Falling in Paris (Encounters #3)

by Fifi Flowers

  I shook my head. “No need.”

  “No, I don’t believe she is just one to play with. Tell me again how you met.”

  “You already know. She stumbled along with a stack of books in her arms and fell on a cobblestone sidewalk. I helped her up and escorted her home.” I leaned forward on my elbows. “Now, tell me why you have all of your father’s personal—rare—book collection in a very nice library?”

  “Hmm… destined like…” He was ignoring me.

  “Oh, I don’t believe that crap. You’re the romantic… And, I’m asking about the books. I saw your old reading glasses from the bookstore were in there.”

  “Don’t dismiss me, Émile.”

  “My mother wasn’t your destiny.”

  “No, not in the long run. She wasn’t, but I met mine. Caron was… is my destiny. But remember something very important, Émile, without your mother there would be no you. And, I am most certain, I was destined to have you. You mean the world to me. I cannot imagine my life without you—you are precious to me. You saved me in so many ways. I love you, mon fils.”

  “I love you too, mon père.” I smiled, patting my father’s arm as I stood.

  “Think, Émile. Clear your head. Open your mind and, more importantly your heart. You’re in love with her and I’m certain she feels the same.

  “I don’t know…”

  “Who is more perfect for you? She’s a book collector. You’re a book shop owner. You share a passion for the same things. Call me a crazy old man, but I think I see things perfectly clear. I’m just going to put it out there—destiny. Cobblestone brought you together, mark my word.”

  “I’m a realist. In a matter of a few weeks she will be gone, life will go on.

  “I think you’re wrong. You’re going to break, Émile. I’d be willing to wager on it. Letting the love of your life slip through your fingers is a big mistake.”

  I laughed. “This has nothing to do with love—I’ve never been in love. I’m going for a run, since you’re not going to tell me about your secret love of books.”

  Walking back in the house, I deposited my juice glass in the kitchen sink, and made my way to the front door. I needed a good run in the country, away from the vineyard. Down the long gravel driveway, I focused on the crunching sound under my feet in an attempt to clear my head, as my father said. Only, it made his other words flood my brain. Damn him!

  Avril. She was all I could hear, all I could see. She wasn’t unimportant… nothing; that was shitty of me to say. She was the most interesting woman I had ever met. And, if there were such a thing as a perfect woman, she would most definitely be it for me. Did I believe she was sent to me by destiny? Hell no! I was too logical to believe in that nonsense. It made sense that our paths could cross, did cross, but in a business way. Being book collectors, we read some of the same publications—the cobblestone book hit the circuit for some reason. It was everywhere, we both saw it, and she was fortunate enough to find a copy first.

  Romancing the Cobblestone, what was the fascination behind it? I skimmed through it; it was a bit dry, dull, boring. The story Francesca told about it was far more interesting. Who knew if it was true? Did the man really kill himself over a book? A woman? Was she really sold off or shipped off? I couldn’t remember anything about that part. Maybe the letters written by the author would tell more about the book? And then, there was the journal written in French by the woman, part of the story—I hadn’t looked at that, yet. My father took it before Avril and I could go through it…

  Avril. My mind was instantly swirling back to the woman with lavender eyes and everything about her that I loved… appreciated—not loved.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Avril

  When I was sure that Émile had gone off for his run, I continued on my path, out to my favorite sun-filled patio. Upon seeing me, Pinard greeted me with a triple cheek kiss, and offered me a cup of coffee. Accepting the hot beverage, I reached for the last little flaky pastry in a napkin-draped, wicker basket, and took a bite. Delicious! Tasted like more. I felt a bit awkward as we chatted about nonsense after hearing his conversation with his son. He had heard what his son thought about me. He did say that he didn’t believe him, but he still heard him say I was nothing. Either way, I was a bit relieved when he was being called away to the vineyard.

  “Sorry, I have to run, too. Émile should be back shortly. He said he was taking you to tour our village today. I will be picking Caron up from the station late afternoon and we will meet you for a meal,” he said, rising from his seat. “Oh, before I forget, thank you for letting me read the cobblestone books. Be sure to have my son fill you in on what I found out. Interesting…”

  He hesitated like he was going to disclose his findings, but then he leaned in my direction and placed two kisses, one to each of my cheeks. Then, after placing a hat on his head, he was on his way out to the fields. My eyes followed him, listening to him whistle an old familiar French song, “Non, Je ne regrette rien,” until he disappeared amongst the grapevines. Regrets? Did I have any? I wasn’t certain.

  Being alone with a fresh pot of coffee, delivered magically along with more warm pastry, it gave me time to recollect the conversation I overheard earlier, tucked away behind a swag of heavy drapery. My mind started reeling, thinking back over the last few weeks with Émile. Listening to his dismissing words about us jolted me. I replayed all of the times we had spent together. We had been more than just a sexual connection, but he was waving me off as nothing more than a toy. He had treated me like a fuck buddy. No, that was wrong; he treated me like a whore. Not a whore, he never paid me—a slut.

  And he had never kissed me, not really, not in the true sense of passionate lovers. His lips and tongue had been on almost every inch of my body, but our lips had never met, touched. Suddenly, the words, “my pet,” took on a whole new meaning for me. At first, I had found them possessive, sexy and, yes, endearing, but looking at our situation, those two words said, “my slut,” to me. He fucked me like I was nothing more than a slut. We never shared a bed together, we never shared a true intimacy; we just fucked. We climaxed, once or twice or more—they were off the chart, fantastic, but he always just left.

  On our exploration outings he was cold and standoffish, strange. He was fine with the thought of someone seeing us fuck, but in the book world, I was a mere business associate—nothing more. There was that word—nothing. I was nothing to him. I was stupid.

  I let him.

  I let him break down my walls.

  I let him make me fall in love with him.

  Love? Did I really think that was what I was feeling? Even if it was, he did not feel the same way. Before I got any more lost within my head filled with silly thoughts, I knew what I must do; it was time to move on. I was a strong woman—time to show it.

  Returning to my guest room, I pulled out my mini tablet. I was in Europe for work, not for love. Love? Where did that word come from, again? What was I thinking? Clearly, not straight. Love had nothing to do with this. Work was what I needed to focus on, back to researching and purchasing. Opening my email, I found my way out—I had a reason to move on. Staring right back at me, books I had on my search list were available in Florence, Italy. Perfect! Far from Paris.

  I quickly secured a first class train ticket, leaving the day after next. I had a few things I needed to clear up. Some things to pack and ship, then I would be going on my way. My Paris trip was ending early. When I returned to Montmartre, I needed to go see Nique at the bookshop while Émile would be off at a meeting. I needed to cancel the book club gathering. And make sure that the shipment he promised to send was taken care of. I didn’t see anything wrong with accepting his offer, we were colleagues.

  As the sound of footsteps on the stairs drew near, I heard my name called out. Closing my tablet, I prepared to paste a smile on my face. “Hey,” I said casually. “What’s up?”

  He had a strange smile on his face. “I thought we could go into the villag
e. Maybe grab some stuff for a picnic.” He shrugged his shoulders, then almost caused me to tumble off my bed with his next words. “I’m going to hop in the shower. I’m kind of sweaty from my run. Do you care to join me? Wash my back?”

  Foolish me! I couldn’t resist when he stripped down in front of me, standing just inside the bathroom doorway. I saw that glorious hardness calling to me. Licking my lips, the clothes from my body joined his on the floor. Inside the spacious stall, he lifted me. With my legs wrapped around his waist, he entered my eager sex. Sliding in and out, he teased me with a slow rhythm that built to a more feverish one. Our slick bodies moved together. I moaned as he nibbled and licked my neck—still no mouth to mouth contact. I didn’t care, he felt so good; his body fit mine. Grinding into me harder, I panted his name for the last time. That was it, I couldn’t do this again. I couldn’t keep being his slut, even as much as I want to be with him.

  Coming down from our climax, just as always, when it was over—it was over. It had never hit me so hard before. How was I going to make it through the day? I hoped that he had a full day planned, I thought, as I dressed in my room. He dressed in his adjoining room, safely separated by a bathroom door that he always kept closed. He closed me off. He was closed off. Through the door, he addressed me, “Meet me downstairs, Avril.”

  Dressed in yet another one of my spring dresses, along with a new pair of striped canvas espadrilles, I found him outside talking to his father and a couple vineyard workers. “Ready to go?” he asked. Nodding my head, he escorted me to his dazzling sports car with its top lowered, and we sped off.

  The village was charming, similar to the one we visited the day before with shops, restaurants, and cobblestones. He was charming—a wonderful tour guide—he told me the history of this and that as we strolled. Which places had the best things; the best books, of course, the best breakfast pastry, the best music playing… Who was related to whom, who had been suspected of having an affair—perfectly acceptable in France. I wasn’t sure if he was telling tales or actual facts. It was a small town; it was possible that everyone knew each other’s personal business.

  Ready for a little feast, we grabbed a bottle of wine, some olives and cheeses, and a baguette to enjoy before the town shut down for the afternoon. Leading me away from the stone buildings, through a grassy field, we stopped along a stream and skipped rocks before settling on a large rectangular, patterned tablecloth he had pulled from the trunk of the car.

  Secluded, but out in the open air, he reached over and pulled up my dress. I could see by the look on his face, he was shocked to see that I was wearing panties. Grinning, he stroked over the lace, down the edge, and pushed the delicate material aside. “So wet.” His fingers lightly skimmed over me, caressing, pinching, pulling. “Imagine the villagers seeing me make your pussy weep.” He continued his teasing. I moaned and pushed into his hand. “Oh, you like that idea?” His fingers slid right in, hitting the right spot. Oh. So. Good. “I can feel you pulling me deep inside of you, so greedy.”

  I thought I should stop him. I needed to stop him, but he was right, I loved it. I loved the idea of being watched, I craved it. Instead of stopping him, I spread my legs even wider.

  “Yes, let everyone see your sopping, wet pussy glisten in the sun. Mmm… They can probably smell your scent in the wind. Let them hear you scream, my pet. Scream now.” I don’t know what I was uttering out loud, I felt completely out of my body, but my vocalization seemed to please him. “Yes… Scream my name, Avril.”

  Damn him! Damn him for being so fucking perfect for me! I cried out his name as I flooded the tablecloth beneath me. “So beautiful, your pussy is like a babbling brook,” he said as he dipped his head between my legs, and licked me clean. Then without warning, he flipped me over on to my stomach and raised me up on my knees, head down. I heard his zipper, the tearing of a foil package, then I felt him plunge deep inside of me hard and fast. “Now the villagers are going to watch me fuck you like a wild beast.”

  “Oh God. Yes. Yes. Yes, Émile,” I panted over and over until we climaxed.

  I needed to stop giving in to him. This has to be it! But after resting for a bit in the field, Émile stripped me completely, removed his own clothes, and slowly took me again. It was pure agony and ecstasy. The thrill of being totally nude…visible, it was more than I could bear, and nothing I ever wanted to stop, though I knew it would. I was suddenly sad, knowing that we were done, knowing that my body would miss his giving of pleasure. Pleasure I had never known so completely until him.

  “You okay, pet?” he asked as he pulled away from me and dressed.

  “Yes, I’m just exhausted,” I lied. I could go again and again with him. “Can we rest a bit? I asked, still lying back, looking away from him.

  “No time.” He was all business, “We have things to see and do before we meet my father and Caron. I made an appointment with a local book dealer, treasures to be seen. He knew what to say to entice me; I could never turn down a literary adventure.

  Dressed, the rest of the day was spent in a musty book shop being enlightened and enchanted by the ancient owner. The place had vintage items for sale mixed with books. I adored two pink floral, antique Bergère chairs. I could see myself sitting in one of them, sipping coffee out of adorable white porcelain cups with the words moi and toi on the side of them while reading. If only I had a home and a cupboard for them.

  My eyes danced along from one book to the next while listening to one story after another. Until suddenly, it was all over. Émile received a text and whisked me toward the door after saying our goodbyes, including a hand kiss for me.

  “He liked you,” he said once we were out the shop door. “He has treasures that could make you leave me.” Ha! I will be leaving you within a matter of days… hours. Sadness hit me, my chest ached.

  Luckily, I didn’t have time to dwell on it as I was pulled through the open multi-paned, turquoise doors of a delicious smelling bistro. Quickly greeted by Pinard and Caron, fresh from the train, a waiter greeted Émile with a couple kisses to the cheek, and said he would let his cousin, Frederick, know that we had arrive. I was thrilled to be trying Frederick’s cuisine; he had my mouth watering as he explained his menu to us the night of the wine cave dinner. My tummy was squealing with delight as we were plied with an abundance of delectable dishes: soupe au pistou, lamb with baby asparagus, apple tart, all paired with wines. I was enchanted by more of their family stories for the next couple hours. Having a French chef as a relative was quite a treat, too.

  Back at the house, we had a nightcap. “Avril would you like to take a walk in the moonlight?” This was it. This was when I had to be strong.

  As much as I would’ve liked to be fucked by him with the full moon illuminating our bodies, I shook my head, apologized, and excused myself, “I’m exhausted.” Then, I turned and thanked his father and Caron for a lovely evening and a wonderful visit. They both kissed and hugged me. His father gave me back the books, telling me to keep special care of them. I nodded, promising I would, before I made my way to the stairs.

  “Avril,” I heard him behind me. “Last chance to have the moonlight as your spotlight—it’s full tonight.”

  I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t bear to look at his beautiful face—one glimpse and I would’ve caved. “Another time, Émile,” I said, knowing that, sadly, there would never be another time. Then, I continued up to my lonely guest room, “Goodnight.” I knew he would not come after me, he wouldn’t dare come near my bed. I knew I would be safe in my bed until morning.

  Waking the next morning, I wished that I had escaped into the night. The thought of driving for hours next to Émile wasn’t a pleasant one. So close and not touching had always made me ache. Knowing that I would never see him again made me almost physically ill. I was relieved we were, once again, beginning our travel under darkness. Saying goodbye to his father and Caron last night was hard enough; I didn’t wish to repeat it.

  Ready to go, the ca
r packed with our belongings, seat-belted in, we took to the highway. “I thought we would stop along the way for breakfast. There’s an incredible little place, so delicious. It caters to American’s big style morning feasts: eggs, bacon, pancakes…”

  “If you don’t mind,” I cut him off without looking at him. “Let’s just grab coffee and pastry, and keep going.”

  “We can do that, too,” his voice was flat.

  “Great, I’m a bit tired.” I leaned my head against the window, closing my eyes. “Wake me when you stop.” My distancing method training: Phase One.

  I was not certain how long we had been traveling, but the sun was up, and we were parked outside a coffee place. He hadn’t bother to wake me or he couldn’t wake me; I really was exhausted. I had tossed and turned most of the night thinking of the beautiful man heading my way with two coffees and a pale pink bag. My heart skipped a beat as he smiled, wishing me a good morning.

  Back on our merry way, we chatted a bit, listened to music. It wasn’t a bad drive, but it was strained. It was my fault. He seemed confused, as if wondering what he had done wrong, had he said something, done something.

  Maybe he wasn’t baffled, maybe it was just me.

  Maybe he was too tired to say much.

  Maybe he had nothing left to say to me.

  I had no real idea, but heading in the direction of Paris was far different than our journey to the French countryside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Émile

  Our trip home from the country was not as agreeable as our trip down to the South of France. I had hoped to make our trip a leisure one. I wasn’t looking forward to going back to separate residences; I liked having her close to me. I didn’t want her—that’s not true—I really did want her in my bed, but that last step, I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready for that with any woman. But, I was up for spending as much time as possible while she remained in Paris.