement that flashed in them was unmistakable, though not unkind. "You do realize you're at a lingerie themed porn event?"

Laughing, Vinessa toyed with a length of gold dangling down the front where her blouse plunged, exposing her from throat to navel. It may have been wonderfully scandalous if she were better endowed.

"If I had your body, I'd've come more appropriately dressed. Alas, this is as daring as I could get."

Cocking her hip, the hostess nodded. "It's a great outfit and you have an amazing figure," she said. "Love the necklace."

"Thank you."

"What did you want to order?"

Vinessa thought about it for a moment, and then gave the hostess the name of a vintage French red. "Do you carry it?"

Dark brows popped over stunned eyes. "Mais oui, but are you sure? That bottle is five hundred Euros."

She waved the price tag aside, smiled. "Money's not really an issue."

The hostess flagged the bartender, also topless and artfully painted like the rest of the clubs female staff, and placed the request. "Shall I give him your name? A business card perhaps?"

"Oh, no. Only the wine. I don't want to disturb him." Vinessa glanced up to Marco; saw the heavy weight of his shoulders, the almost weary lines of his body. Everything about him exuded exhaustion.

A man troubled.

"He looks sad," she remarked casually. "Maybe this will cheer him up."

#

Marco Luna gazed out to the writhing sea of bodies below. And felt nothing. The hollow ache had been the barest pinprick five years ago and was now a yawning mouth threatening to swallow him whole.

Valentines Day. A celebration of love. What the hell did he know of that? He was in the business of sex and passion and fantasy. But love? Love was an illusion. A concept as elusive as smoke and vapour. He could see it. But never touch it.

Gruelling schedules and a demanding production pace didn't leave much room for relationships and romance. The industry was a meat grinder, chewing the actors up and spitting them out. Empty husks without a soul.

The closest he'd come had been with Nola, a female adult entertainment star two years ago. She was beautiful and lived for the cameras. Their connection had been immediate. Intense. And burned with all the longevity of a lit match.

Tempers ran hot. Patience stretched thin.

Nola was every bit as possessive as she was vain. She'd wanted him to give up filming while she'd continued to work. Aside from the hypocrisy, walking away would have been pointless. The stains were there, marring his soul. No amount of scrubbing would ever make him clean or take away what he'd done in those early years. The lifestyle—the work—was all he knew. He'd been born into it. Raised in it. Steeped in the seedy underbelly. It defined him.

She hadn't loved him enough to understand.

Or, maybe, in truth, he hadn't loved her enough to stop.

Besides, stripped of all that, who was he? What did he have to offer the world? He wasn't particularly well-educated, though Marco considered himself a man of literary merit. He read often and voraciously, hungry for anything to pull himself beyond his limited scope of the world.

He escaped in those pages. Lived and breathed in those stories. Each one pulling him out of the darkest moments of his life where he'd believed himself worthless. It had taken a long time for him to move beyond that. To rise above it. And it was through those books he found himself. Found his niche straddling the line between Hollywood and Hustler.

Now he took pride in knowing that at least he brought something unique to the industry. Something honest and real. His projects were forged of true substance and integrity. Works of passion brought to life. He only filmed with women who matched the emotional caliber he wanted on set. Women who saw themselves as more than a body or a vessel to be used and abused.

True artists.

But even this was starting to wear thin. At nights he'd wake in a cold sweat—alone, lost. Broken. His last film had wrapped only a few short weeks ago, and his team of producers and managers hadn't been pleased.

You're pushing yourself too hard. Take a breather. Regroup. Come back in a couple months. We need you fresh.

Cursing, Marco reached for his scotch and knocked it back clean. Fresh. As if there was such a thing for a man like him?

"Excusez-moi." A tap on his shoulder pulled Marco from his thoughts, and he turned to see the hostess had returned with a single bottle perched on a tray and a couple of wine glasses.

"I didn't order anything."

"I know," she lifted the bottle and angled the label for him to see. It was a pricey red from one of his favourite vineyards. "A gift from the mademoiselle by the bar."

Oh for the love of Christ, he'd been spotted. Despite being strong-armed by his managers and publicist to show up at the event, he'd hoped that by keeping to the periphery of the party he'd avoid any hassle of grief. Apparently shelling out over fifteen grand to buy out an entire wing of the private lounge wasn't enough.

Marco had long since lost count of the multitudes of women who threw themselves at him during parties and events. He'd had women pounce on him in the street. Break into his hotel rooms to await him in bed naked. One even stopped an elevator, hoping to lure him into replaying the ever popular scene from his production of Fifty Shades.

Some wept or got violent when he'd turned them away. Slashed his tires, broke his windows. And his body carried more than a few token scars courtesy of raking nails or teeth.

His fans were dubbed the Lunatics with good reason.

But even knowing that, understanding that, curiosity still tugged at him. Hard. His gaze flickered to the sea of almost entirely naked bodies, each one appearing almost the same as the other. "Which one?"

The hostess's smile grew wider. "The only one wearing actual clothes."

That certainly narrowed the scope and Marco found his sights drawn to a woman standing alone. She held a chilled martini, her eyes closed and head swaying in appreciation to the heady tones of the music. She looked peaceful. Happy.

And both of those attributes called to him.

"Did she leave a name? A number?"

"No." Uncorking the bottle, the hostess set it down on the table to breathe, placed the two glasses next to it. "In fact she didn't want me to say anything. Only to bring you the wine." Straightening, she hugged the now empty tray against her painted breasts. "She said you looked sad."

That simple statement rocked him. Coupled with the gesture, Marco was oddly touched. And for reasons he couldn't quite understand, he found himself wanting to know her. His gaze returned to the two glasses before lifting back to the hostess. "A bottle like this shouldn't be enjoyed alone," he said. "Bring her to me."

With a pleased gleam in her eyes, the hostess bobbed and took off to do as he'd requested. Intrigued by their exchange, he saw the surprise, the hesitation—the colourful range of emotions to pass across his admirer's striking face. Telling him quite plainly the offering hadn't been a ploy or an act to score his attention. Pacing away from the glass, Marco rubbed his palms together as he sat down in the booth.

Wondering.

What would she see when she looked at him? Roarke, the charismatic billionaire from the future? Or his more contemporary counterpart, Gideon Cross? Perhaps Rhage—the smoldering vampire warrior of the Black Dagger Brotherhood? Or maybe the kilted highlander, James Frasier?

Because that was always the way it went with the women who panted at his heels. They went mad for him. Crazed for him. As the living embodiment of their fantasies, he was a man wanted by women everywhere. But never for keeps. For anything substantial. He was a toy. A wish fulfillment. A thrill for a night instead of a lifetime. Many claimed to love him but that love was shallow and cold as a frozen puddle. And just as murky.

None of them ever saw him. The man beneath the facades.

But something about her assessment made him think this one may be different. A thought that had him anxious and excited. It took longer than he had expected, and was surprised by the cool rush of relief that swept through him when he spotted her following the hostess up the stairs. For a moment he'd actually thought it quite possible she'd turned him down.

Marco rose to greet her with a smile.

"Mr. Luna, I have Ms. Vinessa Hillis to join you this evening as you requested."

She smiled at him. Anxious fingers toying with a long golden rope of chain knotted around her slender throat. The length hung down to her navel where her blouse parted in a daring plunge that contrasted with her demure elegance. It was sexy but tasteful and displayed a toned figure, lushly curved.

"Please. After you." Marco gestured to the curved seating of the booth and accepted Vinessa's hand as she slid in first. He sat next to her. The curved shape of the booth forced them to face one another.

"Is there anything else you require?" The hostess asked, glancing between them.

"No, thank you."

A little dazed with wonder, Vinessa smoothed a hand over her belly, willing her nerves to settle. To still. When Marco had rose from the booth to greet her, wearing dark jeans and a tailored sapphire velvet blazer, the sleeve cropped to his muscular forearms and layers of tawny hair waving around his striking face, her knees had weakened enough she'd almost stumbled.

Now, here she was, close enough to see the fine lines around his mouth, the hint of texture along his jaw. And his eyes! She knew their colour was a stunning array of blue, green and gold. Depending on the lighting they could be any combination of the three. But here, in the flesh, the natural warmth of his skin enhanced their hue.

Made them almost crystalline by contrast.

But that sadness was definitely there. And seeing it scored beneath the layers of her excitement. Made her ache and wonder what was hurting him so deeply?

Flushing, she tucking her length of dark hair behind her ear—a straight curtain that fell to her waist. "I can't believe I'm sitting here with you."

"I'm flattered." His voice was all warmth and smoke and grit, with a hint of an accent she couldn't place; in all of his interviews, Marco never shared any personal details of his past or childhood.

"Thank you for joining me. And for this." He nodded towards the bottle set on the table beside them. "I'm impressed at your selection, and touched by the gesture."

Marco swept his gaze over her. She was young. A lot younger than he'd pegged at a distance, but now up close realized she was somewhere in her early twenties. His core demographic was mainly paunchy and neglected housewives, or the seasoned industry professional. But not someone as young as this. Or innocent. He'd been around long enough to spot an act many would try to adopt for the sake of intrigue and beguilement.

Everything about her rang true. Sincere.

"You're not...typical of my fanbase." As the heat flashed in her cheeks it galled him to think he'd inadvertently hurt her feelings. "Please don't misunderstand, I meant that as a sincere compliment."

"You don't have to apologize."

Reaching for the wine, Marco poured out two glasses, offered one to her. "What brings you to Paris, Vinessa?"

"Vacation." She smiled, accepting the glass. "A solo-YOLO thing."

Intrigued, Marco settled in closer. "You came to Paris alone?"

Holding her glass, she weighed that question, wondering how far—how deep into the truth did she want to go with him? And shrugged. New beginnings. Possibilities. No more holding back.

"I'm a widower. Almost three years. We met in high school, dated all throughout college. Then we found out he was dying. Osteosarcoma. It's a rare form of cancer. In the bones." Her smile wavered and she brushed a finger over her lips to still them. "He wanted me to move on, but I refused. We married before the worst of it set in. Had six months together."

Sadness punched across her features and Marco's heart clutched with grief and guilt for putting it there. "I'm so terribly sorry."

"It's alright. He went fast. Without much pain, thankfully."

"So you came to Paris to say goodbye?" Marco hooked his arm over the back of the banquette. Drawing close enough to catch the subtle notes of her perfume—citrus and something spicy.

"In a way. I always dreamt about seeing Europe. Spain, Portugal, Italy and France. We'd talked about travelling together—before. Then he got sick and it wasn't possible. A few months later, on my twenty third birthday my best friend—his sister—she kind of kicked me out of bed and told me that I couldn't stop living because Shawn was gone. He wouldn't want that for me. She was right. So now, here I am. Putting myself out there and embracing possibilities."

"I admire your courage," he said, and honestly meant it. She'd flown half way around the world, to a new country with the intent of self discovery and without the buffer of friends or family. He'd never heard of anything so remarkable. "It takes bravery and strength to pick yourself back up after such a loss, especially so young. Not many could do it."

Her smile returned, her shy eyes flickering to and from his face. An alluring shade of brown that wanted so desperately to be gold. "Getting over Shawn was hard at first. He was all I'd ever known. I'd never...been with anyone else. The thought of moving on, starting fresh—I was overwhelmed. Terrified. So, Caryn—my best friend, she was the one who suggested I start with something safe. With porn. A way to reignite the spark of sexuality before moving on to another man. I didn't expect anything to come of it." She paused to sip her wine. At some stray thought, she pulled a hand to her face, laughed through a groan.

"God, that sounds so crazy to admit out loud. I can't believe I just said that to you. I swore I'd never repeat that to anyone. Ever."

"There's nothing to be ashamed about," he said, pulling that hand back, wanting to see her. "Again, I'm flattered and admire your courage." Her hand dropped to her lap and Marco twined his fingers with hers, light and casual but there. Though he couldn't quiet keep the disappointment from his expression. "I understand why admitting that would be a source of embarrassment for you."

"Oh, I'm not offended. Or embarrassed to admit I love your work. I mean porn is great and fun, but what you do—what you've always done...it's more than sex. It's raw and real and honest. That naked emotional connection you have with the women is what makes it powerful. Beautiful."

Marco laughed, a sharp, dry note. "What I do is many things, but beautiful is a bit of stretch."

"I don't think so." Vinessa scooted closer, her hand holding on to his when he would have let hers go. "When Shawn died, I thought I'd died with him. The pain was so great. So absolute. Watching you, I rediscovered myself, my body my needs." Her eyes lifted to his. Held, as she whispered, "You brought me back to life."

That simple string of words overwhelmed him. Moved him. Left him feeling stunned and hot and in truth, keenly aroused. As well as amazed. To know that this beautiful, soulful creature had been watching him.

Wanting him.

Awakening her long lost desires with him in mind was both humbling and powerful. Made something shift deep inside his soul that Marco had never thought to feel again. So long since he'd experienced a genuine spark stemming from more than the job.

But viscerally.

"Tell me about you." Marco's hand stroked over her knee, innocently done, but he caught the hitch in her breath and it pleased him to know he affected her that profoundly.

"What do you want to know?" She worried her bottom lip and that fullness tempted him. Called to him. He wanted badly to taste it. To sample.

"Anything. Everything." He coaxed her into light and easy conversation. Certainly there were more private places he could have taken her, places better suited than inside the walls of the noisy club. But he liked having the excuse all that noise and excess afforded them to get closer so the other could be heard. Leaning in close, whispering in ears. Casual brushes and touches that warmed the blood.

Greedy, he soaked it all up. Desperate for more of that connection. More of her voice. Her presence and company. More of this intangible thing that vibrated between them.

Only when the music shifted and the crowd that seemed worlds away—screamed and cheered—did their little bubble shatter, drawing them both to the present. And part of him resented that intrusion, wanted to pull her away to somewhere secluded and distant so he could disappear with her anew. They'd been lost in each other for nearly two hours and still it wasn't enough to fill the chasm inside his soul.

"Oh, wow. Is it midnight already?" she asked, her eyes alight with wonderment.

"Soon." Rising to his feet, his hand reached out for hers. "Let's get a better view." He led her over to where the voices of the clubs patrons shook that wall of glass as the DJ announced the midnight hour was upon them and commenced with Cupid's Countdown, a sensual play on New Year's Eve as the line between the days blurred from the thirteen to the fourteenth.

Valentine's Day. A day of love.

Vanessa stood before the clear pane—so pristine it was almost easy to forget it was there at all. Her eyes watched the crowd writhing below as the screens panelling the walls flashing in a dizzying spectacle of lights and colours. Marco edged in closer, until the heat of him radiated behind her, a stark contrast to the cool glass at her front. The stroke of fingers skimming through the length of her hair, a brush of knuckles across her neck sent a ripple to course through her body.

The two of them positioned almost exactly where she'd saw him for the first time. So distant and detached.

Now here she was with him. And as she angled her gaze up at him over her shoulder, Vinessa realized there was nothing distant about what was going on in his eyes. The warm flush excitement raced along her skin as Marco's gaze settled on her with searing intimate intensity. She hadn't really noticed until now that he hardly blinked. His gaze was always constant. Steady. With the kind of focus that peeled away the emotional layers to see the depths of a woman's soul.

And he was staring deep into hers. Owning it.

At the final stroke, confetti rained. Balloons released and floated like opalescent orbs of gold, red and every shade of pink, spilling over the crowd where, in the throes of passion, lovers grabbed hold of lovers, strangers latched on to strangers.

"May I?" he asked.

Transfixed, Vinessa could only nod as his fingers circled around her wrists, levering her arms around his shoulders. He drew closer and her body quivered. There was something there, she thought, beneath the skin. Pulling them towards each other, set on a course to collide—too late to stop it. To turn away. And what a collision they'd make.

A breathless explosion of light and sparks and energy.

It was only an inch, but within that inch everything swelled and ached and overwhelmed. The distance so vast and he closed it slowly. So very slowly. Marco's hands glided up from her wrists to her shoulders to her face. Gathering her. Holding her. Angling her just so.

"Trust me," he whispered. And she was surprised to find that she did. Completely. Their eyes pinned together, lost in that sinuous pull of desire. "I won't let you fall."

But she was.

Falling.

Hard.

The cool wall of glass at her back, and the hard, impressive length of his body at her front. He stroked his hands down her sides, the heat from his palms scoring like a brand. Making her weak and wanton with need.

And somehow Vinessa knew that in the not too distant future this would be where it all started. That shift. The pinnacle moment after which life would never be the same.

A brush—of lips and breath followed by a sweep of tongue. A hint, a promise.

She parted for him. Sighing into that warmth. Into that sinful, wicked heat. It poured into her like electricity, filling her. Shocking her. His hands tangling in her hair as he took them both where they needed to be.

A little deeper. A little faster.

A lush, provocative pace that stole her breath.

Marco kissed her until the edges of his patience frayed. Drank in her sighs and moans, each was a roar in his blood, had his thoughts spinning out. Leaving him drunk on the wonderful, dizzying ride of being with her. Holding her. Tasting her.

The temptation to push for more surged under his skin, an animal that craved the thrill of making love to this incredible woman in his arms. But something inside, deep and distant, cautioned him against moving too fast. Told him to stop.

Restraint was thin as an eyelash but Marco latched on to what little remained. Reined himself in came with the price of pain so brutal it was almost sweet.

"What was that?" she whispered. The dazed look in her eyes calmed him. Whatever this was—whatever it could become, she was in it with him. Just as deep. Just as lost.

He wasn't alone.

Enveloping Vinessa in his arms, Marco set his brow to hers, and smiled.

"Magic."

**AN**

Since Valentine's day is around the corner, this is an old throwback I loved and wanted to share with you guys again since it's no longer available in the Valentine's Day Romance anthology. I love these two so damn much and hope to one day give them their own story. For now, this will have to do. 

For those of you eagerly waiting for STILETTO SISTERHOOD updates, I know - it's been forever and I do apologize. I'm currently drafting a YA fantasy book for my agent which has to take priority, but don't worry. I haven't nor ever will forget about my girls - or my Sisters here - they will have their time and my attention soon, I promise.