Two weeks later I'm bound for France, putting thousands of miles between me and the shambles of my life, on a very turbulent flight that quickly replaces my exhilaration with anxiety. The poor Irish man to my left has the misfortune of being witness to my paranoia. He's far more patient with me than a stranger should be and he generously buys me a drink from the flight attendant to soothe my nerves.

When we touch down and the pilot's smooth baritone comes over the intercom, welcoming us to Kaysersberg, I can't get my seat belt off fast enough to disembark the plane.

It takes an insufferable amount of time for my luggage to spit out on the baggage carousel. Once I heave my suitcases off the conveyor belt, I make my way in the direction of a sign that proclaims taxi service. I step out into the autumn sunshine.

I scan the street outside the airport for a minute or two until I remember that I'm not looking for the familiar yellow taxis. On second glance, I spot a boxy black car idling a few feet up on the curb. There's a little lit placard on the roof, which looks like it might be a cab number. Righting my suitcase and rolling it behind me, I stride towards the car.

As I reach for the door handle, I hear a voice say, "Allow me." I spin around and find myself looking up into the darkest eyes I've ever seen. They immediately crinkle as their owner smiles at me.

He's handsome-black hair and a couple of inches taller than me, and his broad shoulders fill out the tailored, obviously expensive grey suit that he wears very well. Those clear round eyes lock on me as I take in the rest of his classically attractive features: long eyelashes, cute nose, strong cheekbones, chiseled jaw.

The way he's smiling at me is a bit unsettling. His mouth curls in such a manner that suggests he knows how to wield it, and given his hotness he probably uses it to his advantage often. My stomach executes a little back flip as he steps towards me, but when his hand settles on the door handle, I stiffen.

"Excuse me, I had this cab," I say politely.

"A foreigner, are you?" His words are stressed with a soft frensh lilt- as if this guy needs anything else to up his rating on the 'fuck me' scale. He purses his lips at me, sending another ripple through my belly. I tuck an errant strand of hair that's escaped my ponytail behind my ear.

"What gave me away?" I ask drily.

He laughs. "That charming accent of yours."

"I don't have an accent."

"Bien sûr, you do. Where in Korea are you from?"

"Busan," I reply

The cabbie sticks his head out the window and impatiently barks at us to get in, his heavy accent made more indecipherable by his gravelly voice.

"Where are you headed?" the hot man asks. "Perhaps we can share."

Ignoring the gymnastics routine well underway in my stomach, I clench my jaw and give him a terse smile. There is no way I'm going to sit beside this stranger in the tight confines of a taxi. What if those good looks are disguising something? I've seen American Psycho-and the guy I had just encountered is way hotter than Christian Bale.

I'm also not going to get into a turf war over this one cab. It's the airport-there will be tons of them coming and going. And, judging by the way he's dressed he probably has somewhere to be. I'm not in a hurry.

So I step away from the curb and wheel my suitcase to my side, motioning towards the car. "Go ahead. It's all yours. I'll get the next one."

His brows furrows and his mouth twists. "It's really no a problem to share."

The way he drops the 't' on 'not' and pronounce his 'r's' almost weakens my resolve. Almost.

"I can wait. It's fine. Have a nice day." To further affirm that my decision is final, I rummage in my purse for my phone and avoid his eyes, scrolling idly through my apps to look busy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the guy linger on the sidewalk for a moment, watching me carefully. I think he shakes his head before opening the cab door. I hear it slam shut, and glance up just in time to see the taxi pull away.

It's not until the cab disappears into the crush of traffic that a brief thread of Sulli's voice winds through my mind. "Have a fling or two," she had said. The stranger's eyes swim before me, and I have a fleeting vision of them staring down at me as the hot frensh pounds into me. I gasp and nearly drop my phone, cursing myself for the foolish fantasy. Even if I am going to take Sulli's advice and have a fling, it's not going to be with a total stranger, within two minutes of meeting him no less.

I shove my phone back into my purse, release a breath, and start looking for another cab, trying to put the image of the handsome stranger out of my head.

-

Sulli's cottage, as it turns out, isn't really a cottage. When the cab comes to a stop in front of a beautiful flat at the end of a bustling street, I protest and show the cabbie the address on my phone. He laughs and explains to me that this is indeed the correct address. I pay my fare, and he kindly offers to wait while I test the keys that Sulli had given me if I still have my doubts. I approach the door, fit the key into the lock, and to my shock the door opens. The cabbie gives a wave and drives off, leaving me standing in front of the flat.

It seems like a really nice area, just off the city. There's a large pub directly across the street from the flat, and judging by the crowd standing outside of it it's popular. There are also few smaller shops and another restaurant further up the row. The buildings are old, but appear to be impeccably maintained. It may be the city, but it doesn't feel anything like New York or Philadelphia. There's something enchanting about Kaysersberg and I feel myself growing more excited at the prospect of spending the next three weeks here.

Turning back to Sulli's flat, I head inside, gaping at the spacious entry hall and the airy open space beyond it. I shove my suitcase against the wall and begin to walk around, admiring the hardwood floors and the high ceilings. I tour the living room and the breakfast nook and the kitchen, running my hand along the glossy marble countertop and marveling at the décor. Sulli had to have hired some kind of an interior decorator. As elegant as this flat is, it's also very modern. The Sulli I know prefers homey and quaint.

I saunter along, finding new things to gawk at, including a very well-stocked wet bar just off the kitchen, complete with three beer taps. I give one handle a little jerk, and a dark foamy liquid drizzles out. Intrigued, I tug the other two taps, releasing streams of a dark reddish-amber and a paler amber hue.

There are several doors on either side of the wide hallway. I peer in the first one, which is clearly the master bedroom. A massive king-sized bed is the focal piece of the room, and it strikes me as a little odd that it's only half-made, sheets hastily pulled up and pillows askew. I shuffle towards the bed and smooth up the quilt. A heady scent lingers on the sheets, very woodsy and spicy, like cinnamon and pine. It's a delicious smell.

I continue on into the large en-suite bathroom and gape. It's immaculate. The shower is huge, with two showerheads and a bench running the length of the rear wall. Clear glass walls enclose the space-no frosted opaque doors here.

Across the hall is another bedroom, a good deal smaller than the master, and a second bathroom, which isn't an en-suite, but it does have a large old-fashioned claw-foot tub. It isn't quite as big as the jetted tub in the master bath, but it's utterly charming and romantic. It makes me want to light some candles, pour a glass of wine, and soak. A smile creeps onto my lips. I decide to do just that, once I get settled.

I had noticed a little market up the street, so I lock up and walk there to grab a few essentials-including booze and bath salts. While I wander the liquor aisle, a cheerful old man with a full beard and a potbelly engages me in conversation. He talks me out of the rosé in my hand and places a bottle of red wine in my basket.

"When in Rome, ma chérie ," he says cheerfully, winking at me. "That there's the best I have to offer. Tell Louis up there at the register that Willie said to give it to you for half it's worth. Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thank you," I say, genuinely touched by his hospitality. Are all frensh people this friendly? The stranger from the airport threatens his way into my conscious thoughts again, but I quickly push him away.

The selection at the market is limited in the way of bath goodies, but I find a small sachet of fragrance and some bubble bath. Once I've returned to Sulli's flat, I fill the claw-footed tub and sprinkle the salts into the water. Then I undress and wind my ponytail into a loose knot. With a glass of wine in one hand, I shut off the faucets with my other hand and sink down into the warm water. My muscles instantly relax. I take a tentative sip of the wine. It burns on the way down, but leaves a pleasurable warmth in its wake. Smiling, I close my eyes and lean my head back on the rounded edge of the tub.

I lose track of time, and eventually the water becomes tepid and I start to get chilled. I tip back the rest of my wine and pull the plug on the drain as I step onto the bath mat. Shivering, I glance around the bathroom and realize there are no towels.

"Great," I mutter, chiding myself for not checking before I got into the tub. I snag a washcloth from a small basket next to the sink and dab it over my wet skin to dry off enough to be able to walk to the en-suite and grab a full-size towel. I don't want to drip all over those gorgeous hardwood floors.

On my way out of the bathroom, I catch sight of my reflection. I gaze in the mirror, cocking my head as I study my naked body. I don't think it's anything special, but I do keep myself in great shape. I smile, feeling strangely free as I stroll across the hall.

A scream lodges in my throat. Standing in the middle of the master bedroom is the hot guy from the airport. His eyes widen in shock and his lips part.

"What are you doing? How did you get in here?" I shriek.

He rakes a hand through his hair and attempts to keep those big eyes from drifting below my neck. Watching him nobly struggle to stay focused on my face reminds me that I'm stark naked. My heart starts to pound and my cheeks flame.

"I, ah-" His eyes drop briefly to my chest and then quickly flit away, though a trace of a smile flirts with his mouth. He grabs for a wool tartan plaid blanket that's draped at the foot of the bed and holds it out for me. I snatch it from his hands and quickly wrap it around my nude body.

"I'll ask you again-how the hell did you get in here? Are you stalking me? Did you follow me? I'll call the police, I swear!" My panic rises swiftly as I fire off question after question in rapid succession. He stares at me for a second and then gives a little chuckle that I'd probably find it sexy if I weren't so freaked out.

"I'm no sure we need to involve the police. But I could ask you the same question about how you got in here...because I'll have you know you're standing in my bedroom."

"Y-your b-bedroom?" I stammer, incredulous.

He grins sheepishly. "Yeah, my bedroom. And that would be my blanket keeping you hidden from my prying eyes."

I shake my head at him, my bewilderment intensifying. "N-no. No...this-this flat belongs to my neighbor. She offered it to me for a holiday."

"Ah, okay. Would your neighbor happen to be one Sulli Jeon?" His handsome face takes on an air of amusement.

My jaw drops. "Y-yeah...how do you...?"

"She's my grandmother," he replies.

"Oh-oh!" I feel my cheeks burn hotter. I know Sulli has two grandsons, as she talks about them occasionally and she has a few photographs of them scattered through her apartment. But the boys in those pictures are much younger than this man. He must be in his early 20s. How long has it been since Sulli updated those photos?

"Listen," he says gently. "You're shivering. Why dont you get dressed and then we can go have a drink and get this all set straight."

My traitorous teeth start to chatter and he gives me a sympathetic smile. "If you'll just let me hang up my jacket I'll get out of your way and give you your privacy."

Numbly, I nod. He shrugs his suit jacket off his broad shoulders and walks across the room to the closet. I watch his back muscles flex beneath his shirt while he eases the jacket onto a hanger and draws the closet doors shut. Without another word, he slips from the room and closes the door behind him.

My heart thumps frenetically against my ribs as the situation sinks in. My eyes sweep over the rumpled bed. It all starts to make sense. I stumble back into the en-suite and look around more carefully. The toothbrush next to the sink. The array of colognes on the sterling silver tray. The electric razor charging on the counter. The full taps in the bar. Even the meagerly stocked refrigerator. How had I missed all these little signs that someone lives here?

All my earlier excitement deflates and my anxiety swells. What was Sulli thinking? Why would she offer me a place that was already occupied-and by her ridiculously hot grandson? I consider the possibility that perhaps she doesn't know-maybe this hot grandson is some kind of freeloader. But it doesn't seem likely, given the impression I've gotten of him so far, but then, my judgment has been less than intuitive lately.

Mind reeling, stomach roiling, I retrieve some clean clothes from one of my suitcases and dress quickly. Giving a quick glimpse in the mirror above the bureau, I unwind the bun in my hair and roughly drag my fingers through it to separate the waves. Then I take a calming breath and walk out of the room.

Sulli's grandson sits at the breakfast bar, a small glass of amber liquid in front of him. He's tapping away at his cell phone, but when he sees me, he pushes the phone away from him.

"What can I get you to drink?" he offers. His phone jumps and he grabs for it, hastily shoving it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

"Oh, I, um, had some wine that I bought." I glance around for the bottle I had purchased earlier.

He rises from his stool and pulls out the one beside his. When I don't move, he pats the seat and one side of his mouth curves up in a half-smile. "Have a seat. I promise you I dont bite." He disappears around the corner and returns a moment later with a glass that matches his own.

"Try this one. It's my favorite." He extends the glass to me, and cautiously, I accept it, nearly jumping when our fingers brush. He frowns at me.

"You need no look like a scared rabbit."

"I'm sorry." I suck on my lower lip. "I'm just a little confused, and a lot embarrassed."

"Why?" He raises his brows and looks contemplative. "We'll get this straightened out, you'll see. And if you're embarrassed about me seeing you naked...well, I'll have ye know I have seen naked women before and you have nothing to be ashamed of. You've got a very nice body."

I inhale sharply, trying to deflect my humiliation at the notion he got a good enough look to compliment me. Or perhaps he's just being polite. I'm sure I'm nothing compared to the beautiful women that he likely beds.

"Please sit down." His honeyed voice holds a gentle pleading that I'd have to be completely heartless to ignore. Gingerly, I perch on the edge of the stool next to him and cup my hands around the glass.

"So you live here." I drum my thumbs on the lip of the glass to give my restless hands something to do.

He sits down again. "Oui, I do. Grams, ah, must have forgotten that. I've been calling this place home for the last six months. Traded up when I took over the pub."

"The pub? The one across the street?"

He looks pleased. "That's the one. You noticed it?"

"It seems very popular. I noticed a crowd gathered in front a little while ago, around lunch time."

"We do very good business. The place has been in my family for four generations, so I hope I can continue to do well by it. My great-granpa-Sulli's father-he opened it. Then my pa took it over when my grandpa and Grams moved to South Korea. And now..." he trails off and falls quiet, but I understand immediately. I had taken care of Sulli's cats for two weeks when she flew home last spring when her son-obviously this man's father-had died suddenly.

"I'm sorry," I say softly.

"Thanks." He takes a healthy drink from his whisky, draining half the glass in one swallow. I take a sip too, and I immediately know that this is indeed better than the wine I had sampled earlier. It's smoother and leaves a sweet aftertaste in my mouth.

"Enough about me though. Let's get to the bottom of how you came to be in my room." His impossibly dark eyes- are similar to Sulli's, I now see the resemblance-sparkle. "You know, you would have saved yourself some trouble if you had just shared that cab with me."

"I couldn't have known who you were then-or where you were going! I wasn't going to share a cab with a total stranger."

He leans forward. "Did I seem strange? Or perhaps dangerous?"

There are those sexy "r's" again. Feeling the heat start to color my cheeks anew, I stare down at my wine and jolt when I feel warmth through the thin cotton of my shirt. I glance down to where his hand is resting on my elbow. Swallowing hard, I look back up, directly into his eyes.

"Let's start over. For starters, it would be proper if we introduced ourselves." He lifts his hand off my arm and holds it out towards me. "Jungkook Jeon."

"Yuri." I grasp his palm. A tingling sensation migrates up my arm and nestles in my chest.

"Yuri. That's a very beautiful name."

"Thank you. My father loved delicate Korean names. So he insisted my sister and I's names to be unique ones."

"He sounds like a very smart man."

My lips twitch involuntarily at the memory of my father, but I say nothing. After a moment, he clears his throat and asks, "So then, Yuri, you say that Grams offered you this flat for a holiday?"

"Ah, yeah." I nod, and as briefly as I can, without getting into too many details about the turmoil in my life that sent me bolting all the way across an ocean, I explain to him that I'm going through some personal changes and Sulli had thought a visit to Kaysersberg would be good for me.

He chuckles to himself. "Grams thinks the world's problems can be solved in Kaysersberg."

"It's a lovely country, what I've seen so far."

"Oh you haven't seen anything. If you'll allow it, you'll have to let me be your tour guide whilst you're here. There's so much to see."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I think I have far bigger problems right now than some fanciful sightseeing. I'm miles away from home, in a city I know nothing about, and now I'm going to have to find a hotel-"

"Hold your tongue." He holds up his palm and fixes me with a serious expression. "Why do you think you canna stay here? Because of me?" He gives another one of those laughs, a low, sexy sound that vibrates through me and lands right behind my navel.

He continues, "It's a big flat. I have two bedrooms. We can move your stuff into the guest one. And you'd have your own bathroom."

"Look, Jungkook, it's very kind of you to let me stay here, but I'm not going to impose on you and-"

"You won't bother me at all. I work long hours. I'm no here much. You'll have the place to yourself a lot."

I close my eyes and consider his proposal. What alternative do I have? The thought of wandering around to find a hotel is unappealing for a number of reasons. As I open my eyes and meet Jungkook's eyes, the way he's staring at me has my stomach tightening.

He puts down his glass and covers my hand with his. "Please. Say yes. I'll feel right awful if you have your holiday ruined on my account."

I start feeling those little tingles shooting up my arm once more. I let them pulse through me, enjoying the unfamiliar warmth that accompanies them. A flush claims my entire body, and I can only nod my acquiescence to him, though something tells me that I might regret it.

Jungkook grins and squeezes my hand. "Then it's settled. My flat is your flat, Yuri. I'll go move your things into your new room, okay?"

He gives my hand one last pat and drains the rest of his glass, then excuses himself. I linger in the kitchen for a bit longer before going into the other bedroom. Both my suitcases are already near the window.

My body still buzzes from Jungkook's innocent touches and his not-so-innocent gaze. I'm not used to guys looking at me the way that he just looked at me, but that's probably because they don't. Jackson is the only man I've ever dated. I'm woefully inexperienced in romance and sex and being desirable.

But then again, my bruised heart is probably overreacting and I'm seeing things that aren't there. Maybe Jungkook is just touchy-feely and flirty by nature. With his good looks and his confident manner, who could blame him, really? He's being nice, I convince myself. He is related to Sulli.