The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (49 page)

Thinking of which, I must check in with my lawyer regarding the divorce situation.  I needed those papers signed.  Now.  I intended to start shopping around for some land, perhaps with a chateau already on it, but couldn't do that until all ties to the wife had been severed.  With a machete.

Why was she making this so difficult? 

Because she could.  And because I was learning (too late) that she was a greedy bitch. 

I didn't think Hollie would ever act as my wife was now.  But what man could completely know a woman?  I had fun with Hollie.  We had great sex.  I enjoyed being with her and talking for hours.  But it had also begun that way with my wife.

I realized I was clutching my coat right over my heart.  What the hell?  It hurt to go through this business of tearing apart what I'd once thought was going to be forever.  I think...  Yes, I know, my wife had broken me.  Ripped out my heart and slashed it with her bright red nails. 

It did help to have Hollie's brightness in my life to counter that heartache.  Hollie made me smile again.  But if I thought about it too much, I might decide it was wrong.  Was it fair to Hollie?  Was she my rebound woman?  Could I
have
a rebound woman while still legally married?  Did she consider herself the other woman?  She was an affair, to be sure.

I wanted more.  At this moment in time, when the woman I loved was pointing out the sparkling snow-dusted trees to me, trying to get my attention by jumping and waving her hands, I wanted all of her.

Yes, I did love her because she was a little crazy.  Not psycho crazy, more like sexyfuncrazy.  And that made my heart relax, and I was able to breathe into this affair.

"Were you lost?" she asked as I approached and wrapped an arm about her waist.  She kissed my cheek.  A cool morsel.  "You didn't see me."

"I was thinking."

"Good, bad, or ugly thoughts?"

I shrugged.  "Eh."

"Don't give me that Frenchman's excuse."

"Frenchman's excuse?"

"Yeah.  It's that 'eh' you do.  You and your ilk are masters at it.  Tell me what you were thinking about?"

I clasped her hand and directed her toward the Louvre, the former royal palace that paralleled the vast gardens.  "I was thinking how this divorce is dragging on and I wish it was over."

"Oh."

I'd known she didn't want to hear that.  But it wasn't as though I could always shelter her from my messy situation.  It felt oddly deceptive to not tell her about it.  And I didn't like deception.  Lies and mistruths burned like the devil's pitchfork in my soul.

"After the divorce, I want to start looking for land about an hour out of Paris," I said.

"Really?  To move to permanently?"

"Maybe.  If I can find a chateau, perhaps.  But it could serve as a weekend home or summer retreat."

"Sounds decadent."

"Earlier, I was thinking about your fantasy of having sex in the snow.  If I owned a chateau...well then."

"Sexy snow angels!  My halo would be huge.  Oh, and your angel would have a penis dangling between its legs."

"I should hope so."

In a burst of laughter, Hollie tugged me onward.  We took the concrete stairs up from the garden to street level and crossed in the middle of the street because there was surprisingly little traffic.  The museum was slower in the afternoon; that is why I'd specifically chosen this time.

"We're going into the Louvre?" Hollie asked.  "And you're talking about sex fantasies.  Oh.  No."

She stopped walking and her shoulders visibly dropped.  I clutched her hand reassuringly and kissed the back of it.

Her eyes sought mine.  "Are we going to...?"

I tried a sweet shrug with a smile.  She bit the corner of her lip.  Nervous?  Or scared to death?

Had I gone about this particular surprise the wrong way?

Chapter
Seven

We entered the much-needed warmth of the museum beneath the glass pyramid in the main courtyard called the Cour Napoléon.  The pyramid was completed in 1989, and hadn't been a huge hit with the Parisians for its juxtaposition of the ultra-modern within the historic architecture.  I thought it was gorgeous, and in the summertime, the clouds reflecting on the sun-infused glass created a fantasy facade.

I wasn't surprised the museum was dead, only a few dozen patrons milling about when normally there were lines.  But I couldn't focus on our luck.

Jean-Louis had brought me here to have sex.  In front of the Mona Lisa.  Because that was his fantasy.  And I do recall agreeing to accompany him on said quest to achieve that particular fantasy only because, at the time, I'd thought it would never happen.

Now here I stood, clutching his hand so I wouldn't go down.  Because really?  Sex in the Louvre? With people milling about?  And guards in practically every room watching the people?

"Hollie?" he whispered at my ear.  "Are you okay?"

He'd asked the same of me that first night we'd met in person at the All Saints Day party.  "I..."

I was going to be sick. 

No!  I would not let nerves ruin this...this adventure.  Right?  This could be an adventure.  The vixen within me was jumping for joy at such a prospect.  Covert sex with a gorgeous Frenchman in the most famous museum in the world?  Go, super crazy live-for-the-moment me! 

Soon enough, the introvert in me would join in and get on board.

Maybe?

"Let's wander," Jean-Louis suggested.  He tugged his coat open and led the way.

I didn't say a thing.  He'd flashed his museum card and paid for me since I hadn't thought to bring along my purse, in which, I did have a museum card.  I simply smiled and allowed him to take the lead.  I didn't want to ruin this for him.  It would be fun.  Daring.  Sexy!

Oh, mercy.  I clutched each end of his scarf, snuggled about my neck, and focused on the delicious sable scent of him wafting from the fabric.

"We don't have to do it," he said as we strolled the wide marble hallways.  His heels clicked, and my boot heels tread a muted thud in bass harmony to his.  "It was something I thought would be fun.  That's why I wore the long coat."

Oh.  My.  God.  And that's why he'd selected my clothes.  The wrap dress and the long coat.  I realized now he'd picked things that would be easy to access—no panties!—and yet, would also—hopefully—conceal. 

Such a sneaky Frenchman. 

He tugged me near a wall and clasped my hands and kissed the cool knuckles.  Yes, I was still cold.  I wasn't sure I'd ever warm up because my blood had stopped pumping out of fear.

His kiss was like a Godiva truffle sitting in the middle of a Target-brand chocolate box.  Unexpected.  Such a treat.  Something I'd never share with anyone.  Melty and warm, and I wanted more, more and more.

I leaned against him, and he tilted his hips forward so I could feel his hard-on beneath the thin trousers.  Oh my God, I actually wanted to do this.  To feel him inside me while standing here, in a public place.  I could do it right here.  Turn around and lean back against him while he slipped up my dress and slid inside me.  To any who passed by, we'd look like a couple embracing, standing off to the side after a long day walking the museum.

But his fantasy was to do it with the Mona Lisa watching.  In a small, brightly-lit room that afforded no safe walls with which to lean against to hide our stolen liaison.  And I knew there was always at least one guard in the room, if not more.

"I want you," I whispered.  My introvert cringed. 
What the hell!

"I always want you.  I won't force you to do anything, Hollie.  You know you are safe with me."

I nodded.  He was a good man.  And that's why I wanted to do this for him.  And it wasn't as though the thrill of danger and getting caught didn't appeal.  A tiny part of me was already hiking up my skirt for him.  It was my vixen.  I did adore her. 

Ok, so I'd let her out to play.

"Let's go see what the Mona Lisa is up to." I pulled him down the hallway in the direction where I knew the famous painting hung.

I am not an overtly sexually-adventurous woman.  Yeah, so I had sex in windows with complete strangers (just the one stranger; and we were dating now).  And yes, I'd done the cyber sex thing, as well.  Again, only with Jean-Louis.  So maybe this was a natural step toward fortifying that relationship and keeping it fresh?

Did we need fresh?  We'd only been together a few months.  Hell, we shouldn't go stale for many more months, am I right?  I confess, I wasn't sure regarding the shelf life of relationship freshness.  I'd been a serial one-month dater since I'd moved to Paris. 

And did I need to have public sex to please my man?  I didn't want to be one of those women who felt if they didn't do a certain thing then they would lose their man's interest.  I wanted to do things for him because it made me feel good to, in turn, make him feel good. 

We entered the room that featured the painting, the sight of which always initially startled me.  The "Mona Lisa" by Leonardo da Vinci was so famous, and I saw it often in books, magazines, TV shows, even movies.  It's larger than life.  Except, it's not, really.  It's a small painting.  Her dimensions are less than two feet by three feet.  Much smaller than one would expect for an icon. 

And the thing that always struck me as funny was that it's exhibited in a room along with the largest painting in the Louvre.  It threw a person's perspective into overdrive to turn and look upon "The Wedding at Cana" by Paolo Veronese.

I clasped my lover's hand to prevent him from venturing into the small crowd of about two dozen people who lingered before the famous Italian chick who had teased art lovers for centuries in wonder over her relationship with da Vinci.  A guard was posted to her left, and his eyes scanned the crowd.  He motioned to a woman who held up her cell phone, determined to snap a pic.  She dropped her hand, but I suspected she would wait for the guard's inattention and then quickly claim proof that she had seen the famed portrait.

Turning around, and clasping Jean-Louis's hand, I strolled closer to the massive painting on the wall opposite the Mona Lisa.  No one noticed this painting until after their encounter with the Mona Lisa, and most simply raced out, their goal achieved, on to McDonalds for celebratory cheeseburgers and cokes.

"I've always wondered how he painted that," I said.  The massive image featured a wedding feast in Cana with Jesus as a guest of honor.  It was stretched over a canvas measuring twenty-two by thirty-two feet.  "On a ladder?  With the canvas on the ground and him crawling all over it?  Or did he have an inordinately long paintbrush?"

"I love it when you think too much, Hollie." 

His hand slid along my thigh and I felt my coat inch up.  The man was so going for it.  And I stiffened, craning my gaze over my shoulder.  The guard before the Mona Lisa was answering a question posited by one of the patrons.  An elder couple walked before me, brushing my elbow.  I sucked in a breath.

No, lingered at the back of my tongue.  But the word felt wrong.  I trusted Jean-Louis.  Heartbeats thundered as his fingers grazed my bare ass.  I sensed his wool coat fell over my thigh and forward, concealing his actions.  I hoped it did, anyway.

"Stop me," he whispered.  "If you must."

I shook my head, but couldn't find voice.  Anxiety wiggled my fingers, so I clasped them to my chest then tilted my head to catch his kiss against my ear.  Did we look like a couple embracing?  Oh, mercy, I felt his erection land on my ass.  Hot and solid and—oh, baby. 

He groaned and one of his hands spread across my stomach.  I scooched my feet apart more, and subtly tilted my hips to spread my thighs.

I made eye contact with the guard.  He knew.  He had to know.  He glanced to the right.  Maybe he didn't know.

I slapped down one hand, catching Jean-Louis's arm.  But at that moment I felt his cock enter me. 
OhmyGod
.  We were doing this.  And I was bent forward slightly, as if I wanted to get it on.  But oh...that feeling of him entering me, having to push a little to fit his bulging head inside me and then the glide of him seeking the darkness that filled us with such exquisite sensation.

Everyone was watching us.  All cameras were pointed at the lewd couple by the doorway. 
Flash, flash, flash!

No.  I wouldn't let my imagination ruin this one. 

Oh, fuck me, he was so hot.  A moan tickled at the back of my throat, so I bit my lip.  A shimmy of pleasure sparkled under my skin.  You know, the inexplicable tingle of giddiness that could only be described as sexsparkle.

I righted, and felt his cock slip from me.

The guard tilted his head, his eyes finding mine.  I managed a smile, and then turned my head to whisper to Jean-Louis.  Nothing going on here, just a conversation while my lover embraced me—and pushed his oh-so-wanting penis inside me.  I felt it again glide in easily because I was wet.  Really?  I didn't know how that was possible with the nerves, but this time he made it in and pumped once.  Twice.

"The guard sees us," I hissed.

"Perhaps.  Fuck, you are so hot."