Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy) (4 page)

BOOK: Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy)
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Chapter 8

I ate with gusto; French food was famous for a reason. Alain cocked his head, his one eyebrow lifted as he gazed at me—I couldn’t place his expression.
Was it amusement?

“Another thing, it seems, that I really like about you,” he chuckled as he leaned over slightly to wipe the sauce from my chin.
There was more than one thing he liked about me?

He saw the question on my face. “French women don’t eat much,” he explained, “it’s such a waste of time, spending hours in the kitchen cooking and then they just pick at it. I would love to cook for you at my chateau and watch you enjoy every morsel.”

It was a very tempting invitation indeed.

In a lower voice he continued, “Watching you eat with such joy is very sensual, mademoiselle Clarke, it really turns me on.”

What?

How could my eating have that kind of effect on him? He really was easy to please.
My previous boyfriends had always frowned at my appetite, worried that I may add a few pounds to my already full and buxom frame.

He leaned over and brushed his lips over mine, his tongue rimming my lips as he went. “I could just eat
you
now,” he whispered at the corner of my mouth. I spluttered, fully comprehending his innuendo. I quickly took a gulp of wine to hide my embarrassment. People in the restaurant were staring at us, smiling openly.

“Alain.
Not here in public.” I could have saved my breath. He threw his head back and a really deep guttural laugh escaped his lips, creasing the corners of his eyes.

“Oh Mademoiselle, it is not possible, to
not
touch you. You are really going to enjoy our sightseeing this afternoon, I am going to delight you in ways you have never experienced before.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to understand that last comment, so I returned my focus back to my delicious food, feeling
an awkward warmth spread up from my chest to my cheeks.
For goodness sake, I really had to stop this blushing thing.
My cheeks were permanently flushed lately.

As if he read my thoughts, Alain gently brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. How could the simple act of eating—in a public place—be so damn erotic? He had me all hot and flustered and we hadn’t even begun sightseeing yet. A swarm of butterflies were doing a jig in my stomach, my appetite for food suddenly gone.

After paying the bill, Alain took hold of my hand and lead me outside. “Dessert will be served in there,” he indicated by tilting his head toward the limo.

Once we settled inside the limo, Alain poured cognac from the small bar into a crystal glass. He swirled the amber liquid around, taking a deep sniff, his nostrils flaring slightly. My French self-appointed t
our guide looked so hot, my eyes devoured him. Gazing into my eyes, he took a sip from the glass as I held my breath. Then he leaned over and gently parted my lips with his tongue, squirting the warm liquid into my mouth. My senses went into overdrive. It was the most sensual way I had ever tasted this ambrosia. I swallowed the fiery liquid eagerly. It warmed me all the way to my belly as it slipped down my throat. My eyelids grew heavy and fluttered closed.

He kissed my neck, his breath warm on my skin. I moaned softly as his weight pushed me further into the very comfortable leather seat. His erection throbbed against me, causing an equal throbbing ache between my legs. I was completely lost to this man’s lips. I wanted him badly; my sex pulsed wildly, increasing the dampness between my legs, eager for what was to come.

Just as suddenly, Alain pulled away.
No
.
Don’t stop now.

The driver pulled over and my eyes flew open.  We had arrived at the Eiffel Tower. “Our first stop this afternoon.” Gaston smiled.

“We will continue this up there,” Alain promised, his voice low and husky.

We didn’t stand in the long queues with the rest of the crowd. Instead we were whisked into an elevator immediately with only a handful of people. I was excited and eager to drink in the sights of Paris from the top of the Eiffel tower.

Alain stood behind me. His arm snaked around my waist and he pulled me to him, his erection pushing into my back.
Oh, hello big boy.

His nose was in my hair, inhaling slowly, as if he was breathing me in. He planted a kiss at the nape of my neck as his hand slipped inside my blouse and cupped my breast.
Oh my God.
My body stiffened and my mouth went dry.

“Just relax and enjoy,” he whispered into my hair. Slowly his thumb and forefinger caressed my nipple till it pebbled. The hand around my stomach slipped lower and came to rest just at the apex of my thighs, his palm pressing softly into me. I closed my eyes tightly as I bit into my lower lip. Both my hands were gripping the railing in front of me, my knuckles white as I tried to suppress a moan.

“Open your eyes, ma cherie,” he whispered, “and always remember how you first saw Paris from the top of the Eiffel tower.”

As if I could ever forget this.

White buildings sprawled below us into the distance. It was breathtaking. I drew a deep breath at the sheer beauty of it. Alain chuckled at my reaction. “Not as beautiful as you,” he whispered.

The doors opened and he tugged me toward the landing. I needn’t have worried; the other couples were so engrossed in the sights of Paris, that they were hardly aware of us. Or maybe they were just too polite to let on they saw him caressing me so intimately.

Holding my hand tightly he proudly led me onto the platform, pointing out the
Sacre Coeur in the distance. “That’s our next stop this afternoon.” He sure had it all planned out. I squinted my eyes so I could see farther, trying to burn this moment into my memory.

Just then, Alain handed me a small parcel, beautifully wrapped. “I think you will need this now,” he smiled, clearly very pleased with himself.
What could it be?
My fingers trembled as I untied the bow and ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a small digital camera.

“You can’t come up here and not record this moment for eternity.” He grinned, his eyes gleaming intensely as he scanned my
face.

My throat closed, making it nearly impossible to speak. “Oh, Alain, it's very thoughtful of you, but I can’t accept such an expensive gift.”

“Well I can’t return it, it is not possible,” he said, as he pointed to a small engraving on the side.

 

Rebecca, Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take but by the moments that take your breath away. Love Alain.

 


You
take my breath away,” he said softly.

I did what any normal person would do under the circumstances; I reached up on my toes and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

“That’s all the thanks I get? I expected more.”

I giggled at him as I turned the camera on, like a little girl with a new toy, and I snapped a picture of him, arms crossed and frowning at me in mock anger. But then he burst out laughing and flashed me the hottest smile I had ever seen on a man’s face. My fingers nearly froze, but luckily I managed to press the button and capture his smile for posterity.

A woman who’d been watching us being silly, offered to take a picture. “You must be on your honeymoon,” she blurted.

Alain pulled me possessively toward him, kissing my cheek. I grinned like a goof who just won the lottery jackpot. The woman had been clicking away, when she stopped abruptly, staring at Alain. A light of recognition flashed across her face. “Aren’t you Alain du
… ?” she started.

But before she could say more, Alain interrupted. “Oh no, you are mistaking me for someone else,” he said, taking the camera from her as if dismissing her. How could there be another man roaming this planet that looked anything as hot and sexy as Alain?
Impossible.
And what were the chances he would have the same first name as
my
Alain?
I made a mental note to ask him later. He wasn’t the only one who had a good memory.

With the camera now in his possession, Alain took pictures of me in all sorts of silly poses. I giggled and laughed like a carefree teenager, his obvious pleasure helping me overcome my shyness at being the subject of the photos. I’d much rather be the one behind the lens.

“Stop doing that,” he said suddenly. My head jerked up.
What was I doing wrong?

“Every time you lick your lips, it drives me crazy. You don’t know what that does to me,” he groaned, shaking his head. He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I want to take you right here, right now.”

Take me?
Did it mean what I thought it meant?

“My…my lips are dry,” I stuttered as I bit into my lower lip, digging in my bag for my lip gloss.

“No, ma cherie, that makes it worse.” He smiled as I applied the lip gloss. “Now I have to kiss that off your lips.”
I just couldn’t win.

“You are impossible.” He pulled me into his arms; I sensed the hunger in him as he crushed my breasts into his chest and kissed me passionately, completely taking my breath away. I threw caution to the wind. My hands were in his hair, pulling him to me and I kissed him back, with equal fervor.

“Very bold, Mademoiselle,” he smiled down at me, his eyes dark with lust.

But then, he suddenly let me go, grabbed my hand and pulled me back toward the elevator. This time I stood close to the door, right beside the operator, who I immediately engaged in conversation so we didn’t have a repetition of the last elevator ride.

Alain rolled his eyes at me, pouting. I grinned at him sweetly and he just shook his head.

“Touché,” he joked, good humor returning to his eyes. Was that a glint of admiration I saw there?

Back in the limo, I turned to Alain. “Thanks so much for the lovely gift Alain; it is very thoughtful of you. I am sure it will bring me much pleasure on my journey.” I held his face between my hands and softly, gently kissed his lips.

“It gives me pleasure to give
you
pleasure,” he said simply, repeating his earlier statement.

But what surprised me more, was that he wasn’t trying to get into my
panty right at this moment, he was behaving like a true gentleman.
I like that.
It made him even hotter, if that was at all possible.

Chapter 9

Our next stop was the
Sacre Coeur. I was in awe. It was more beautiful up close than any picture I’d ever seen.

“The Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris
is located at the summit of the
butte
, the highest point in the city at one hundred thirty meters.” Alain taught me a new French word:
butte
which meant hill.

We joined a group of people lazing on the stairs as Gaston brought a bottle of chilled grape juice and two ice-cold crystal glasses. This was true style. The grape juice was refreshing; I learned it was from the vineyard owned by Alain’s family. “It's originally made for children, before they learn to drink wine.”

“It's delicious,” I complemented him as I sipped the cool liquid and drank in the beautiful vista of Paris.

“Ready to go inside?” he asked.

“Yes, show me,” I said, eager to see more of this glorious building.

Inside he lit a candle. “For my mother,” he said reverently. “Anyone you would like to light a candle for?”

“Yes, I would like to light a candle for my father.”

I loved that we could share this meaningful and spiritual moment, lighting a candle for our loved ones who have passed on. It was very intimate. We walked slowly, holding hands.

He pulled me out through the side door just as we came full circle.

“Let’s take a walk back downhill and you can show me more of the area,” I coaxed.

“Many artists had studios or worked around Montmartre.” He rattled off some names even I had heard of. “As impoverished artists they usually lived and worked in communes.”

I imagined how the area must have been when alive with electric creativity and I wished I could have been a part of that era. It resonated with me; I was an everlasting hopeless romantic. Montmartre was also the setting for several hit films. I had seen
Amelie
and
Moulin Rouge
, both movies about finding true love. If I could make only one wish, it would be to find my true love. And what better place than in Paris?

“Come, see the artists.” He pulled me toward the square. “It's called Place du
Tertre.” We ambled a short way, downhill. From a small kiosk, he bought us each an ice cream, and we were like two kids, strolling hand in hand, savoring our gelatos, pressing our noses against the little shop windows. He caught me looking at the souvenirs and dragged me into the shop. Five minutes later we left with a pair of fridge magnets; one of the Eiffel Tower, and one of the Sacre Coeur.

Happiness filled my chest as I stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll start a fridge magnet collection. Yes, that’ll be a lovely way to remember my journey.”
My heart felt the lightest it had been in a very long time; I never wanted this afternoon to end.

An artist on the sidewalk winked at me and called us over. “Mademoiselle, let me draw a picture of you.” I tried to shrug him off, but Alain insisted I pose for a drawing. I straddled the chair the artist pointed to, resting my arms on the chair back.

“Look up at me, ma cherie,” Alain coaxed. The man sketched as Alain peered over his shoulder, nodding and grinning, talking rapid-fire French as he indicated to my hair. Finally they called me over. The likeness of me was impressive; I was speechless that the artist had captured my essence in such a short time. Alain paid him and he rolled the picture into a scroll and placed it into a protective tube.

“This is for you, to remember today,” Alain said, as he handed me the tube.

I pouted, disappointed that he didn’t want to keep the picture.

Alain pinched my ass and laughed. “I only need to close my eyes to recall your beautiful face. It’s etched into my memory, forever. I don’t need a drawing to remind me.”

Really?
No wonder women loved French men, the way they spoke was so poetic. Some would even say flowery. I giggled. I couldn’t imagine an Aussie man saying something like that without it sounding corny. But when Alain said it, it was sexy and romantic. Especially in
that
accent.

Was it weird that just the way he spoke had my
panty permanently damp? Throw in the killer smile and the way those smoldering eyes pierced right through me, and I had no chance in hell.

He pulled me into a quiet side street. Before I could question his actions, he pushed me against the rough plaster of a graffiti-filled wall and placed himself squarely between my legs. He pulled my leg up to his hip, grinding the shaft of his erection against my stomach, his eyes glowing.

“Ah, just thinking of those beautiful ripe lips…I want to taste you.” His lips were at my ear, kissing and sucking my earlobe. Deliciously sensuous, my knees felt weak. He groaned as his tongue plundered my mouth, as if imitating what he would like his erection to do to me. Caressing my breast, his thumb roughly flicked over my hard crest.

“I can see you like me too.” His breath was hot on my skin.

I kissed him back, matching his intensity, so aroused that I really didn’t care who saw us. My heart beat furiously against my ribs and my breath quickened as his hand glided up my leg and disappeared under my skirt, cupping my sex. My blood was at boiling point, I really didn’t want him to stop.

His fingers traced the edge of my lace
panty. I pushed my mound unashamedly into his hand as a moan escaped my lips. I wanted more.

“So hot for me.
I want to take you—”

“Take me?” I croaked.

His voice rasped in my ear. “I want to fuck you so badly, right here.”

But before I could object, he pulled away. “Oh no mademoiselle, even though I am burning for you right now, our first time together will be very special. Everything will be perfect, just like you. As much as I want to fuck you now, I am a patient man; I will wait for my prize.”

So poetic
. Relief and disappointment washed over me at the same time. The crazy thing was, I wanted him to fuck me—hard—against this wall. When had I become so wanton?

Groaning, Alain bit into my lower lip, as if he couldn’t wait to possess
me.

BOOK: Lost In France (Firebird Trilogy)
2.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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