French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) (9 page)

BOOK: French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2)
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“What can I do?”

“Come into the shop. We’re in the middle of markdowns for the big sale and Kristen is out sick. Maybe we should postpone it.” This she said as if thinking out loud. “Either way, I’m afraid you’ll have to hold down the fort.”

It had been a while, but it was her boutique. When the kids got older, Derek had insisted she do something with her time while he worked. The shop was the solution and he’d helped her open it over eight years ago. It was her business, she had trained Adri herself—which her friend often seemed to forget—and could do this in her sleep, no problem.

“I’ll be there within the hour, Adri. You do what you need to do to get to your mom. Close if you must. I’ll handle things when I get in.”

“Thank you, sugar. I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. I’ll call as soon as I know what the situation is.”

“Family first, as always. You know that. Go, and don’t worry about a thing.”

 

* * *

 

Steam wafted gently from the nozzle and with every pass the wrinkles fell away from the exquisite ecru lace overlay of the pricey designer cocktail dress that had arrived in a huge shipment today. She’d been waiting on the new arrivals forever it seemed and this one, a short sleeve, V-neck Valentino creation, like the dozens of others would be gone in the blink of an eye, despite the hefty price tag. Her fitting calendar was booked solid after making calls to a few of her best customers advising that if they wanted one of the five designer originals, they had better say the word before they were snatched up by someone else.

Ferretti, McQueen, Mischka and Couture were only a few of the elite names. She carried the most sought after designer labels and some one-off originals that her customers clamored for, but she also liked to feature up and comers whenever she could.

The bell rang as she worked, as it had all morning long. She didn’t turn away from her task, hearing Katy, one of her shop girls, walk out of the back room and down the polished hardwood center aisle to greet the new arrival. Mari knew it was likely another wealthy Houston socialite with nothing to do but spend daddy’s money, or a housewife armed with her CEO husband’s platinum card, or yet another successful but lonely woman who frequented her shop —a corporate VP or a surgeon with a rare night off—in need of the perfect outfit for her upcoming date with a potential Mr. Right, or at least, Mr. Right Now. In any case, many turned to
Marilee’s
to find it. And, she gladly catered to their whims, having been one of them herself a few short years ago.

She pushed that thought from her head, which she found came easier in the past few weeks since Adri had been gone. Coming to the shop each day gave her a reason to get up, instead of listlessly sleeping the day away, through breakfast and lunch most often, which hadn’t been good for her. She’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed interacting with the customers whether the everyday shopper who wandered in to browse, eyes flaring wide at the three and four digit prices, before reverently gazing at designer labels they couldn’t ever imagine wearing, then with a wistful sigh moving quickly on to the next store. Or the women who rushed in, having only an hour to shop before heading back for the next ultra-important meeting that would surely save the world from economic collapse. Or the snobs, yes, Marilee even enjoyed serving the rich bitches who were fussed over like everyone else. Occasionally, a man would wander in, looking for the perfect gift for his wife, mother, or the current object of his affection, perhaps a secret mistress or lover. These men were easy to spot, paying in cash exclusively.

“That would look exquisite on you.”

The husky voice with its panty-melting French accent was one she’d never thought to hear again, or at least not murmuring so close to her ear, and in of all places her Houston shop far away from the sex filled San Antonio playroom where she’d last heard it. Twisting, she stared with horror into Master Arturo’s handsome face. His eyes twinkled as his sensual lips tipped up into a small smile, obviously amused by her appalled reaction.

Mari’s eyes darted around the shop. Katy had disappeared.

“What are you doing here, Mast—” Realizing at the last second what she’d been about to say, she stopped short. Calling him master in the middle of her boutique where at least six pairs of eager ears were perked up listening as they drooled over the eye candy that Arturo was, would have been a major faux pas. She snapped her mouth shut so hard her teeth click together. Lowering her voice, she tried again. “I mean, Mr. Durand.”

“Breathe, Marilee.” His hand on her forearm that was plainly meant to reassure, did the opposite and sent a tremor up her arm. She didn’t become aware that she was still holding the steamer and it was aimed directly at him until he moved it gently away.

“How careless of me,” she blurted out. Flustered and making a fool of herself, she switched it off with much difficulty and set it on the nearby counter.

“Relax,
chérie
.” His deep sensual tone sent a ripple of awareness through her. “I’m not going to tie you to your sales counter, flog you, then ravish you until you beg for mercy while all and sundry look on.” Her mouth fell open in surprise, no more so than when his hand came up and softly brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, exposing the shell to his lips. He leaned closer and whispered boldly, “We’ll save that for after dinner when I have you all to myself.”

Again, her eyes scanned the room. Had anyone heard? She took a breath when she realized no one was close enough.

Gallantly, he captured her hand and brought it to his mouth. After the barest brush of his lips, which if she hadn’t been watching she would have sworn didn’t happen—so light was his touch—he lowered, but did not release her hand.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw the sign for Marilee’s boutique while driving by. I had to come see if you were one and the same. That you are has made my day. The shop and its owner, I might add, are both utterly charming.”

His eyes moved over her face and down her body in a quite brazen and very thorough manner. At the club, it would be nothing, a dom inspecting a potential play partner for the night, but here, in her quiet, conservative dress shop it was out of bounds. And though she knew she should step back, put some much needed space between them, she didn’t. She couldn’t. Nor could she stop the tips of her breasts from forming hard peaks beneath her thin silk blouse, or the flood of heat that rushed through her body, or the trickle of moisture that suddenly gathered between her thighs. Her body knew him, instinctively readying herself for another possession by this strong, handsome, intensely virile and dominant man.

“I’ve missed you at the club these past few weeks,
ma mignonne
. I’ll take you to dinner tonight and we can become reacquainted,
oui
?”

Not a request. It was an arrogant demand as if she belonged to him.

And, what the heck did this new pet name mean? Frowning, she racked her brain. Her rusty foreign language skills once again let her down. All she could come up with was filet mignon. Did he call her his steak? No, that would be filet, mignon meant little, or petite, didn’t it? Damn, that wasn’t right either. She wished she’d paid more attention in French class way back when. But all of that was beside the point.

“I can’t have dinner. I have plans.” She was relieved that she had a valid excuse. After closing the shop, she was meeting her mother for a late dinner.

“Then we’ll dine before going to the club this weekend.”

She started shaking her head before he had even finished his invitation. “I don’t get away very often, and my manager is out for an indeterminate time. I’ve got to keep an eye on the shop.”

“So many excuses. I’m beginning to get the feeling you’re avoiding me.”

Her brow arched and she bit back a smart remark, saying instead, “It’s a long drive.”

“Less than three hours,
oui
? Make the trip for me, Mari. I’d like to spend more time with you.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur, his warm breath tickling her ear as he spoke. “Once wasn’t enough,
minou.
Je veux te baiser, encore une fois.

Nearby, a customer gasped as his hushed voice still carried. Arturo’s head came up, as did her own, and they both turned to see a well-dressed older woman in her early sixties with her hand covering her mouth in shock. It was Emily Thorpe.

Crap! The old biddy was one of the worst gossips in Houston. Mari barely bit back a groan.


Excusez-moi, madame
.” Arturo apologized, his hand splaying across his chest as if he was truly appalled he’d been overheard, though Mari could tell he wasn’t sorry for a second. He then surged headlong into a barrage of rapid French while flashing his wickedly charming grin. She understood only random words like
très passionnant
—guessing at that—and
amour.

She eyed him suspiciously when he switched back to English, laying it on thick. “You understand, of course,” he appealed to the woman, as he glided his hand familiarly up and down Mari’s back, “being a beautiful woman yourself.”

The woman, who had stood frozen in horror at first, now blushed and tittered like a schoolgirl. She then aimed a knowing smile Mari’s way and winked.

“What did he say?” She couldn’t keep from asking, but Emily was too busy flapping her hand in front of her overheated face as she scurried away, grabbing the hand of her unsuspecting friend and chattering under her breath as she pulled her out of the shop in flurry.

Mari whirled on him, both brows raised inquiringly.

With a Gallic shrug, he grinned slyly. “I appealed to the romantic inside her. That is all.”

“Yes, but in what shocking way did you say it? I’d lay down big bucks that stuffy old Emily hasn’t giggled in half a century and I doubt she’s ever winked before meeting you.” The ridiculously handsome and infuriating Frenchman didn’t say a word, only stood there grinning down at her. “Arturo!”

“Ah, it’s too bad you don’t speak French,
minou
. At the same time, I’m surprised that your customers do, especially colorful, risqué French.” He winked, before bending his head close to her ear once again. She held her breath, expecting him to translate, but instead he murmured, “Meet me for dinner at Pietro’s at seven on Friday night and I’ll tell you.”

She pulled back, her eyes narrowing in frustration. “I can’t. The shop doesn’t close until seven, besides—”

“Saturday at eight then,” speaking over her decisively. “And don’t tell me you have to stay late that night. The sign on your door says you close at five on Saturday and don’t open until after noon on Sunday, which means you won’t have to run home afterward like last time.” His lips once again brushed the knuckles of the hand he’d never released. “I’ve had weeks to think up some of the most delightful tortures. The question remains, are you the adventurous sort, Mari? I’m hoping so, if nothing else, I’m counting on you being curious.
A bientôt,
ma petite.”
He then squeezed her hand and with a hint of his subtle masculine scent, turned and sauntered out the front door.

Stunned, she stared, feeling every powerful movement of his panther like stride right between her legs. She didn’t blink or breathe until the glass doors swished shut behind him, and not even then. Only taking air when Katy rushed up, her voice coming out as breathless as she felt.

“Who was that?”

“An acquaintance,” Mari barely managed, shrugging as an afterthought and an attempt to appear nonchalant.

Katy hooted with laughter. “Acquaintance my Aunt Fannie! I’m going to have to call BS on that one, boss.
Minou
means kitten, I know that for sure.” The savvy thirty-year-old blonde looked at her with a sly wink and a grin.

“You speak French? You can tell me what else he said. Something with the word
baiser
, which shocked old Emily down to her prudish toes.”

“Sorry. I only know enough to be dangerous. I remember colors, numbers—particularly naughty ones like
soixante-neuf
—how to conjugate the verbs have and to be, other than that, I know animals.” Katy gave her a nudge with her elbow. “That means I know acquaintances, especially those of European descent, don’t call a woman kitten in a voice that could incinerate panties far and wide.”

Mari’s lips twisted. In the span of a second he’d affronted a customer, and then charmed her the next, topping it off by titillating and intriguing one of her staff with a would-be romance that didn’t exist. She couldn’t imagine the uproar he’d cause in the span of an hour.

“Spill, Mari, because that was one red hot Frenchman.” Dramatically, she fanned herself with her hand while batting her eyelashes.

“He’s no one, really. Let’s get back to work.” Mari reached for the steamer and resumed what she was doing, ignoring the rapid beat of her heart and the nagging wetness of her lace panties.

“Okay,” Katy said, disappointment clear in her voice. As she walked away, she tossed over her shoulder, “But, if he’s only a no one to you, can I get an introduction? Damn, woman! He is fine.”

 

Chapter Seven

 

At five past nine, she rushed through the main front doors in a flurry, her nerves on edge, first from a flat tire about thirty miles outside of Houston, and later from a slowdown on I-10, which had made her even later. When she’d come upon the reason why—rubberneckers gawking at a burned out car as though they’d never seen such a sight before—she’d growled in frustration. That had made her already frazzled constitution even more stressed and she was surprised she hadn’t pulled an illegal U turn and high tailed it back home.

As it was, having stood him up for dinner, through no fault of her own, she might have to anyway. When it took the auto club over an hour to get there and put on her spare, she’d called the club and left a message with Mara, the sub that answered, explaining what had happened. She’d been assured that they had Master Arturo’s number on file and would notify him at the unavoidable change in plans for the evening. Then when stuck in traffic, she’d called again, this time having to leave a voice mail which she had no idea if anyone would get before the next morning. If no one checked messages during club hours, she was assured of facing a very ticked off dominant when she finally arrived. Another reason to throw up her hands and go home. What had she been thinking in coming, anyway? Plainly it hadn’t been with her head.

Now, as she stood in the entrance, trying to spot him through the throng of members that was the norm for a Saturday night at the club, she rubbed her sweaty palms down the sides of her new dress. It had arrived at the shop yesterday. In sapphire blue, the long sleeve, boat neck sheath appeared ultra-conservative at first glance. It wasn’t until she turned it to check the label that she noticed it was missing a back, other than a drape of material that would dip all the way to the top of her ass cheeks, maybe lower, and a short mid-thigh hem; she’d be naked from the rear. Still, it was stunning, with pearl embellishments at the shoulders, neckline, and wrists. And, by Dior, she knew it hadn’t come cheap.

The note inside was hand written in a flourishing script. Too bad it resembled the last prescription she’d gotten from her doctor. As best as she could decipher, he’d written:

 

Marilee,

I prefer color to ubiquitous black. This jewel tone will bring out the brilliance of your lovely eyes. Wear your hair up to show off the features of the dress. Shoes are at your discretion. They won’t be worn long, anyway. I look forward to seeing you Saturday.

Avec beaucoup d’impatience,

Arturo

 

Katy, who had watched her unwrap the dress with barely contained glee, gushed over the beadwork. “I’ll want explicit details on Monday.”

“What does
avec beaucoup d’impatience
mean?”

“With much anticipation, I believe,” she replied with a waggle of her brows. She’d then added in a stage whisper as she went back to work, “Acquaintance my big fat derriere.”

“Master Arturo is awaiting you at the bar.”

Her head snapped around to find a waitress at her side, shouting in order to be heard over the band. Instantly, her eyes shifted to the long bar that encompassed nearly all of the back wall and half that again, around the far end of the room. “All the way to the left near the dungeon,” the server added helpfully. “And might I say, you are one lucky girl. Master Arturo is in demand and to snatch him up twice is unprecedented. I won’t wish you a wonderful evening, I’ll just dream about it and live vicariously through you.”

With her message and then some delivered, she sauntered away, Mari noticing that she wore a corset and a skimpy thong, her generous buttocks jiggling as she wound through the club members crowding around the dance floor. It was nice to see that there were real women here with real women’s bodies. It was another thing she found welcoming about Club Decadence, the crowd wasn’t college age as many of the clubs in the city, but older, more sophisticated and they came in all shapes and sizes. Even plus sizes, which made Mari more comfortable about baring her curves and her approaching-forty, mother of two body.

Taking a deep breath, she began making her way through the crowd. Her eyes were unavoidably drawn to the medieval looking dungeon doors. Apparently, he didn’t want to waste any time, which suited her just fine.

As she came to the end of the bar, she frowned, not seeing him anywhere. Fingers gliding down her spine had her turning and meeting Arturo’s intense green-eyed gaze that glimmered with appreciation. He didn’t say a word, flattening his warm hand between her shoulder blades as he pulled her against him. The same hand slowly slid down her bare skin, made possible by the deep plunging vee of her backless dress. Although not fetwear, it was bolder and far more revealing than anything she’d worn to the club to date. She’d been right about the back dipping to the top curves of her bottom, what’s more, if she sat, she’d show the very tip of her, um… ass cleavage, something she’d never thought to have or show, in a designer dress before. Mari hoped there wouldn’t be much sitting required.

As his hand continued its slow descent, goosebumps popped up, spreading across the path he followed all the way down to the soft inward curve of her lower back.

“You’re very late,
ma colombe.”

“Did you get my messages?”

“I did, and it’s why you aren’t already over my knee.” He dipped his face into the side of her neck, bared by her updo, and added, “But you followed all of my other orders to the letter and
look so exquisite, I might be convinced to forgo a punishment if you greet me with a kiss.”

“You’d spank me for car trouble and traffic?” she questioned, her outrage diminished by the slow drag of his lips across his skin.

“No, I’d punish you because it pleases me to do so.”

Having anticipated this night since their last meeting, Mari didn’t think, she reacted, tipping her head to the side for the hot lick of his tongue, which quickly replaced his lips. His head came up and he gazed down at her, his eyes homing in on her parted lips.

“Must I ask twice for my kiss,
ma soumise
?”

“I usually don’t—”

“Right or wrong, I obliterated that limit last time, there is no going back.”

And she didn’t want to. His last kiss had been thorough and demanding, sending shivers of desire racing clear down to her toes. It had shattered her resolve and carefully constructed shields, and she wanted to experience more of it. At this rate, she’d be tied to his whipping post and flying, all of her rules and restrictions shredded beyond recognition. Realizing how vulnerable she was, she still tipped her head back, lifting her mouth to meet his.

The initial soft brush of their lips prompted an immediate response. With a growl of approval, he speared the fingers of one hand through the carefully pinned curls high on her crown and positioned her head to his liking, taking full advantage of her eager offering. Open mouthed, their lips and tongues melded hungrily right there in the midst of the crowd. Despite the rapidly mounting fog of desire that encompassed her, she didn’t fail to notice his other arm encircling her waist or that it bent up along her spine, his hand flattening along her back, the heat of his palm searing into her skin. Once her body was plastered against his from breasts to thighs, he didn’t hesitate before dipping into the back of her dress and palming a cheek as he deepened the kiss. He squeezed heartily and she suspected if his hand hadn’t been encased in poly/spandex, he would have given her a lusty smack. Instead, his fingers molded her flesh, the tips dipping into the cleft between the rounded halves making her gasp for air against his rapacious mouth.

All too soon, he eased off, dialing the intensity back several notches. For Mari, going from hard and demanding, to leisurely but excruciatingly thorough left her mind and body in a needy spiral.

“You make me forget my plans for the evening.” His lips brushed hers as he murmured softly. “I thought to dance, have a drink, and chat a bit before I do wickedly imaginative things to your body.”

She stiffened. “I don’t dance.”


Pardonnez-moi
?” he rejoined, a mild reprimand in his tone at her denial.

“I don’t mean I was refusing to dance, sir,” she hurried to explain, “it’s that I don’t know how. I never learned.”

“With this body? It is a crime! But it will be my pleasure to teach you.”

Releasing his grip on both her bottom and her hair, he turned and with his hand in a more circumspect, but still quite possessive position low on her back, he guided her out onto the dance floor. His right arm encircled her waist as he pulled her snugly against him.

“Your left hand goes on my right shoulder,” he instructed, waiting for her to do as instructed. When it curved over the taut black silk, her fingers taking in the bunching, rippling, defined muscles underneath, he brought her in closer, curling his arm around her waist until not a glimmer of daylight could be seen between them. His free hand clasped hers and held it curled in his much larger one at his side. Effortlessly, he began to move them both, slowly, seductively to the sounds of John Legend’s “All of Me.”

“Relax and follow my lead, Mari. Dancing is sensuous, like making love,
oui
? Our bodies touching intimately, moving in rhythm, soon the pace of our heartbeats will elevate and our breathing will become more rapid. As we get more daring,” with a subtle touch he spun her out and reeled her back in as if they’d done it hundreds of times before, “our bodies will heat and become fluid.”

She blinked up into his handsome, grinning face as he plastered her once again against his chest, his hand moving lower and gliding along the upper curves of her ass, molding their hips together as they swayed side to side.

“And you said you couldn’t dance.”

“That was all you.”

“Mmm, perhaps.” He dipped her then, bending her over his arm briefly before popping her upright again. Nose to nose, he held her close, his eyes surveying her flushed face and the tendrils of hair that came loose from her clip and fell around her shoulders in disarray. Trailing down to her throat, his eyes paused, making her wonder if her rapidly beating pulse was visible there, then they moved lower to the unmistakable rise and fall of her chest, breathless not from exertion, but from the press of his hard body against her softness, and the control he exerted, easily taking ownership of more than the dance.


Très bien, ma belle,
but when I dip you again, I want you to trust me to not let you fall. Relax in my arms and let your head arch back.”

Rocking their hips for a moment, he maneuvered them into several graceful turns until he located a less crowded spot on the floor. This time, he released the hand he held, guiding it up to his shoulder before dipping her once again. As he did, his hand slid down her side and curled around her thigh, cocking her leg up high alongside his hip. Putting them in intimate alignment, she felt the long, hard ridge of his arousal press into the soft cradle of her thighs. He held that pose longer, running his lips up the line of her throat as her head fell back, more hair tumbling free and brushing the floor.


Parfait!
You are a natural.”

Not even close, it was Arturo that was perfect. For several more songs, she was swept up in the pleasure of dancing with such a skilled partner. Slow or fast, he made it seem she knew what she was doing. At one point, when the music changed to Rihanna’s “Don’t Stop the Music,” he spun her around, and with her back to his front began to grind against her, keeping pace with the twenty-somethings on the dance floor even as the older couples bowed out.

Smiling and enjoying herself as she hadn’t in years, she let herself go, letting his hands guide her hips as his erection rubbed suggestively against her soft behind. His arm slid around in front, and with his hand splayed over her belly, in a long slow sweep of his hand, he moved upward, between her breasts until it wrapped around her throat. It seemed automatic to lift her arm and wrap it around the back of his neck as he turned her face up to his. With fingertips grazing her chin and his thumb riding her jaw, he opened his lips over hers, his tongue exploring the recesses of her mouth, sending waves of arousal rippling through her.

At the end of the too short song, he didn’t release her, holding her clasped close, his touch firm and persuasive, inviting more. “Having fun?” he asked, only slightly breathless.

“Yes, sir.”

“The choice is yours then, a drink and more dancing, or we can go play, if you’re ready.”

Her brain cried stay, drink, dance where it’s safe, but she found her lips moving on their own accord. “Play, sir, please. I’m more than ready.”

His gaze met hers, the smoldering flame of desire she saw there making her pulses leap with excitement.


Moi aussi, ma petite.
Let’s go.”

 

BOOK: French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2)
12.32Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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