The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (26 page)

Thing was, could I do this? 

I sucked in a breath as the zipper inched upward, hugging the fabric about my body.  Suddenly the dressing room felt small and I felt...invaded.  I pressed a hand over my stomach.  My fingers quivered.  I closed my eyes.  I didn't want to look into his eyes.

"An excellent fit," Roxane said in her quiet voice.  It felt like the elegant pearls displayed out front with the dresses and slipped around my senses.  "Your figure is
exquis
."

I liked that word
in French: exquisite.  It relaxed me a bit. 
Nothing to feel threatened by in here.  Just you and your inner vixen trying something new and daring. 

I nodded.  "I like the feel of it."  Opening my eyes I noticed she stood beside me, facing the phone. 

"
Ça vous plaît, Monsieur
?"

She'd asked if it pleased him.

He nodded.  "The lace at her collar is not right?"

"Ah?" Roxane stepped around in front of me and checked the front of the dress, tucking her finger along the collar and slipping it between the lace and my skin.  "Tucked under," she cooed.  "I will fix."

Slowly she journeyed down toward my breast.  I inhaled.  The touch was so light and not at all tentative as it could be from a man.  I wasn't going to stop her.  I didn't want to.  While slightly freaked, and at the same time a contained bundle of nerves, I felt the need to challenge my inhibitions yet again.  My inner vixen was undulating her hips and cooing right back at Roxane. 

And I wanted to show Monsieur Sexy that I was no shirking violet.

"You should not wear a
brassière
with this dress," Roxane said.  Her eyes flashed up toward mine.  Like emeralds.  I bet her lovers stared at them as they made love with the lights on.

"I—I don't think I will.  Your eyes are gorgeous."  The compliment slipped out on a cool exhale.  I had become the vixen. 

Then she tilted up onto her tiptoes and touched my mouth.  One glossy fingernail trailed along the upper curve of my lower lip.  Exploring.  Curious.  She was going to kiss me...

"
Ses lèvres sont seulement pour moi
," Monsieur Sexy suddenly said.

Pouting her mouth into a bright red moue, she nodded and leaned in to whisper at my ear, "He said your lips are only for him."

I lifted my chin and parted my lips, eyeing him slyly.  Thanks, lover. At that moment I felt like his possession, and it was amazing.

Then Roxane kissed my earlobe.  First she nudged my ear with her nose, then, her lips closed over the lobe.  She tugged it gently and sucked it in.  The sensation tickled along my neck and toward my nipples, which hardened beneath the lace.  Her wrist brushed my nipple and she again cooed. 

I noticed then that I squeezed my thighs together because...I was wet.  And all I could think to distract myself from the feelings I should only get from another man was to close my eyes.  My hand glanced across the front of Roxane's silk shirt.  Her nipple was erect, and the surprise of that knowing came out in a sigh.

"You have never done anything like this," she whispered at my ear, so softly, I'm sure the man on the phone did not hear.

I shook my head subtly.

"Relax," she cooed.

From outside the door and down the hallway, a woman's voice called out for Roxane.

"My boss."  Roxane stepped away from me, smoothing her hands down her blouse and then shrugging her fingers through her long, red hair.  A glance toward the phone, and she nodded.  "
Excusé moi
.  I must return to the sales floor.  When you've changed, call for me, and I'll bring out the dress for you."

I touched my earlobe as she left me alone in the room with my curious lover.  Butterflies fluttered out of my stomach, leaving me feeling empty.  I sighed heavily.  Brushed my palm over a breast and felt my heartbeats racing.

"Talk to me,
mon abeille
."

I didn't know what to say.  It hadn't been a blatant encounter.  No kiss.  I was glad for that.  But the contact with my ear had been intimate, invading, and yet, I'd savored the feel of it.  If Roxane had stayed any longer, might I have placed my hand on one of her breasts?

I think so.

"I need to think about this," was all I could reply.  I turned my back to the phone and slipped out of the dress.

Five minutes later, after I'd handed the phone to Roxane so Monsieur Sexy could give her his credit card number, I expected to be handed a bag with the dress in it.

"It will be delivered to your address this evening," she informed me while escorting me toward the front door. "Instructions from your lover." 

Her boss, a grand dame in diamonds and tweed was talking to another customer within hearing range.  No sneers this time, I noticed.

Roxane's bright red lips curled into a knowing smile.  I nodded, allowing the moment to sink in.  Yes, I had a lover who liked to buy me pretty, expensive things, and who could seduce even a French woman over the phone. 

And she had seduced me.

"
Merci
," I said, holding her gaze for too long.  I would always associate emeralds with Roxane.

She blushed.  "Return whenever you wish.  Both of you."

And it felt like the perfect moment for a goodbye kiss—so I dashed for the door. 

Once outside, the cool fall air brisked my face, and I tugged the scarf out of my purse before putting the phone to my ear as I walked.  "That was too generous."

"That was the beginning of our evening."

"Even the touching?"

"No, that was an enjoyable aside.  You liked it?"

"It was new for me.  I'm still processing."

"I could sense your dis-ease, but as well, your curiosity.  You know how hard that made me?"

"I can imagine.  Men are all about the visual.  Okay.  So it did feel good in a forbidden fruits kind of way."

"We will return to the shop some day.  Together."

"Uh..."  I couldn't agree.  Maybe?  Still processing.

  "My lunch is over," he offered. " I have to return to class.  I will see you at eight for our date?"

"You will see me."

"In the dress sans panties and
brassière
."

"Anything for you." 

Anything?  Even sex with another woman?  Oy.  Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?

"
Ciao, mon abeille
.  I will think of nothing but fucking you in black lace for the rest of the day."

And I stumbled on the curb and bumped into the person in front of me as he clicked off.  The woman I'd crashed into turned around and cast me a nasty glare.  I couldn't even be ashamed. 

I had become a well-kept woman. 

Chapter Five

I took the Métro home.  The moment I'd clicked off with Monsieur Sexy the sky had darkened and tourists had scampered for cover.  It began raining cats and dogs, and I'd worn kitten heels today.  The train stopped three blocks from my apartment building, so I still had to jockey for the wall and under awnings.  By the time the concierge greeted me and handed me a dress bag I was soaked, but very happy not to have walked home in the rain with the expensive contents. 

A package emblazoned with Amazon's cheeky smile waited for me as well.  The box was too small for bookshelves, but through a pitiful sheet of wet hair spilling over my face, I thanked the concierge, slipped off my shoes, and padded up the stairs to the third floor, leaving puddles in my wake.

I deposited the box on the chaise in the living room then veered toward the bedroom.  I hung the dress from a hook beside the mirror, and then stripped away my wet vestments.  I had gone from feeling like a million bucks to feeling like a miserable wet puppy.

A hot shower stirred up the feeling in my fingers and face.
Wrapping my wet hair in a towel, I wandered into the bedroom naked and glanced over the dress bag that held the promise of romance within.  As well as the memory of the illicit touch in the dressing room.

I glanced in the mirror, tugging the earlobe Roxane had kissed.  "Who are you?"

Who had stood in that dressing room getting turned on by another woman's touch?  A complete stranger had put her lips on my ear.  And I had liked it so much that my pussy had grown warm and moist. 

I could never walk by that store again.  And yet, the idea of returning, on Monsieur Sexy's arm, intrigued.  Did my future hold a
ménage à trois
?

"Roxane, eh?"

Sting's longing chorus about Roxane keened into my thoughts.  I wasn't even sure how the logistics of such a combination could work.  Yep, that's me.  Vanilla to the core.  But if truth be faced, I decided that if there was ever going to be three naked bodies in my king-size bed, I'd prefer it be myself and two other men.  Because really?  I had no intention of sharing my man with another woman.

I pulled the towel from my head and patted my hair with it.  "Dinner with Monsieur Sexy.  I wonder how he's going to pull that one off?"

Would he send me to a restaurant and once there I'd have to communicate with him via cell phone and Skype?  It would be weird, but I was up for anything he had in mind.  But if he asked me to kiss anyone nearby I would call foul.  One daring new encounter for the day had been enough.

Crossing my fingers that if he did send me somewhere it would be with front door taxi service, I fluffed out my hair, then decided to blow dry it with a flip to the ends. 

Next up, the dress.  He'd seen me in lingerie, my robe, and nothing.  A few times I had stripped off my clothing for him before the window as he'd watched.  And I guess last night I'd done the upper strip for him.  Mm, that had been a good one.  It upped the erotic level when he told me what to do.  And challenged my ability to release inhibitions and really trust.  I'd almost panicked in the dressing room.  But I think he'd realized that.

Or maybe not.  He had said we would return to the shop some day.  I liked that he thought in terms of us going places together in the future.

I sorted through my underwear drawer, my fingers browsing over lace and satin and a few cotton pieces—then I remembered.  He'd requested me sans underthings tonight. 

A sensual tingle scurried up my stomach and tightened my nipples.  I was submitting to his will.  And I liked it.  

My fingers traced down the lace dress.  Snagging the price tag, I almost pulled it off, but stopped myself.  I scampered into the bathroom for a nail snips to do it right.  Didn't want to risk snagging the fabric or putting a run in the lace.  Not after that credit card bill.

"He has to be rich," I said as I pulled the dress up around my naked thighs.  "How many guys can lay down their card like that for a little bit of lace?"

Had he done it to impress me?  At this moment was he lamenting the bill he'd receive next month and wondering how he would cover it? 

I shook my head as I reached behind to tug up the zipper.  (Yep, I could have zipped myself at the store.)  Monsieur Sexy wasn't the sort to do such a thing.  He didn't need to impress me.  And judging from the fancy suit I'd once seen him wearing, he appreciated fine clothing and could afford it. 

With the dress hugging my skin, I smoothed my hands up to cup my breasts.  The lacy neckline dipped low and accentuated my almost-Cs.  A pushup bra would have really worked the dress, but no.  I turned to the side and admired my silhouette in the mirror. 

"Not bad.  Have I lost weight?"

Because I used to have a nudge of a muffintop going on, but even in this body-hugging dress I couldn't see a nudge at all.

"Nice."

I hadn't been paying attention to what I ate lately.  Any poundage that had slipped away had to be because of the hot new love affair.  I'd take it.

With an excited shimmy of my hips, I glanced at the Louboutins holding court before the foot of my bed.  The black leather beauties tied around the ankle with velvet ribbons. 

"Fingers crossed the rain stops."

Sitting on the gray velvet chair, I pulled on the supple leather shoes, and tied them about my ankles.  I tilted my head to look out the window.  Though he'd left the curtains open, I couldn't see into his bedroom across the street.  Rain blurred the view, and the lacking sunlight sheened his window with a white glare.

We'd come a long way.  Voyeurism across the street from one another to cyber-sexing.  I sighed.

I couldn't understand how some couples actually engaged in cyber relationships for long periods of time.  It was only so satisfying.  And more and more it was growing frustrating.  If I was honest with myself, cyber sex was unfulfilling.  Left me empty even though I wanted to believe it filled me.  Sure, it fulfilled my need for mental connection.  But the physical contact?

"Hardly."

We were still watching one another.  Participating, but only with ourselves.  

The doorbuzzer rang.  I wasn't expecting anyone so, engaging a cautious stride, I slunk up to the door.  Weird, right?  I didn't think a serial killer would knock first.  On the other hand, what a perfect way to gain entrance into the unsuspecting woman's apartment: knock and greet her with a smile.