When a not-quite-jilted bride turns her would-be honeymoon into a solo adventure, the last thing she expects is to fall for Paris or the broodingly handsome artist who shows her its secrets. As midnight kisses blur into something deeper, she must choose between the life she left behind and the future she never saw coming. One Night in Paris by N.D. Jackson is a heart-mending, spicy travel romance where art, passion, and second chances collide in the world’s most romantic city.
It started as one night in Paris.
It ended with forever on the line.
Not quite a jilted bride,
I still find myself on a first-class flight to Paris—solo.
What was supposed to be a honeymoon has become my Great Parisian Adventure: art, food, and falling in love with the city.
Then I met Lucien.
Tall. Dark. French. Irresistibly artsy.
He taught me how to see the city through his eyes.
Its sounds, its colors, its passion.
And somehow, somewhere between croissants, art galleries, and midnight kisses,
Paris stopped being just a place… and started to feel like him.
But he’s a world away from my real life.
And I came here to move on, not fall in love.
Still, you can’t have a Great Parisian Adventure without a touch of romance.
Even if it can’t last.
One Night in Paris is a jilted bride, friends to lovers, travel romance with a happy ending, steamy open-door scenes and a whole lotta Paris. Features a scorching hot Parisian with sensitive eyes, a gentle soul and hot touch.
Excerpt
Copyright 2025, N.D. Jackson
It was that magical hour where the whole world seemed perfect. Friends catching up after a long day at work. Lovers greeting each other with soft kisses and heated looks. Even families gathered with a bottle of table wine over rapid fire French.
It’s perfect.
I walked along the boulevards until I found a little bar with a blue neon light that read beaux rêves. Sweet Dreams. It was exactly what I needed so I turned down the cobblestone alleyway and tugged on the heavy black door. I stepped inside and instantly the tension left my body. Soft jazz played inside the dimly lit bar. Booths covered in deep blue leather lined the walls on either side of the door while a few tables with two and four chairs dotted the middle space before the long mahogany bar took up the rest of the space. The dark wood and dark leather should’ve made the place seem heavy but it wasn’t. There was a lightness to it that called to me so I settled at the bar. Or maybe it was just that it seemed less pathetic to sit alone at the bar.
“Que voulez-vous boire?” The voice was masculine, deep and smooth. Heavenly.
My gaze drifted from the specials on the chalkboard above to the owner of the voice, which was my first mistake. His face was even more beautiful than his musical voice. With his brown hair that looked just a little bit mussed and big mossy green eyes, he was a work of art. His olive toned skin gave him an exotic appeal that I shouldn’t have noticed but it was impossible not to. “Oh, um, right. Je voudrais, a, um bourbon?” That was horrible, from the accent to the words, and I felt my skin warm with embarrassment. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said with a short laugh. “You ordered it just right. Either that or you asked me if you would like a bourbon.” His face split into an amused grin that drew my gaze to full, pink lips.
I sat taller and looked him right in those mesmerizing green eyes. “Je vourdrais un bourbon.”
He gave a short nod, lips still smiling. “Coming right up.”
I ordered my first drink en français and the bartender understood, which was one for the win column. I got this.
He returned and set a glass in front of me half-full of brown liquid. “Autre chose?”
I ran the catalog of French words I knew in my brain and nodded, because I definitely needed something to go with the booze. “Yes. Je prendrai le plateau de fromages et de pâtés.”
He bit back another smile. “One cheese and pâté board coming right up.”
My brows dipped this time at his smile. He was handsome, sure, but he was also a little bit devilish. “Are you doing that on purpose?” He was messing with me. Right?
He turned back, thick dark brows shot up. “Quoi?”
“That!” I pointed at him. “You keeping responding in a different language.” I heard rumors about the French but I hoped it wasn’t true. “Is this a mess with the dumb American thing?”
His smile slipped. “Bien sûr que non.” He shook his head, seeming appalled at my accusation. “I am just letting you know that I understand. Would you prefer that I clap each time you speak properly?”
I took a long sip of my drink, finishing off half easily and then folded my arms before I aimed a really good glare at him. “Non. Non, je ne le ferais pas!” I definitely would not like that.
“I didn’t think so. Another bourbon?” His accent in both French and English was incredible. It was like a sultry grownup lullaby that effectively vanquished all of my annoyance.
“Yes please. Another bourbon would be great.”
He watched me for a long time, so long I began to squirm. At first I wondered if I still had paint on my face or in my hair but then I remembered the hot shower and high end French beauty products and I knew it wasn’t that. “I have something perfect for you, if you are bold enough to let me choose for you?”
Bold enough. I recognized the challenge for what it was and I tilted my chin high in the air. “Absolument.”
“Now it is you messing with me.” He grinned as he poured, but I noted a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Here you go. Tell me what you think.”
I accepted the crystal glass, noting the artistry of the cut geometric pieces before I wrapped my hand around it took a sip. “Oh my god!” I didn’t spit it out, thankfully, but my eyes bugged out and I choked on it. “That is…strong,” I finished and then frowned at the glass. “But good. What is it?”
“French rye. American’s always think bourbon is French but it is from your homeland. This,” he pointed to my glass, “is the best of French alcohol.”
It wasn’t bad but it was incredibly strong. I leaned closer and looked left and then right. “Would it be terribly rude or uncouth to ask for it on the rocks?”
He laughed but this time it wasn’t at me, and goodness it went all the way up to those incredible eyes. “Whatever the lady wants.”
I stared at him blatantly because he really was beautiful, but it wasn’t attraction. I mean he was attractive but it was more than that, he was beautiful in that way that made my fingers tingle with the urge to paint him. To sketch him. Anyway I could celebrate his beauty through my art I wanted to.
Badly.
Now.
About N.D. Jackson
Wanderer. Lover of books. Romance author. Vegan. Those are just some of the things used to describe me! When I’m not spinning tales of small town and contemporary romance, I love to travel, cook, and watch/listen to true crime, history & strange documentaries and podcasts. I’m a native Chicagoan currently living in Europe who has been in love with books for as long as I can remember. My first book, Conflict of Interest, was published in 2014, and I’ve been writing books ever since! I’m a full-time writer and part-time author, traveler, vegan blogger, and obsessive fan of Dawson’s Creek.
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