The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (64 page)

"I was browsing the diamonds," Jean-Louis offered, "when that one caught my eye.  The salesman said 'oh,
non, Monsieur
, that is not an engagement ring'.  But it reminded me of your heart. Bright and colorful and with so much depth."

"It's beautiful.  I love it." 

And I kissed him again, tumbling us onto the grass, which smelled sweeter than I'd ever thought grass could smell.

In fact, the air out here was delicious and intoxicating and I wanted to inhale big gulps, but I wondered if I'd grow dizzy with the heady delight.  Maybe it was the proposal.  Maybe it was the ring.

For sure it was the sexy Frenchman.

***

The cottage was more of a chateau, a two-story brick and limestone building that had been built early in the nineteenth century, and had been impeccably cared for by one family through the generations. 

My realtor reported the family had moved further south, toward Nice, and wanted to unload this property, all fifty acres of land, along with vines, a wine cellar, and gardening shed.  And the price was right.  Not outrageously high, nor so cheap I had to wonder what was wrong that I couldn't see. 

While Hollie inspected the cupboards and turned on the faucet to taste the water, I wandered up the curving stone staircase that landed at the door to a large bathroom.  A free-standing copper bathtub would get good use by Hollie, I felt sure.

She'd said yes!  I had hoped she would.  Had certainly thought she would.  But then, who knew?  A yes meant staying here in France with me.  That's a big step to take for an American.  She probably hadn't given that much thought yet.  I should go reword the question and include the part where marrying me meant living in France permanently.

No.  I mustn't risk her changing her mind.  She could.  I'd have to accept that—  Aggh!  I had become an over thinker such as Hollie.  This was not good for my soul. 

I'm not sure what I would have done had her answer been a no.  After the rejection of divorce, my heart was a fragile thing.  Was I jumping into another marriage too quickly?  Perhaps that was the reason for my sudden leap into overthinking?

I did have a tendency to fall in love fast.  It was the nature of my heart.  I was always in it to win it.  And this time around, I had confidence the woman was not going to be so cruel with my heart.  When Hollie said she loved me, I believed her.  And every time I heard her say as much, I could almost feel my broken heart close up and heal, grow stronger.

Kind of wishy-washy sounding for a guy?  It was my truth.

Hollie skipped up the stairs and brushed past me, jumping into the bathtub.  "This is so cool!  Do you think it's real copper?"

"I believe so.  This bathroom is big enough to dance in."

"Or put an ottoman right there."  She pointed to the corner of the room that would, indeed, look great with the big gray ottoman in it.  "Let's put it there and then make a baby on it."

She looked up at me, her knees pulled to her chest and arms wrapped about her legs.  Girlish glee sparkled in her eyes.  Brighter than the opal ring.  And I could envision her dreams of the two of us making love on the ottoman, here, in our home. 

"I think that can be arranged," I said, and winked.

She gave me a thumbs up, and then reclined in the tub.

I strolled out to check the next rooms.  A large master bedroom at the end of the hallway was walled with a huge bay window.  It looked out over the vineyard and the little green gardening shed.

"There's an old man walking up the driveway."  I passed the bathroom where Hollie lay daydreaming in the tub.  "I'm going to run out and say
bonjour
."

He wasn't that old.  Perhaps in his sixties?  He introduced himself as Hugues Planchett and told me he had tended the vines for the family for two decades.  If I was interested in buying the property he hoped to continue, at no charge, of course.  He requested but a few bottles of wine for his labors.

I liked the guy instantly, and wished I had a bottle of wine to break open to celebrate with him.  I explained that my brand-new fiancé was inside going through closets and cupboards, but that I had my fingers crossed she would want to stay.

Hugues shook my hand and tipped his hat and headed down the gravel road.  And I turned at the sound of someone rapping on a window. 

She stood in the bedroom window above, waving down at me.  Her eyes followed Hugues' retreat for a few seconds and then—she lifted her skirts and flashed me her pussy. 

"Oh yes?" 

Hugues was well out of view so... 

I unzipped and out sprang my cock, already hard and ready for action.  I stroked it for the woman in the window, and a comforting bliss fell over me.  This was how we had begun.  Separated by glass and without a word we had communicated our desires with one another.

Hollie pulled off her sundress and turned to wiggle her derriere at me.  Mm...  I pumped my cock harder, imagining my tongue gliding down her ass and between her legs to sink deep inside her wet heat. 

Just thinking about my tongue slicking over her clit loosened the tension in my muscles and then, as quickly, tightened everything, including tugging my balls up against my scrotum.

Hollie's palm pressed to the window and both breasts formed pale circles against the glass.

And I laughed as I came. 

Yes, this was my future.  Our future.  Here we would live happily ever after.

The End

Wait a second.

Don't close this
ebook yet.

Michele Renae, here.  I can't end this story, this trilogy.  I love Jean-Louis and Hollie too much.  I had such a great time writing their story.  And do you know, I had only ever planned it to be the first story, WINDOW?  But mid-way through that story I realized I wanted to write more about the couple.  To learn them.  And I learned a lot about them in the course of putting letters on the page, forming words about their liaisons, following their whims across the computer screen.

I hate turning the last page of a book.  It's done.  Over! 

Because the inevitable question is: What happened to them later?  A year or two after their happily ever after?  Are they still together?  Did they fight and break up?  Did that monster ottoman actually fit into the bathroom?  What about that baby?  And the dog? 

I want to know more!

So if you'll indulge this writer, allow me to add one more chapter.  A look beyond.  Something to reassure me that the path I set for these two is the right one and that they are doing fine.

The Next Chapter

Two years later...

The hot August sun beat on my scalp and I itched between the hair strands I'd pulled up in a loose bun.  My hair had grown long over the years, and I loved to tug it into a sexy ponytail, or, as with a hot sunny day, coil it up, stab a wooden hair pick into it, and not have to worry about fashion.

I slapped at a mosquito.  They were rare here in the vineyard paralleling the chateau.  Yep, I just used both those words—vineyard and chateau—in a sentence as if they were my own.  And they are!

Jean-Louis and I have lived in the chateau since about a month after first looking at it two years ago.  I have been in heaven since.  The air is clean and fresh out here.  The vast night sky sparkles with stars.  We make love in the big bedroom on the king-size bed set in an old iron frame with the stars watching over us.

And we also make love on the ottoman.  Which looks awesome in the bathroom!  Seriously, there is something about an ottoman.  I don't know what it is, but I have another one on order from a furniture shop in a nearby village.  I plan to put it in the porch room that connects to the kitchen and which looks out over the front courtyard.  A delicious nook for reading and lazing in the afternoon sun.

And that thing about us spending the summers out in the country and the rest of the time in Paris?  Total bupkiss.  We love this place so much we spend eighty percent of our time here.  Jean-Louis did keep his loft in Paris because we couldn't conceive of not having a place to stay in the city.  And he travels for work about a month out of the year.  But you know what?  I guess you
can
take the girl out of the city.

And I've learned to love dogs after the tiny Tibetan mastiff Jean-Louis brought home a year ago turned into a waist-high, two hundred pound bear that still acts like a puppy. 

Josephine tolerates the beast.  Poor kitty.  Oh, he's tough enough to give the dog a swat.  And that was not a pronoun mistake.  Josephine is a boy.  I made a mistake in checking his plumbing when naming him/her.  Ah well.  Jean-Louis calls him Joe.  That helped improve le chat's image problems.

I eased a hand across my back and waddled down a dirt row between grape vines.  Hugues, the neighbor down the road, was our gardener and he tended the vines, but was in the process of teaching me what he knows.  Jean-Louis would love to learn about the vines, but he's been uber-busy this past year, on the phone when he is not online.  He's in the process of transferring most of the teaching work to a new set of employees and he intends to remain the acting CEO of VSquire.  That will free him up from teaching and traveling, and require he merely work online from home. 

"Smell," Hugues said from the other side of a narrow vine.  A sun-weathered hand thrust through the green foliage to present a cluster of new grapes coated with gray fuzz.

Er...  I knew looking at that nasty gray stuff the grapes had something wrong with them.  But ever curious, I leaned in and inhaled the musty scent.

"
Pas bon
," I said. 

Of course, everything I said to the man was in French.  Yep, I've picked up the language.  Had to.  Jean-Louis, when he was busy, tended to speak French and forget I am American.  I loved that about him.  I think he possesses a sort of osmosis vibe that sends the language directly to my brain.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

"
C'est de la pourriture noble
," Hugues explained.  "It is noble rot.  I will have to spray this batch or it will spread."

"Sounds not good."

"It is workable, Madame Ollie."  The French weren't big on pronouncing the H at the beginning of names and words so when Hugues said it, my name always sounded like Ollie.  "We should take a break.  I brought lemonade in the cooler."

"Oh, that sounds delicious—"

The sudden male shout from up by the stone courtyard startled me.  I don't know why it should.  Jean-Louis had been on the phone for an hour, and it wasn't a pleasant call, from what I'd gauged by the frequent swear words and insistent pounding of his fist against the wooden table that rattled the tin oil lamp.

A gruff dog bark sounded from down the aisle and Acteon hurtled toward me in his usual
I'm coming to the rescue
style.  He fancied himself one of those Saint Bernards with the rescue cask about his neck, yet when he arrived at the rescuee, the beast forgot to land softly, and generally pushed the victim over and landed on them with vigorously happy puppy licks.

I dodged through the vines and Hugues grabbed my arm, aiding my escape.  He knew what would happen if I didn't clear the runway.

"Go to Papa!" I encouraged the dog.  "Go give him a big hug!"

Acteon maintained his course down the aisle and bounded up toward the courtyard where I couldn't see Jean-Louis, but I did hear the collision.  A male ouff! and a doggy bark of happiness.  Jean-Louis laughed, and I relaxed as I patted Hugues on the arm.

"Always does the trick," Hugues offered.

"That dog is the perfect foil when Jean-Louis is wound too tightly.  Oh."  I gripped my stomach.  Something...was moving.

***

The phone had flung out of my grip when Acteon collided with my body.  I hadn't seen him coming, so he'd taken me down from behind.  Knowing it was easier to surrender to the puppy love and just go down than to fight it by trying to fend off the beast, I did that.  Falling to my knees, and then rolling to my side and back, I accepted the weighty mass of fur and slobber.

The business on the phone could wait.  We'd been throwing back and forth the same stupid ideas we'd been muddling over for weeks.  I needed to step away from the situation.  View it from a more relaxed perspective.  Perhaps, as my colleague suggested, step outside of the box.

I could do that. 

Reaching into my pants pocket I grabbed the puppy treat I always carried with me (Hollie kept a jar by the door so I need never leave the house without one) and held it high.

Acteon scrambled off me and sat alert, his dark doggy eyes fixed on the prize. 

"You want this?"

Acteon barked eagerly.

I tossed it down the hill into the lush grass that Hollie insisted I not mow too short because she liked to pad barefoot through the softness.  Acteon bounded off and I—heard a female scream.