One Night in Paris

by Kate Sweeney

  One

  Night

  In

  Paris

  Kate Sweeney

  One Night in Paris

  © 2013 by Kate Sweeney

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  First Ebook Edition: 2013

  This Ebook Is Published By

  Intaglio Publications

  Walker, LA USA

  www.intagliopub.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  _______________________________________________

  Credits

  Executive Editor: Tara Young

  Cover design by Tiger Graphics

  Acknowledgments

  As always, many thanks to my wonderful editor, Tara, who hasn’t given up on me yet. I think she has some serious mental issues.

  And speaking of mental issues…oh, skip it. You know who you are.

  Chapter 1

  “The City of Love,” Annabel said miserably.

  It’d been anything but. She walked around the Paris casino absently sipping her champagne. Dressed for a night at the opera and alone, she watched the gamblers at the tables. A week here and what did she come up with—nothing. She let out a dejected sigh and took a healthy drink. With nothing else to do, she thought about her recent accomplishments and immediately looked for the adorable server with the tray of champagne.

  She finally finished her doctorate and was officially Dr. Annabel Mitchell. Upon hearing the long-awaited news, her parents fulfilled their promise and sent her on a summer vacation, though they wanted her to be chaperoned. However, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell did not use that specific term. It was more like “we’ll pay for you to bring a friend” or something of that nature. Whichever way you sliced it, they didn’t want their only daughter to travel alone in Europe. It was the Nebraska upbringing, Annabel thought. She had to laugh, though—chaperoned at twenty-nine.

  Well, she had the time of her life for a week in Austria and a few days in Italy. Now at the end of her allotted time in Paris, Annabel thought for sure she’d have a wild, wicked fling. Nuts, she thought sourly. It just ain’t gonna happen. Sex and molecular biology just don’t mix, Doc. This was her last night in Paris, at least she’d have some expensive champagne and maybe win a little money. She now could look forward to the final city on her vacation, Dublin, Ireland, and a trip to Trinity College where a college friend found a perfect teaching job. She missed Trevor since he moved there; he was her confidant and that little voice of reason in her head. They were fast friends at the University of Nebraska, probably because they were both gay. Their junior and senior years, they lived together in an adorable apartment and continued through grad school. When he got the news he’d be moving to Ireland of all places, Annabel was heartbroken and happy for him. His big brown eyes filled with tears when he left, making Annabel promise to come someday for a visit.

  When she told him about this vacation, he screamed into the phone like a woman. She remembered his exact words. “I hate roaming around in this big house. I don’t care if it’s in the country with a creek or stream or whatever they call it here.” Annabel laughed now, remembering how Trevor went on and on; he couldn’t wait to see her. So maybe a trip to the Emerald Isle would be a good end to an otherwise romantically boring vacation…Paris was a bust.

  As she strolled by the tables, she took in the players. She laughed as she sipped her champagne. An older couple watched the dealer as they anxiously held hands. They looked totally out of place—they should have been sitting at some quaint bistro on the Rue de la Blah-blah.

  Now the next couple looked like they belonged in a swanky Parisian casino. Mr. and Mrs. Thurston Howell III, the millionaire and his wife…Great, now she had that song in her head. As she absently looked around for Ginger and Mary Ann, she spotted a woman sitting at the blackjack table who truly looked out of place. This was a black-tie crowd at the casino, and this woman was certainly in black—black leather. Hmm, Annabel thought as she nonchalantly walked around to observe the gamblers.

  The woman had a pile of chips in front of her. She looked rather bored as her turn came, and she flicked her cards on the velvet-lined table. The dealer slipped her another card and looking at it, she held up her hand. The dealer went to the next gambler.

  Annabel did a little inventory: short unruly red hair, a curl that fell onto her brow as she absently brushed it back. She had fair skin and freckles, as most redheads do, and though she looked rather dangerous, for some reason, Annabel sensed a definite softness in this woman.

  With that, the woman frowned and looked up right into Annabel’s eyes. Both women stared for a moment. The woman then raised an eyebrow, and a faint smile touched the corner of her mouth; her green cat eyes danced wickedly. Annabel felt the color rush to her face, and the room felt decidedly warmer as she looked into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. They were almost emerald. Yikes, she thought stupidly, as she finished the glass of champagne. Like a moth to a flame, the waiter was at her side holding the tray. He winked; Annabel smiled and took another glass. This was not good…

  The dealer announced something in French, then in English, that the woman had beaten the house again and slid the chips in front of her. Annabel averted her eyes and took another healthy drink. The woman looked down at the table and nodded her thanks while taking a drink of what Annabel assumed was scotch or whiskey—so intriguing, Annabel thought.

  As she looked back at this captivating woman, she noticed a tall lanky blonde had slipped into the unoccupied chair next to her and whispered something in her ear. The redhead smirked and raised a curious eyebrow. When the woman leaned into the leather-clad shoulder, Annabel saw her hand slide under the table and rest on the redhead’s thigh. Annabel wondered what her name might be and inwardly laughed: Bond, Jane Bond…

  With that, both women stood. Annabel sipped her champagne as she watched the redhead toss a few chips to the dealer, who nodded his thanks. They strolled out the French doors to the terrace.

  This I gotta see, Annabel thought wickedly, as she surreptitiously made her way to the other French door leading to the connecting terrace.

  Annabel heard mumbling and leaned in to hear more. Separated by a stone wall and a nice high shrub, Annabel could play the voyeur with great...voyeurism. God, I’m shameless, she thought, but I don’t care. I’m in Paris. This is better than a movie! She peeked through the shrubs to see the blond woman hanging all over the redhead.

  “I want you right here,” the blonde said. Annabel heard the low French accent and stifled an immature giggle—she must be French.

  “Do ya now?”

  Annabel’s knees buckled at the low sultry voice that came from the redhead.

  “What’ll your family say?” the redhead continued, “a highbrow like yourself, bein’ seen with the likes of me?”

  Annabel heard the sarcasm in the low voice, but she also thought she heard a trace of sadness.

  “Don’t be that way, chérie. You are too irresistible to me. You know that. You come here on a whim and I want to hate you, but I cannot,” the Frenchwoman purred.

  Annabel was getting a little tingly as she watched the redhead grin evilly. She then pulled the blond head back and kissed her deeply. Annabel blinked and tried to swallow as she watched the two women giving each other a tonsillectomy. Annabel swore she could hear the Frenchwoman
whimper. Holy shit, she thought and glanced around the balcony. I’ll feel like a complete ass if someone comes out here. Suddenly, her head was spinning and not just from the champagne.

  “Take me now,” the Frenchwoman begged.

  “As ya wish,” she said and quickly slipped her hand between her legs, lifting her dress.

  Okay, that’s enough! Annabel screamed inwardly. She quickly backed up, right into a lawn chair and crashed to the floor.

  “Mademoiselle, are you all right?”

  It was the stalker/waiter with the tray of champagne; he rushed out onto the terrace. Fine, she thought as she scrambled to her feet, he’s following me; he must think I’m an alcoholic.

  “Are there batteries in this thing?” Annabel shook her foot, trying to disentangle herself from the treacherous lawn chair. “Women and children first.”

  “Allow me,” he said, quickly setting down the tray.

  “Yes, yes, thank you. I came out for some fresh air and…” She stopped abruptly and shook her head. God, what an ass, she thought and straightened her dress. The waiter seemed relieved. “Don’t worry. There won’t be a lawsuit, though you might want to put a restraining order on the lawn chairs.”

  “Excuse?”

  “Skip it.” She walked back into the casino with a minuscule amount of dignity and abruptly stopped and turned around. “I appreciate the help, but will you stop following me?”

  “Je suis désolé, mademoiselle.” The waiter grinned and bowed.

  “Yeah, desolate is the right word. You lost your tray.” Annabel then laughed when the waiter hid his grin. But Annabel laughed outright when he motioned to the linen-clothed table in the far corner. “Well, hell. I might as well drink and lose my money.”

  She made her way to the table, which held a vulgar amount of champagne; there were bottles everywhere. But very classy, Annabel thought, seeing the bottles perched in sterling silver ice buckets.

  Sipping yet another glass of the bubbly, she stood by the roulette table and pondered the game. Playing with her chips, she shook her head. What am I doing? I don’t have a clue.

  “If it were me, I’d play red,” a low voice whispered behind her.

  Annabel jumped and whirled around. She had to look up and there she was. The green eyes sparkled wickedly as she looked down at Annabel, who suddenly was mute.

  She stood too close to Annabel, who could smell the mixture of leather and the woman’s perfume.

  “I-I don’t really know the game,” Annabel said when she found her voice.

  “Well, lucky for you that I do.” She pulled out a chair for Annabel, who slipped into it, trying to catch her breath.

  “Do ya mind?” The woman motioned to the chair next to Annabel.

  “Oh, no.”

  “Thank you, Miss...?”

  It was then Annabel realized the woman’s accent was Irish, and this was about to be a great adventure; if it was, Annabel would play it to the hilt. She smiled wickedly. “Francesca.”

  Green eyes smiled and danced once again as they searched Annabel’s face. “Well… Francesca, my advice is to play the color not the numbers, unless ya feel lucky,” she suggested and leaned in. “Do ya feel lucky?”

  Annabel wasn’t too sure about the luck, but she was definitely feeling the champagne. She looked into the green eyes and nodded. “Very much so.”

  The woman grinned and nodded. She placed a few of Annabel’s chips on red. The dealer started the wheel and tossed the white ball on. Annabel casually put her hand to her heart because it was surely going to beat right out of her chest. As they both watched the wheel spinning, she took another healthy drink of champagne. Someone took the empty glass and replaced it with a cold glass. Annabel looked up to see the same waiter and chuckled as he placed a glass of whiskey by her new partner in this adventure.

  “You’re haunting me,” she said to the waiter, offering a playful glare.

  It landed on red. The dealer announced the winning color and number and pushed several chips in front of Annabel.

  “I guess ya are lucky tonight, Francesca,” she whispered into Annabel’s ear.

  Annabel breathed heavily and closed her eyes when she felt the soft breath that lightly tickled. When she opened her eyes, the woman was gone. Frantically, she looked around, but the woman had vanished. Annabel sighed heavily and slumped back in her chair. Nuts, she thought and tossed a few chips on red.

  After another hour, she won several times, but it really didn’t matter. She gathered her winnings, cashed them in, and headed for her room. It was on the way to said room when she realized she had too much to drink. Nice going, you drunk, she thought angrily as she tried to slip the card in to open her hotel door.

  “Shit, I hope I’m at my room,” she said and closed one eye to read the number on the door.

  “Are ya lost, Francesca?”

  Annabel jumped and dropped the card. Her wandering roulette partner bent down to retrieve it.

  “Where did you go? I wanted to thank you. I won again.” Annabel grinned as she leaned against her door.

  The woman chuckled and opened the door for her. “You’ve had a wee bit of champagne then? I think you might have to put that waiter on your Christmas list.”

  Annabel grunted. “City of Love, phooey!” She heard the woman laugh as she opened the door for Annabel.

  “In ya go,” she said and gently pushed Annabel into her room.

  Annabel blinked, then grinned evilly. “Come in for a nightcap? It’s the least I can do,” she said, not knowing where she got this newfound boldness. It must have been her alter ego or maybe the city, quite possibly the champagne. She looked up into those green cat eyes. Nope, she thought, it’s the eyes.

  Out of nowhere, Annabel pulled the woman down and gave her a scorching kiss. The woman gasped in surprise, for a moment…a very brief moment. All at once, Annabel felt strong arms lift her off the ground. Now in total darkness, she was up against the door being kissed as she’d never been kissed before.

  Annabel felt the weight of this woman against her, a strong thigh wedge between her legs. All the moisture left her mouth and pooled between said legs. She moaned into the sensual kiss as she reached up, her fingers lost in the wavy red hair. Annabel heard the sexy groan and deepened her kiss, overcome with champagne-induced lust. She’d never felt such a need before—never. She pulled back, her head and heart pounding as the room spun around.

  “The bed,” she found herself pleading. She was picked up and carried to the bed where she was gently deposited against the pillows.

  Annabel clung to this stranger’s neck and pulled her on top of her. The woman groaned and kissed her deeply, her tongue hungrily probing deep into Annabel’s mouth. Annabel could taste the champagne and the whiskey; she took in the fragrance of her heady perfume. All of it fueled her desire.

  “Make love to me, please,” she whispered through her fog.

  For a moment, there was no movement at all. Annabel then heard a deep sigh, and the warm weight of the woman was gone. An empty feeling tore through Annabel as she opened her eyes, and through the darkness, she saw the woman standing above her, breathless.

  “What?” Annabel whispered; she heard a quiet laugh.

  “You’ll hate yourself in the mornin’, luv.”

  “No. No, I won’t.” Annabel felt her shoes slip off her feet and wanted to raise her head, but the room began spinning. “Oh, c’mon, for…I’m not a child,” Annabel mumbled, suddenly feeling every bit of one.

  That sleepy declaration produced another nervous chuckle. “That I can see. There’s a good deal of life behind that kiss,” the woman whispered and pulled the quilt over her. “Good night.” The woman kissed her once more. “Francesca.”

  Annabel sighed, smiled happily, and…passed out.

  *******

  She was still smiling the next day as she slowly made her way onto the plane, trying to remember if the previous night was a dream. The last two hours at that casino were a bit of
a fog for Annabel. She handed her ticket to the flight attendant, who merely nodded as she checked her passport. Geez, these French, she thought sourly. Saved their asses out of not one but two world wars and what do we get? I just don’t think they like us, she decided, shaking her head.

  “Thank you. I enjoyed my stay in Paris. Just in case you were going to ask,” she said, smiling. She pasted on the grin and enjoyed the dumbfounded look on the attendant she left in her wake as she gathered her papers and headed down the tunnel.

  She boarded the plane and quickly found her seat. After settling in, she put her head back, ignoring the dull nagging headache. She smiled thinking about the last part of her evening in Paris.

  Annabel hid her face in her hands. “What an idiot!” She groaned as she thought of the redheaded woman clad in black Levis, black boots, and that damned black leather jacket. She remembered the fair skin and the rosy tint to her cheeks, the thick, unruly waves, and the long slender fingers as they held those lucky cards.

  She smiled thinking of the difference in their appearances. The woman looked dangerous, Annabel remembered. Her body seemed so tense.

  Annabel smiled ruefully, knowing she was anything but dangerous. Her life was well-ordered and organized—studying molecular biology and playing with bacteria all day tend to do that to a person. She looked down at her own appearance. Midwestern corn, she thought dryly. No wonder the woman left. God, what a moron.

  Born in Nebraska, Annabel was the epitome of the heartland: good sense and sensibility, no fooling around, just hard work. Well, not this summer, she thought, smiling to herself as she looked out the window. I wanted an adventure. Figures, I get a gorgeous, dangerous-looking woman in my bed, and she leaves like a bat out of hell. Oh, well. Maybe I’ll find some excitement in Ireland with Trevor, she thought.

  “Excitement with my gay friend Trevor. Listen to yourself,” she whispered pathetically as she watched the vacationers board the plane. “Oh, God, no,” she exclaimed in a quiet panic. She quickly picked up a magazine and buried her head in it. Peeking over the top, she saw her—the casino woman, clad in that black leather jacket. Keep walking, keep walking, please, she begged every higher power she could think of.