The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (25 page)

"But nothing.  I want to buy you a treat.  Please let me spoil you,
mon abeille
?"

The idea of walking inside with my no-touch lover, literally, in hand, and buying a dress—excited me.  It was so Rex Harrison and Audrey Hepburn, but with a cyber-twist.  And heck, if he wanted to spoil me who was I to protest?  I imagined this must be how my friend Melanie felt when her playboy lovers bought her gifts.  Which was often.

"Okay, you twisted my arm," I said.  "But the sales girls will think I'm crazy."

"I'm sure it is done all the time.  You are old school, eh?  This cyber relationship is popular nowadays."

Indeed, it was.  There weren't many people I passed on the sidewalk who weren't chattering into their phones to someone.  Could the elderly woman in diamonds and working the cougar print slacks be talking to her cyber lover right now?

All right then.  Time to try something totally new and daring.

I strode inside the shop and said, "
Bonjour
, Madame," to the red-headed saleswoman who returned the greeting.  "
Parlez vous anglais
?" I asked.  I could manage some French, but if they didn't mind English then I was all for that.

"A little," she said with a perky smile.  Not the snobbish decline to knowing the language I usually got from salespeople.  Refreshing. 

Back in the corner another sales woman was showing a young blonde woman purses.  I did feel her disdain even in the brief glance she cast my way.

"Something black," Monsieur Sexy said from the phone.

I turned the phone toward the sales girl.  "Uh, my lover.  He wants to spoil me."  Just saying it shot a giddy streak through my system, but I kept from bouncing on my toes.

"Ah,
oui
," she said, peering at my phone.  "
Bonjour, Monsieur
!"

"
Quelque chose exquise pour mademoiselle.  Peut-être noir
?"

I turned the phone toward me.  "Hey, no flirting with the salesgirl."

He chuckled and any jealousy that had risen bubbled away on the gorgeous tones of his laughter.

"Monsieur wishes to see something in black for you," she said to me.  "I have the perfect item.  Your size?"

I told her my size, and she clicked off on her towering silver heels toward a back room.

"So what are you eating for lunch?" I asked as I paced before a display of white silk mini-dresses laden with pearls.  The other saleswoman again cast me a snobbish glance down the slide of her nose. 

Suck it, lady.

"The company caters the classroom, so I nabbed a sub sandwich and some chips.  You know, I like chips.  The plain ones.  Nothing with fancy seasoning or those disturbing ridges."

"I'll remember that.  Ridges disturb you.  But to be honest, you strike me as more of a steak and wine kind of man."

"Ah?  Not much for big slabs of
vache
—er, cow.  Why do you think that of me?"

I shrugged as I drew a fingertip along a strand of glossy pearls.  "When I've seen you in your suit you looked so elegant and classy."

"I do like to dress well when I am away from the home office.  No use in putting on a suit at home, eh?  But I have a certain image I must maintain for clients.  And my appetite tends toward the American tastes."

"Really?  We Americans love our big slabs of beef."

His laughter paused me in the center of the white marbled floor.  I wanted to kiss the screen, but the saleswoman helping me had reappeared, sans dress.  She gestured I follow her down a narrow white-marble-walled aisle toward the dressing rooms.  I followed the click of her skyscraper heels.

"I'm going to change," I said.  "You coming along?"

"That is the very reason I asked you to go in the store.  So I could get you naked in public."  He waggled his brows suggestively.

"Naughty boy," I whispered as the saleswoman opened the door.

"I've placed two items inside," she said.  "I trust Monsieur will favor them both.  I am Roxane.  Call for me if you need..."  Her lashes dusted over her bright green eyes.  I got the distinct feeling she had just summed me up sexually.  "...anything."

"
Merci
, Roxane," he said as I stepped inside.

Roxane closed the door behind me and I stifled a giggle.  "Did you get that?  Anything?"

"Anything can mean very much," he said.  "Or you.  Perhaps both of us, eh?  

"That's just weird.  I've never had a woman flirt with me before.  I must be imagining things." 

"If that is what you wish to believe."

The dressing room was lined floor-to-ceiling with pink chiffon and it smelled like candy.  It was like standing inside a fancy purse.  I set the phone on a tiny corner shelf.  A pink and gray striped damask arm chair sat in one corner, next to a long mirror that was etched with arabesques around the borders. 

"Can you see me?" I asked as I turned to study the two dresses hung before the chiffon curtain and shed my coat to toss on the chair.

"The back of you is as sexy as the front.  So you would never consider a liaison with a woman?"

"Are you serious?"  I turned, expecting to catch his teasing wink.  No wink.  "You are.  Hmm...  I've never thought about it before."

A person didn't have to be gay to be curious about their own sex.  I wasn't curious, though I could admit that Roxane was gorgeous and her kohl-lined green eyes had been stunning.  And okay, if that had been a flirtatious look she'd given me then I could dig it.  I appreciated the attention.  Made me feel sexy.

The first dress was silk with a lace cutout along the neckline and around the hem.  I kicked off my shoes and pulled the blouse off over my head.

"Have you ever had sex with a man?"  I turned to display to him the black bra I wore, and bent to slip down my skirt.  "Would you tell me?"

"I will tell you anything you want to know.  One time in college.  It was curiosity.  Not sex.  We kissed.  It was different than kissing a woman, but I liked it.  I also like those lacy underthings you are wearing.  You've worn them before?"

"They're my favorites.  Makes me feel sexy.  So you've kissed a guy.  I find that incredibly sexy." 

Because, okay, out of curiosity I'd cruised a few Tumblr accounts that featured softcore photos of men embracing.  There was something so titillating about hard, muscled bodies pressed next to one another in the most intimate of clutches.

"I think watching you kiss a woman would be sexy," Monsieur Sexy offered.

"But a kiss is so intimate.  We've never kissed."

"You think a touch would be less intimate?"

"Depends on where the touch is, I guess."

I unsnapped the front of the bra and flashed him my breasts.  Then as quickly I reclasped it and looked toward the door.  I knew I had privacy in here, but it still felt more daring than standing before a window naked.  Because Roxane wasn't stupid.  And she could likely be standing down the aisle, ten feet away, listening to everything we said.

I would, if I were her.  Customer walks in with a man on her cell phone and he orchestrates the purchase?  That one would be too intriguing to resist.

"You know," I said as I stepped into the dress.  It felt like a cloud sliding over my skin.  "This little tryst feels more intimate than some of the other things we've done.  And sneaky."

"Do you think she is close by, listening to us?"

"I'd bet on it," I said quietly.  If she was listening, I was going to make it a challenge. 

"Maybe Roxane would like to watch?"

I didn't know what to say to that one so a smirk sufficed.  I couldn't imagine undressing before another woman simply for her sexual pleasure.  I'd never be able to look her in the eye, that was for sure.

"Look at me," I suddenly said, and paused, back of the dress unzipped, and stared into his eyes.  "How often do you really look at your lover when in bed with them?"

"Depends if the lights are on or off.  Do you prefer them on?"

"I do.  But I confess that I am an eye-contact avoider.  Unless of course, it's fifteen feet and behind glass."

"I like gazing into your blue eyes."

"Yes, but will you do it when we are having sex?  When we finally lay skin against skin?"

"I will."

"I would like to say I will, but such intimacy is a little scary."

And where had that confession come from?  Certainly not from my inner vixen.  My introvert was showing.  But that was okay.  It had to be.

"You know you can trust me,
mon abeille
."

"I do know that."  And the introvert relaxed a bit, willing to play this one out.

I left the zipper undone and turned to study the dress in the mirror.  A little loose around the stomach and hips.  And the tag claimed it required dry-cleaning.  This dress would never survive my need for dropping clothing on the floor as I undressed.  Then again, I wouldn't need to clean it often because I rarely went to any places in the city that required such fancy dress.

"What do you think?"  I turned before the phone and stood on tiptoes to give him the complete view.

"Pretty," he said.

"Right.  But not the best."

He wobbled his hand side to side and gave me one of those Frenchman's 'ehs' that I loved so much.  "Next option." 

I quickly made the change, loving that the all-lace version hugged my body and especially my breasts.  It clung like a second skin and was discreetly lined with a nude fabric so it looked as though it was lace against skin.

A satisfied murmur hummed in his throat.  "You should not wear a
brassière
with that."

"I won't.  But say it again."

"What? 
Brassière
?  Do you make fun of me now?"

"No.  Maybe.  I love to listen to you speak.  And maybe I like you telling me what to do.  Just a little."

"In that case, no panties either.  And make a note."

"What's that?"

"The first time we actually see one another and touch?"

I nodded.

"No panties or
brassière
.  Promise me."

"I promise," I said on a breathy gasp. 

Telling me I wasn't allowed those undergarments when around him did things to me.  The dressing room suddenly felt smaller and warmer.  I let my palm fall down the front of the dress, and stopping over my mons I put pressure there where my clit suddenly pulsed for attention.

Monsieur Sexy made a growling sound.  "You are aroused."

"You're guessing."

"Your pupils have dilated."

I peered close to the phone screen.  "You can't see that well through there."

He chuckled.  "No, but your eyes have darkened, so it's a guess.  Is it the dress or me watching you?"

"Both."

"
Bon
.  That is the one."

I nodded.  "You have great taste.  But I would like to get it zipped up to make sure it's not too tight."

With my back turned to him I managed a sneaky look at the price tag.  Mercy.  Or when in Paris:
merde
!  This one would set him back a month's rent on my place.  My rent was not cheap.  I couldn't let him do it.

"You like it?" he asked.  "It is as if it were made for you."

Indeed, it was.  The lace was so soft, a possessive hug against my skin.  Oh, but it would be perfect with my Louboutins.  And to imagine stepping out on the town wearing this dress, those shoes, and holding Monsieur Sexy's hand…

A knock on the door startled me from the delicious fantasy.  "All is well?"

"She'll take it," Monsieur Sexy called before I could speak.  And then he said to me, "Do you dare experiment with a touch?"

I spun quickly to face the door.  I knew what he was asking.

"Mademoiselle, do you need assistance?" Roxane called from outside the door.

I glanced to the phone.  He lifted his chin and tilted his head.  Defying me?

Daring me.

"I do," I suddenly said.  Panic quickened my heartbeats, but I remained calm on the outside.  "You can come in.  I would like to see the dress zipped up."

The door opened and Roxane stepped inside.  Red hair spilled softly over her white satin shoulder.  I hadn't noticed her soft floral perfume before, or how petite she actually was.  Five-inch heels brought her face to my eye level.  Once I looked into her eyes, it was difficult to notice anything else about her.  Stunning, simply stunning.

"Zip her up," Monsieur Sexy instructed, "
s'il vous plaît
."

"
Bien sûr
, Monsieur."

She stepped around behind me.  I faced the phone.  Her hand glided down the opened zipper, the cool gloss of her nails skimming my skin.  A flinch tickled at me, but I was holding my breath in an attempt not to show my sudden anxiety.  She was a fast study.  She knew what we were up to.