CollarMeinParis

by Sidney Bristol

“Yeah, good job catching that one. I’m going to untangle our ropes. Be careful grabbing them, okay?”

  “Thanks, Clay.” Her smile was a little worn, a little tired. Of the three siblings, Jason and Amy were the new in-laws he liked the best.

  Two lights away, a dark-blue gel was faded almost white except for a ring around the outside. He slid it easily out of the holders and hurried back to the table. Michael was almost done cutting his gels. If he could hit the ladder before him, Clay thought they could keep some of their lead. They might not win the day, but maybe they wouldn’t come in dead last again. That was a reasonable goal.

  “I’m using that,” Michael said when Clay reached for the scissors.

  “You’re using the ones in your hand.” He snatched them up anyways and confiscated a half-used sheet of blue gel.

  As he trimmed the new piece of plastic, Michael took off with his five. Clay tried not to let irritation get the best of him. He fitted the blue gel into place and headed back to the catwalk. He got to the place where he’d removed the gel and stared at an out-of-place yellow one.

  “Mike, this is in the wrong place.”

  Michael glanced down the line from where he was putting another in place. “Then you move it.”

  Did he replace the gel with the one that needed to go there? Or did he copy Michael’s actions and put them wherever he found an open spot?

  Sighing, Clay wrenched the misplaced gel out of the light and put the correct one where it went. He edged down the line, keeping his eye open for another burned-out one. He found a spot for the yellow gel and lo and behold, his fifth stared him back in the face right next to it. He chuckled and silently thanked Michael for lending a helping hand.

  He reached for the gel, but the light was at an angle and he was just a little too short to get it. Eyeing the railing, he stepped up on the lowest bar. He held on to the rope with one hand to keep his balance and leaned out. It felt as if he were flying. Clay breathed a sigh of relief as the frame slid out easily and he stepped back onto the catwalk, breathing a sigh of relief.

  Eyes closed, he never saw the Mack truck that ran into him. He stumbled to the side and tripped over his own feet, going down facefirst on the wooden slats. Michael’s tacky black and neon yellow shoes stepped over him.

  Clay shoved to his knees. “What the fuck, man?”

  “In the way, gotta go, slowpoke,” Michael called. The rope leads dangled over his shoulder from where he’d removed them from the lines.

  “He takes this way too seriously,” Amy muttered behind him. She gripped him under the arm and helped him to his feet. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He was relieved to find the gel hadn’t fallen off the catwalk.

  “Go get done and catch up.” Amy gave him a little push and went back to searching out her own gels.

  Clay headed to the table. His right knee twinged with every step, but he powered through it. He cut the last gel and made it back to the light as Amy headed off to cut her five. He flexed his knee and winced at the pain shooting up his leg. Still, he wasn’t going to stop. He balanced on the rail and leaned over. The gel slid back in place with the same ease with which it was removed.

  Relief flooded him. He’d done it. They were in second, but that was still a hell of a lot better than yesterday.

  He shuffled to the side where Jean waited.

  “Good job. Next clue.”

  “Thanks, Jean.”

  He took the blue envelope and tucked it in his pocket. He’d read it with Bianca down below.

  “See you soon, Amy,” he called over his shoulder and climbed down the ladder. The pain in his knee settled to a dull throb. Maybe he’d bruised the bone or something because it wasn’t a terrible pain. At least there was a first-aid kit in the backpack. Judging from what they were equipped with, most of it seemed injury related. Clearly they were expecting bumps, bruises and cuts along the way.

  Bianca was there the moment his feet touched the ground. He shoved the envelope in her hands and began removing the harness as fast as he could.

  “You did great,” she said as she ripped the envelope open.

  “Mike is a dick.”

  She glanced up from the paper. “What did he do?”

  “Just being an ass.” It wasn’t worth destroying their good start by griping about Michael. Still, if it got to be an issue, he’d take it up with the guy himself.

  “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” Bianca read.

  Well shit, that was easy too.

  Their gazes locked and they spoke in unison, “Shakespeare’s.”

  Chapter Four

  Bianca strode down the sidewalk with Clay. She glanced at him every few strides. His brows were drawn down and a frown marred his handsome visage. Finally she reached over and took his hand.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  He squeezed her hand, but the tense set of his jaw didn’t go away. The foot traffic carried them along toward the Métro station so she didn’t have to pay much attention to where they were going. She pushed him into a wide archway and up against double doors. Clay automatically wrapped his arms around her and turned her back to the wall, protecting her with his body.

  She tugged on his jacket. “What happened?”

  “I’m not fond of your brother,” he admitted, the tense lines around his mouth growing deeper.

  “What did he do?” She smoothed her hands down his chest and under the lapels of his coat. Michael could be a first-rate prick, she had no doubt he’d said or done something worthy of getting his ass kicked.

  “I don’t like his version of the rules.”

  She held his gaze for several seconds. Clay might choose to submit to her, but it had been a long road to get where they were. At his core, he was strong as steel, and she respected that. If he needed to put on his alpha man pants, well, she thought it was hot when he pretended like he was in control.

  “Do you want to play to win?” she asked quietly. For him she would.

  He rested his forehead against hers, pressing her against the door with his weight. “No, sorry. I’m pissed at him. He put the gels back in the wrong place and knocked me down. My pride’s hurt.”

  That sound, the one when air crawled up a person’s tonsils and out of their mouth? That came from her. She was going to kill her brother. She fisted Clay’s shirt and ground her teeth together. “He did what?”

  One side of his mouth quirked up. “I’m pissed that we didn’t get out first. Sorry I lost our lead.”

  She gripped his belt and pulled his hips toward her, sliding her knee between his so she could feel the hard line of his bound cock. “You should be sorry that you hurt yourself when I specifically told you not to.”

  He tried and failed to smother his smile. “I’m very sorry, Mistress. I should be punished.”

  She reached between them and grasped his cock. She narrowed her gaze, watching his face as she applied pressure to the shaft. With the plug in his penis, he claimed the sensations were more intense. His eyes began to lose focus and his jaw dropped slightly. Yup, he was enjoying her present.

  “You will be punished, but not here.” She pushed her hands up under his shirt and found his nipples. She raked her nails over them and watched a new kind of tension take over. She pinched the smooth skin and twisted as hard as she could.

  “Mm.” His lids closed.

  She buried her face in the crook of his neck, nuzzled under his coat and bit the tendon hard enough to leave a nice crescent-shaped mark. Clay squished her harder against the door and groaned into her hair.

  “You’re such a pain slut.” She released his abused flesh and smoothed her hands over his chest.

  “You like me this way,” he replied, sounding cocky.

  She kissed his neck and straightened his clothes. “I don’t like you. I love you. Come on, we need to get to Shakespeare’s so I can give you your punishment.”

  They hopped a red train on the RER at the Auber station and watched the oth
er tourists and Paris natives. They had to change trains to the blue line before getting off at the station closest to Notre Dame. The Métro let out on the bank of the Seine River. On one side, buildings lined the street, on the other, street shops, trees and the river bordered their path. In the middle of the river, the Notre Dame cathedral dominated a small island, its bell towers rising to the sky and streams of people headed to and away from it.

  It was a small cruelty to be so near the cathedral and not be able to go inside. One of Clay’s quieter passions was classic literature. They’d created a list of places like the Opéra and Notre Dame to visit based on his favorite books. Shakespeare and Company, a used bookstore on the south bank of the Seine, had also been on their list, but for other reasons.

  The first Shakespeare and Company had closed during the German occupation of Paris. That establishment had been a sort of literary center of greatness. Bianca didn’t much care about it, but Clay had been very passionate about spending some time there. According to him, the current bookstore operated under much the same spirit as the original, acting as a focal point for bohemian culture in the city and specializing in English books of all sorts.

  It sounded like a big used bookstore to Bianca, but she kept those thoughts to herself. Clay was more than willing to humor her about shopping. She’d give him his dusty old books.

  “It’s around here somewhere, right? Can you pull it up on your phone, hun?”

  Clay fished his phone out of his pocket as they walked across the bridge. “Should be up here on our right somewhere.”

  They kept walking, consulting the phone every so often.

  Finally they turned a corner and there it was.

  It was situated in a nook, framed by trees, and the name Shakespeare and Company stood out in dark green on a golden background. The front of the store was clogged with tourists and hip, artsy twenty-somethings.

  “What do you suppose we do here?” Clay asked as they crossed under the trees in front of the store.

  She shrugged. “No idea. Stock books? Get something? Mom and Dad are pretty creative with this stuff.”

  They squeezed into the cramped quarters. The walls, from floor to twelve-foot ceilings, were crammed with paperbacks and hardbacks of all kinds. Worn covers sat next to new editions. People milled around, some flipping through books or intently browsing for a hidden gem.

  Finding the checkout counter and an employee was akin to locating the hair past the freckle. At some point, the fates took pity on them and a pleasant, if sleepy-looking woman approached the counter.

  “Hello, can I help you?” she asked them in slightly accented English.

  Bianca produced the envelope and clue that had directed them there. “We’re doing the race and we were sent here.”

  “Oh yes. I have one of those here.” She ducked and began rummaging under the desk.

  Clay leaned on the counter and peeked over. “Has anyone else showed up yet?”

  “What? No, no one yet.” She straightened, her cheeks rosy red, and handed over another blue envelope.

  “Really?” Bianca gripped her husband’s arm and watched his long fingers rip open the clue.

  “Oui.”

  This was The Twilight Zone.

  If this was an alternate reality, why couldn’t she be tall as well?

  “Here we go.” Clay held the clue up so they could both read the script. “Find the book Leadership Secrets of Attila the Hun. Inside is another clue.”

  She snorted. “I wonder how they picked that title.”

  “Is there any order to the way the books are shelved?” he asked.

  The woman glanced from them to the shelves. “For you? No.”

  “Great,” Clay groaned.

  “Let’s look down here first. You go that way and I’ll go this way. We can meet on the other side. Do we know what it looks like?”

  Clay dug in the pocket he usually kept his phone stashed in. His brow furrowed and he checked another pocket.

  “Clay?”

  “Shit.” He frantically began patting at his jacket, back and front pockets. “No, no, no, no, no!”

  “Babe, what’s wrong?”

  His face flushed a deep scarlet and a vein protruded from his brow. “Everything’s gone. Someone stole my wallet. My phone, it’s gone.”

  “Fuck me.” She leaned heavily on the counter. Screw the race, this could be bad news. “What did you have on you? Your passport? Credit cards?”

  He buried his face in his hands. “No, I left them in the apartment. I had a credit card, a hundred Euros and my phone.”

  That was it?

  Relief flooded her. It could be much worse.

  She gripped his hands, peeling back his fingers one at a time. “This sucks, but think about it this way, we have traveler’s insurance. As soon as we get back to the apartment we can call and let them know it was stolen. You haven’t used it yet, have you?”

  He shook his head. “Just to get the Métro tickets.”

  “And you just got that phone. It’s under warranty. See?”

  The dangerous twitch eased and the color diminished a bit. He wasn’t happy about it and she didn’t blame him. She patted her pockets, but she hadn’t put anything in them to start with. All of her cash and cards were tucked into the pouch tucked into her pants. Paranoia had paid off. For her.

  She hugged him, offering some comfort but also so she could whisper without being overheard. “Come on, the sooner we find that book, the sooner I can give you a good spanking and get this all taken care of.”

  He nodded, seemingly determined to remain sullen. Chances were he’d beat himself up over it until they were able to rectify at least some of the situation. They split up and she began scouring the shelves, digging through books and squeezing past other patrons in the front of the shop.

  “Looking for something?” a very American voice said next to her shoulder.

  Bianca glanced at a young man, not much past eighteen if the peach fuzz still clinging to his jaw was any indication. He had on ripped jeans and a flannel shirt over a t-shirt. Typical lazy guy wear. She sat back on her heels from where she had been going through the bottom rows. He had his hands braced on his knees and glanced from her to the shelves.

  She pushed her hair out of her face. “Yeah, a book on Attila the Hun’s leadership style.”

  The boy blinked slowly. “That’s pretty specific.”

  Oh the let-me-explain-my-crazy-family moment. People generally had two reactions, interest and excitement or snide disbelief. “My husband and I are in a race. We have to find the book with the clue in it before my brothers get here.”

  The young man blinked at her. “Seriously? Like that TV show?”

  Interest and excitement it is.

  “Yeah, my parents are a little obsessed. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a phone or something to check and see what the book cover is, do you?” She pushed to her feet and wiped her hands on her thighs.

  “I don’t, but my friend does. Come here.” He waved her after him into the tree-sheltered sliver of a courtyard in front of the shop.

  A few young students like the one who had approached her sat in folding chairs or on a circular bench hugging a tree. Some were bent over composition books, others flipping aimlessly through pages. They were the perfect picture of the student abroad.

  “Hey, this lady needs to look up a book. She’s doing a race thing.” He tapped a girl with pink-streaked blonde hair on the shoulder. “Do you have your tablet on you?”

  “Oh. Sure.” The girl dug around in a messenger bag that was so worn Bianca’s grandfather might have used it first. She frowned at the bag and pulled out a larger backpack in marginally better condition.

  Bianca glanced up and down the street. No one stuck out to her as a thief. What did one look like?

  “Have you seen any pickpockets? My husband had his wallet and phone lifted.”

  Another of the boys glanced up. “Yeah, I lost fifty bucks the other day.
There are cops around here you can tell, but you probably won’t get it back.”

  She sighed. “Great. Be careful, I guess?”

  “Here you go.” The girl handed her the latest fancy tablet with fully functional 4G internet and already loaded to the storefront of a major bookseller.

  “Thank you so much.” Bianca tapped out the book title and in seconds the white book cover stared back at her. It was a simple cover, but knowing to look for a white book instead of any other color helped tons. “Say, you guys wouldn’t want to help us search for it, would you? I’ve always wound up in last place when we do these things, but my husband and I are in first place right now. My brother was an ass to him earlier, and while we might not win the race, it would really brighten his day to win this leg of the race.”

  “Wouldn’t that be like, cheating?” the girl asked, nose tilted sky high.

  Bianca sighed. So much for trying. “I guess so. Thanks for your help.”

  She returned to the shop and went in search of her husband, except Clay wasn’t anywhere to be found on the first floor. She made the circuit twice before daring the narrow wooden staircase. Every few steps she paused to glance over the titles and bindings worn by frequent use.

  The upstairs beckoned her, quieter and more reverent than the lower level that bustled with street activity. Despite the building’s relative small size in comparison with the bookstores she was accustomed to at home, Shakespeare and Company was a warren of amazing little nooks and crannies, all bursting with books.

  Through a doorway she spied Clay hunched over and staring at shelves, the backpack at his feet. She bit her lip and picked up a heavy hardcover at random. She tiptoed over the boards, wincing when one squeaked slightly, but her husband never noticed.

  She placed her hand against his lower back and pushed down. Clay started and glanced at her, his brows arched and jaw lax. That lasted all of a split second before he bowed his spine and planted his hands on the shelves.

  “Any luck?” she casually asked as she ran her hands over his muscular ass.

  “Not yet.”

  “Tsk-tsk.” She smacked his bottom with the book.