The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (50 page)

Behind Jean-Louis, someone bumped into him and apologized.  "
Excuse moi
."

I gaped, stunned that this was happening.  At the same time, how awesome was this?  I was having public sex!  It felt—well, rushed.  And not so intimate.  Kind of nerve-wracking. 

And then I discovered a moment of utter connection.  As if we were alone in the vast universe.  Attendants at the Cana wedding who had decided to rejoice in the celebration by enjoying one of their own making.  The guard's eyes had shifted to someone holding a camera high to take a shot of the Mona Lisa.

La Joconde
was watching us with that irrepressibly mysterious grin. 

Jean-Louis gasped near my ear.  "
Merci, mon abeille
."  And then I felt the hot gush as he came inside me.  Seriously.  The man came with but two pumps.  Exhibitionism must be his thing. 

He slipped from me and I felt him adjusting his pants and zipping behind me, well concealed by his coat.  I tugged down my coat and then pressed my thighs together.  Ah shit.

Jean-Louis grabbed my hand and we hastily headed out, but I had to sort of crabwalk, trying to keep my thighs together.  "Wait!"

"We must hurry out," he said.  "The deed is done."

"Yes, but..."

"What is the problem, Hollie?" 

I pushed him toward the wall and he covered me in an embrace, finding my gaze and looking as if I might have actually committed a crime.

"You are dripping down my thigh," I whispered as I kissed the corner of his mouth.  "I need something to wipe it off or the walk home won't be pleasant.  And it could prove embarrassing.  I can't believe you actually came."

"It was thrilling.  It was not so for you, I could sense that."

"No," I rushed out.  "I kind of liked it.  It freaked me out, but I'm glad you got off.  Ohh...it's almost to my knee."

He tugged the blue scarf from around my neck then snuck it up under my skirt.  I hugged him, looking to the side.  If the passing patrons knew what we'd just done. 

What we had just done!

Okay, I was marking today a success, even if, as I'd said, it had freaked the hell out of me.

With a few swipes, Jean-Louis cleaned my thigh.  He rolled up the scarf and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Don't forget that there," I said. 

"Not something I want the dry cleaners to find.  I'll do laundry later.  You good now?"

I nodded and kissed his mouth.  I kissed him long and deep.  I wasn't shaking anymore.  I was flushed with exhilaration and a strange kind of accomplishment.  And knowing I had helped him to achieve a fantasy he'd desired, notched up all those feelings double-time.

"I adore you," I said into his mouth as the kiss ended.  "Even when you surprise me with the scary stuff."

"You find my penis scary?"

"Not at all.  But your penis in the Louvre is...unexpectedly anxiety producing."

"I'll grant you that.  I suppose we'll have to find a snowbank and have sex on the way home?"

"Let's shelve that one for a more private venue."

"Works for me."  He kissed me once.  Twice.  And I hugged up against his body heat.  "I love you, Hollie."

And I almost answered with the same sentiment, but...didn't.

Chapter
Eight

We picked up produce and fish on the way to Hollie's apartment.  I was in the mood for pan-seared salmon.  She didn't have any cooking sherry in her poorly stocked cupboards, but I figured the moscato might give it a sweet kick.  I directed her to make a salad with the spinach, walnuts and feta, and promised to teach her an easy vinaigrette in a few minutes.

I tended to slip into chef mode when in the kitchen.  It was the counterbalance to the analytical side that oftentimes ruled my brain.  I couldn't get away from work, and studied the latest IT trends even when lying in bed with a book in hand.  I always had a new computer manual loaded onto the ereader for traveling, and uh...bathroom reading.

Don't judge me because I do guy things.

A pair of hands slid around my torso and Hollie hugged me from behind.  "That smells delicious," she said.

"Two more minutes on the flip side and
voila
!  You have the salad ready?"

"As requested.  Uh..."  She twirled to lean against the counter and face me.  "Just so you know, I am on the pill."

I winked and prodded the salmon with a two-pronged fork.  "I assumed as much.  But thank you for telling me.  I should have asked sooner.  I am usually more responsible."

"You've enough to worry about lately.  It occurred to me, as you were dripping down my leg in the Louvre, that I was safe.  We are safe.  Until we don't want to be."

I tilted my head at that comment.  But I didn't want to address it.  Because, yes, I did have enough to worry me lately.  To consider unprotected sex wasn't on my radar.

"Let me set out some plates," she said.

I managed to grab one of her hands as she pulled away, and tugged her back to kiss her on the nose.  "Thanks for going along with the fantasy this afternoon.  You could have told me no, and I would have been fine with that."

"I could have.  But I think I secretly wanted it more than you.  I was so freaked, but also, I made eye contact with the guard when you were inside me."

"And?"

"I think he knew.  And I
liked
that he knew."  She pressed her palms together before her mouth and gazed up at me.  "How weird is that?"

"Vixen."  I kissed her eyebrow.  "Go."  And the other eyebrow.  "Set the table.  And later, I'll make sure you get your just reward for participating in the adventure."

"I like the sound of that."

Plates clattered as she set the table, and I didn't hear my mobile ringing in the winter coat I'd tossed across the chaise until Hollie pointed it out.  I rushed for the phone.  It was a weekday, and I was always on call for work-related stuff.  Being the boss made that unavoidable.

I shouldn't have answered that call.

***

Jean-Louis's voice softened as he spoke, and I paused as the salad bowl clinked onto the tabletop.  On the stovetop, the fish sizzled.  My mouth watered.  And I did want to learn how to make the vinaigrette.  But I was compelled to tilt my head to catch the one-sided conversation not fifteen feet away from me.

His tone hardened and he swore in French.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see him pace the length between the chaise and the front door.    He looked up, and our eyes met.  He gestured with a sweepingly dismissive hand.   Don't mind me, the gesture seemed to say. 

But I couldn't not mind him.  The man grew angrier with every word he spoke.  And now he'd switched to using all French.  When the door opened and he stepped out into the hallway, I decided he'd wanted the privacy.

Yeah, so I was a snoop.  But it hadn't sounded like something from work.  To get him that angry?  On the other hand, I knew nothing about his work.  And certainly there were situations in the workplace that could push anyone to swear.

I swung into the kitchen and turned the burner down so the salmon wouldn't overcook.  It was probably done.  I had no clue.  The only time I'd attempted to make fish had been helping my mother fry up walleyes after a family fishing trip.  And I had been nine, so guess how much I'd actually done?

I crept around the fridge and glided my fingers over the silverware on the table as I strolled into the living room.  Through the large floor-to-ceiling windows to my right, I suddenly noticed something on the street below.

"What's he—?"

Jean-Louis was crossing the street, phone to his ear, and one fist beating the air before him.  He paused before his building, still shaking that fist.  The concierge opened the door.

"Seriously?  What has gotten him so upset?"

To have walked out on our dinner like that?

He entered the building, and I furrowed my brows like a good little disappointed girlfriend.  Hmm... 

Hands to my hips, I wandered into the kitchen.  Okay, so there might have been a touch of a stomp to my steps.  That was the rudest he'd ever been to me.  I'm sure it wasn't his fault.  Whoever was on the other side of his phone conversation was the real villain. 

Did I want to know who it was?

I clasped my arms across my chest, hugging myself.  Parts of me were curious, but another, deeper, more knowing part was fearful.  Could it be her?  The wife?  The God-damn-it-when-would-she-sign-the sucking-divorce-papers-and-let-him-be-free wife?

I pushed the frying pan to the back burner and turned off the heat.  The salmon smelled crazy good.  He'd sprinkled rosemary and pepper in the mix and, mmm...  My stomach growled.

A darkness inside me curved my mouth down and I clutched a fist against my chest.  Had he cooked for her like this?

Of course, he must have.  The man had once loved her.  Enough to marry her.  I'd quickly come to learn that one of Jean-Louis's ways of showing love was through cooking.  He may have created this very meal for her.

I didn't want to eat it now.  And not because he'd had a life before meeting me and had treated women as well as he did me.  I should appreciate that fact about him.  When in a relationship he gave his all.  What woman didn't want that from a man?

Was he going to return?

I stepped over to the window and peered across the street.  It was never easy to see into his living room area.  Just too far off, and the night darkened everything.  Sometimes when his TV was on, I could see that bright little light.  No light on in his bedroom, either.

I sighed.  "Disastrous end to a perfect day."

Every relationship had its disappointments.  I shouldn't take it so hard.  I should stop thinking about this because I'd have us on the brink of a breakup the more my brain stirred about with the imagined possibilities.

I sat at the table and eyed the salad.  Without the vinaigrette, I didn't want to eat it.

"Oh, stop pouting and grow up," I muttered.  Whatever had prompted him to leave without a word was important to him.  So in turn, I should honor that.  "Right."

My flail into a tantrum was officially over.  I dished some salad onto my plate, and then commandeered the parmesan-pepper dressing from the fridge which Jean-Louis had poo-pooed as 'full of added sugar'.  I managed to eat a few bites of the salmon because it was ridiculous to waste good, hot food.  And oh, it was melt-in-my-mouth delicious. 

When my cell phone rang, I dashed for it.  Jean-Louis apologized for his abrupt departure.

"I am so sorry," he said again.  "My lawyer called with information about..."

About the divorce proceedings. 

"The thing is, she is going out of town for the holidays and says she won't have time to review the changes until after she returns."

She, being the wife neither of us wished to name.  My heart dropped to my gut and landed in a soggy, sugary bed of spinach. 

"The holidays are weeks away," he continued angrily.  "She is doing this to piss me off.  And it worked.  I am no longer in the mood to eat.  I have a student coming over soon anyway."

"You can come over after that," I said.  "I'll warm your supper up for—"

"Hollie, no!  I said I am in no mood.  Do you understand?"

His admonishing tone gave me a shiver.  "Yes.  Sorry." 

I'd never felt smaller.  Like a child who had been chastised for accidentally breaking the good china.

"I will see you tomorrow."  The connection clicked off.  Just like that.  No goodbye,
au revoir
, or even an, I love you.  I actually stared at the glossy surface of the phone for a few seconds, thinking maybe it had been accidentally cut off and his name would flash back on the screen with a re-call.

Alas.

Tossing the cell phone to the chaise, I wrapped my arms across my chest and hugged my biceps.  Bowing my head, I felt a hot tear touch my skin.  It wasn't so much his anger that hurt me, but that he'd directed his irritation at me when it had nothing to do with me.

That was rational thinking. 

The irrational part of me remembered the chocolate truffles we'd bought for dessert.  I headed for the fridge, intending to show no mercy to anything sweet.

***

I clicked off my mobile and tossed it onto the leather sofa.  It bounced off a computer manual and clattered onto the floor.  Really?  If the call hadn't been misery enough, now I may have destroyed the mobile.

I couldn't force myself to investigate.  Instead, I swung around and grabbed a practice foil from the hook on the wall.  I slashed it through the air before me, executing a brisk riposte on an invisible opponent.  The sound of the blade cutting the air was satisfying, especially when accompanied by a guttural growl and a hissing curse.

The bitch was going on holiday and she didn't have time to read through the changes I had made to the divorce documents.  Changes made to please her.  She would look at them when she returned in the New Year.