The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (23 page)

Walking into my home was always relaxing.  I dropped my purse by the door, and aimed for the kitchen where I poured a glass of red wine, or moscato, if I had that on hand.  Tonight it was a nice, sweet red.  Heeling off my shoes in the middle of the kitchen floor, I padded into the living room to collapse on the chaise.

A day on my feet, even wearing the comfy kitten heels, always seemed to compress my spine.  What I wouldn't give for a massage.  Thing was, I didn't like strangers touching me, so I'd never paid for a massage.  I relied on generous lovers to do the job.  Too bad my current lover couldn't touch me.

Eyeing the laptop that sat waaay over there on the desk, I sighed.  Should have grabbed that before I'd settled in, because now I was just too comfy.  I did have my cell phone though.  I pulled it from my pocket, and scanned through email. 

Sitting up as I read, I landed on a particular email I'd been waiting weeks to receive and swallowed awkwardly on a quick sip of wine.  "Yes!  I got it!"

The job I'd applied for a month ago.  The author had interviewed me via email because he was looking for someone to produce a bible for his ever-growing fantasy series.  It would involve re-reading his six books, making character profiles, term lists, maps, and keeping track of all the elements in his stories for as long as the series continued.

"This is going to be fun."

I couldn't wait to get started.  He'd emailed me digital copies of all his books, and wanted to see a first draft in three months.  I could do that, as well as keeping my current research schedule.  The extra income would be awesome.  But more so, the experience would look great on my resume.

Sipping the wine, I wished Monsieur Sexy were sitting next to me so I could clink my goblet against his in celebration.

I cast a glance toward the desk.  The laptop blinked at me.

"He works all day.  The only time I get to chat with him is a few hours at night.  I have to share this good news with him."

Dragging my weary bones upright, I wandered to the desk with goblet in hand.  Hooking the laptop under an arm, I veered toward the bedroom and landed on the comfy velvet chair that matched the chaise. I hadn't realized just how much space there was on this chair until I'd picked up the other day.  Bending my legs to sit yoga-style, I set the goblet on the floor beside the chair, nestled deeper into comfort, and then signed on to Skype.

A message waited.  He'd pinged me half an hour ago.

Bummed I'd missed him, especially since he wasn't presently online. 
Looking for you
, the message said.  Had he given up waiting for me?

Sorry, worked late tonight.  You out there?  I have exciting news!
I sent back, and hit the chime button that would alert him if he was near the computer.

While waiting I finished the wine.  I wasn't a big drinker.  A goblet once or twice a week was about all I indulged in.  Though, since I'd met Monsieur Sexy I'd been imbibing more often.  What was that about?  Not like I needed the soft release of inhibitions to, er…release my inhibitions.

Or did I?

I tapped my lip, considering that one.  No.  I didn't need alcohol to feel relaxed and comfortable sharing my body with a man.  Even if it had been before a third floor window, in which, at any time, a complete stranger standing below could have spied my naked antics.

Ok, maybe a sip now and then helped. 

But now we 'd garnered a certain privacy communicating screen to screen.  It was weird to consider.  We'd gone from bold exhibitionism to more secretive play.  Such a crazy ridiculous backwards relationship.

The computer pinged and I pulled the laptop back onto my legs.

"Hey," he said.  "Wasn't sure I'd catch you tonight.  Forgive me for abruptly ending our talk last night?"

"Of course.  You had business.  How did that work out?"

"I was on the phone for two hours, but we sorted out the problem.  You look gorgeous."

"Thanks.  I got home late from work.  Kept the shop open until the tourist crowd slowed.  Most of the day I worked on some accounting the boss left for me.  He's old-fashioned and does everything on paper.  No computer."

"Some people cling to what they are comfortable with.  My father will never come into the computer age either."

That glimpse into his personal life made me smile.

"What's so funny?"

I shook my head and drew up a leg to my body, leaning against the chair back.  "Nothing at all.  I like hearing about your life.  I only have my father, and he lives in the States."

"My father is in Marseille."

"Is that the seaside town where all the celebrities vacation?"

"I'm not sure about the celebrity quotient, but it is a coastal city.  Pretty in the summer if you like to sit topless on the nude beach."

"Do you go to nude beaches often?"

He shrugged and leaned forward onto the desk, or whatever it was he had the laptop sitting on.  "On occasion.  I'm not much for letting it dangle for everyone to see."

"So then you don't strip for just any strange woman?"

"Definitely not.  Only the pretty ones who peep in my window."

"I'm not a Peeping Jane."

"Oh, yes, you are.  I recall it was you I caught looking at me as I strode about my room in only my briefs."

And oh, did I adore the boxer briefs he wore.  Snug and hugging that nicely-sized package of his.  Mmm…

"Yes, but you
were
walking around with the light on and the curtains wide open," I countered.

"Eh."  He shrugged.  I loved that sound.  A Frenchman's concession to guilt.  No biggie, it is just my nature, mademoiselle.  "So what is your exciting news?"

I told him about getting the fantasy bible job.

"The bible? You know that has been done.  And well."

"Not
the
bible."  I giggled.  "It's like a compendium of all the facts about the fantasy world the author has created.  And if he likes my work, I can continue as long as he writes the series."

"Do you like his books?"

"I do, actually.  It's sword and sorcery meets swashbucklers.  And the women are strong and brave.  It'll be fun being a part of it all."

"Then I am pleased for you. 
Felicitations
!"  He lifted a goblet and we toasted my success.

"I wish you were here with me so we could actually clink glasses."

"That is important to you?" he asked.  "The clink?"

"No, but having you here is.  I miss you, even though I see you every night.  I miss...what I don't have from you yet." 

Wow.  Where had that come from?  And had it sounded desperate? 

"I think I understand," he said.  "I don't know that I've ever had a woman miss me before."

"Really?  I'd say I'm happy to be your first, but that sounds weird.  And I'm all about not being weird.  Oh heck, that sounded weird."  I giggled again.

He leaned closer to the camera so his face filled the screen.  "Your laughter is even better when I can hear it.  I want to make you laugh again.  Only this time it will be because you've just come,
oui
?"

"Give it your best shot, Monsieur Sexy."

I stood, and with a few steps, landed on the bed.  I set the laptop onto the comforter and rolled to my side, head propped against my palm. 

He shook his head and chuckled without sound.  "That name you use for me.  It is not right."

"You don't think you're sexy?"

"Eh."

Again with the agreement to not agree too much.  I loved it.

"I don't know enough French to concoct a precious nickname like
mon abeille
."

"You are my little bee.  Carefree and pretty to look at.  But maybe you sting if not handled properly, eh?"

"I don't know about that.  Do bees giggle?"

"This one will." 

He suddenly stood, because the background on the screen changed and I saw him walk into the bedroom, which was plain white and had the standard fake, painted masterpiece on the wall.  The curtains were closed and it was dark, so the screen went grainy.

A light flicked on and I saw him walk away from the computer and sit on the bed. 

"I bought a webcam today," he said.  "It picks up a wider range than the tiny computer camera.  And I have a remote."  He displayed the little silver device. 

"That's cool.  So you can walk around while we, uh, you know?"

"You know?"  He tilted a castigating look at me.  "You cannot say what it is we do?"

"We have jack n' jill sessions," I provided bravely. 

Because mercy, it was more difficult to actually speak about it than to do it.  Putting our intimate liaisons into words was bold.  Raw.

"Jack and Jill?"

"You've never heard that term before?  Men jack off, and women jill off."

"Ah, I understand.  The term is odd."

"It's mutual masturbation."

"Screen sex," he said.  "That sounds more sexy,
oui
?"  A wink landed right in my heart.  Stabbed by flirtatious sexiness. 

Mercy.

"Screen sex is more sexy," I agreed.  "Unless it's before the window, then it's window sex."

"Take off your top," he suddenly said.  The tone was not a suggestion, but rather a subtle order.  He slid back on the bed to sit up against the headboard and the requisite stacks of hotel pillows.  "Show me those gorgeous breasts that I love to lick."

I sat up, and the image of me on the screen suddenly showed only my torso.  That wouldn't do.  I needed one of those fancy wide-range cameras.

"Just wait.  I need to set the laptop on a table or something."

He spoke while I cleared off the vanity and organized my workspace.

"I thought of that when I bought the camera.  I purchased one for you too," he said.  "I've had it sent overnight to your building.  I don't know your apartment number, so I put a note to the concierge that it should go to the woman who received the red envelope.  Is that okay?"

"Yes, very clever.  Though, the concierge will start wondering what the heck is up."

"Do you worry what he thinks about you?"

"No." 

And yes.  I always worried for reasons that were silly.  And the more I thought about the thing, the bigger it became and then I really started to worry, and—I think too much.  Plain and simple.

"My apartment is 3A," I provided.  Because I had nothing to hide from him.  He was in Berlin.  Not like he could rush over and ravage me right now.

Oh, but please?  Ravaging sounded like something I could get behind one hundred percent.  Or in front of, or with legs splayed, or—you get the idea.

"3A," he said.  "Good to know."

I tilted the screen and sat back on the bed.  It captured me from head to knee.  Perfect.  "How's that?"

"
Bon
."  He pulled off his business shirt and tossed it aside. 

The movement of his muscles flexing over his rigid abdomen made me suck in a breath.  Thanks to the fencing lessons he taught, his abs were ripped.  From the bedside table he plucked up his glasses and put those on.  I did love him in those specs.  "Now you.  But slowly,
oui
?"

"What?  You don't like my silly strip shows?"

"Oh, yes.  Undress however you like.  I am privileged to watch you."

Good answer.  But was he for real?  I mean there had to be something about him that was just awful.  What made me so special that he'd suffer a touchless relationship on the computer?

Stop thinking!  The little devils on my shoulder were named Myself and My Thoughts.  I could talk myself out of anything like that and convince my thoughts of any major disaster just as quickly.

"
Mon abeille
?"

Right.  A sexy Frenchman waited to lust over my naked skin.  I mustn't disappoint.

I was wearing a silk blouse that unbuttoned with a slide of my fingers down the placket.  Beneath the silk, La Perla peeked out.  The pink set today.  I liked to coordinate underthings to outerwear.  It made my day.  Seriously.  Don't tell me you don't do the same.

Shifting my shoulders shimmied the silk down my arms.  I drew my fingers over the tops of my breasts.  He'd clasped his hands before his mouth and ran a thumb along his lower lip.  Focused and intent upon my moves, he remained a silent witness.  The silence felt sexy.  It was what I'd grown accustomed to with him. 

Hearing his voice peeled away another of his layers, and yet, I'm sure his voice delved deeper into my layers as well.  Did I want him to get to my core?

Oh God, yes.  Again and again.

Cupping my breasts, I teased my fingernails along the lace that just covered my nipples.  The demi-bra gave the girls an extra upward push.  I released the plastic snap in front, and slowly peeled aside each pink lace cup.