Going Down

by Saskia Walker

  Going Down

  Saskia Walker

  www.spice-books.co.uk

  He was a confident man, subtly commanding, too. Would he be like that as a lover? Yes, I just knew he’d be masterful.

  Jennifer hoped she’d meet someone during her six-month stay in Paris, but she didn’t expect to find a captivating man like her neighbor Armand Lazare on her very first day. From their initial encounter in their building’s antique elevator, he makes her feel wanton, excited and unexpectedly aroused by the way he takes control. But as much as this new desire unnerves Jennifer, she’s even more eager to explore it—with Armand as her master….

  Contents

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  “Just as well I like a good challenge,” I murmured to myself as I assessed the antique elevator shaft in my new abode. The ostentatious wrought-iron affair was the most complicated contraption I’d ever seen.

  When I’d arrived at the apartment block the evening before I’d used the stairs, allowing the concierge to take my luggage in the elevator. I wanted to get my bearings, and as I climbed the stairs to the fourth floor I took in the elegance of the beautiful building, a nineteenth century block in the 15th Arrondissement of Paris. I’d been allocated a small apartment there for my six-month stint working in the city.

  The elevator ran up the center of the building. The much more solid looking marble staircase wound around it, and I’d peered in at the elevator shaft as I worked my way up to the fourth floor. Although daunting, it was a beautiful thing, all black metal and designed in the Art Nouveau style. The frenzy of decorative metalwork did not distract me from the fact that the floor appeared to be scarcely more than a metal grid and one could see the cables and the whole shaft from inside and out.

  This morning I had my smartest outfit and heels on and I figured I’d better try it out. The question was how to operate it. I leaned in to the metal gates and peered down the shaft. The elevator was stationery, two floors below.

  “Going down?”

  I jolted upright, startled to find I was no longer alone.

  Turning on my heels I faced the man who had spoken.

  I don’t know what surprised me the most, that he had approached me without me realizing, or that he knew I was English and had spoken to me in my own language. He was obviously French.

  French and gorgeous.

  Dressed entirely in black—open-neck shirt and jeans, with a tailored leather jacket—he observed me with blue eyes that contrasted starkly with his swarthy skin. His black hair was cropped close, the square line of his jaw, angled cheekbones and strong forehead giving him a distinctive look. Even though I wore my highest heels, he towered over me. He had to be a neighbor. Perhaps he’d been on his way down the stairs when he’d caught sight of me. I straightened my skirt, aware that I’d probably just given him an eyeful as I peered down the shaft.

  He gestured at the elevator gates. “It bothers you, the cage?”

  The cage. What an intriguing moniker, and so appropriate. “Not at all,” I fibbed. “I think it’s beautiful, I just wasn’t quite sure how to operate it.”

  “Allow me to demonstrate.”

  He rested his hand against my back briefly, encouraging me. The momentary contact made me sizzle. He pressed the call button. It was round, ivory and encased in gleaming brass. The elevator cable tightened with a loud creak then the mechanism whirred into action and the cage loomed up from below.

  “Some of the tenants in this building won’t use it, but it is quite safe and an object of some beauty.” The seductive allure in his voice had my attention well and truly hooked.

  “Absolutely, it’s a work of art in itself.”

  There was an approving expression in his eyes.

  Once the elevator shunted into position, he unlatched the gates, internal and external, and rolled them apart. I stepped into the cage, as he called it, and he closed the gates behind us. The shunting of metal and wheels, and the resolute sound of the internal latch did make it feel cagelike, and yet light shone through here and there beneath our feet. He pressed the button for the ground floor and the elevator jolted into action. Adrenaline pumped through my veins and I staggered slightly on my heels.

  My companion turned to face me and his mouth moved in sensual appreciation as his gaze made a slow circuit of my body. I felt stripped to the bone. I’d never felt such intense scrutiny. It wasn’t staring exactly. It was as if he could gain the measure of me by looking at me that way. He stood with one hand around a decorative metal coil, the other rested on his hip. His posture was so self-assured, appearing languid but as if he could pounce at any moment. What was more unnerving, the way he made me feel, or the fact I could see the elevator shaft between the metal fretwork beneath my feet? As we descended I felt as if I was on a dangerous precipice, in every way.

  When his gaze returned to meet mine, his mouth lifted at the corners. Had I met with his approval? Moving my laptop case from one hand to the other, I tried not to feel quite so self-aware. It was hard not to, and my outfit—which had seemed businesslike and professional—now seemed far too tight-fitting and alluring. It was the way he admired the curve of my body at breast and hips that made me feel that way. Almost as if I’d been touched. What would it be like, I wondered, to really be touched by him? The man exuded sex appeal. Get a grip, I told myself, embarrassed. I’d only been with the man a few seconds, and now my face was growing hot and I was in danger of making a fool of myself. The liberation of being in a strange, exciting city, perhaps. Or maybe it was all down to my companion.

  “Is it the original elevator?” I asked, in an effort to break the tension I felt building inside me.

  “Yes, it was built in 1899. Apparently it was almost ripped out in the 1970s. There was talk of replacing it with a modern box, but luckily it did not go ahead. It would have been a tragedy to lose it.”

  A man who appreciated the fine things in life. I wondered what else there was to discover about my charming neighbor. Despite the fact I worked with diplomats and government officials, it was rare that I met someone quite so intriguing.

  When the elevator came to a halt on the ground floor, he put his hand on the latch but paused. He was close to me, dangerously close. I could smell his cologne, sharp and musky, and it invaded my senses, making me ache for contact.

  “You live underneath me,” he stated.

  Underneath him. Why did that made me think of sex? Because he was so damn sexy.

  “If I play my music too loud,” he continued, “you must please inform me.” He opened the gates.

  I recalled hearing the faint strains of classical music the night before as I fell asleep, but it hadn’t bothered me—quite the contrary. So, it had come from his apartment. “I liked what I heard last night,” I responded as I stepped out into the reception area.

  “I’m glad to hear it. I’m a producer. I work in a studio in the daytime but sometimes I bring samples home to listen to in a different environment.” He closed the gates securely behind us. “The gates must be closed properly, or it will not be able to collect anyone else who calls it.”

  We walked across the checkerboard-tiled hallway together, heading for the glass entrance doors.

  “So, will you choose to enter La Cage again?”

  A smile hovered around his handsome mouth, and his eyes glinted. That sounded like a loaded question. He knew how it came across, I was sure of it. Anticipation built at my center, my blood rushing in my veins. “Oh, yes, I enjoyed the ride immensely. Thank you.”

  I met his gaze, my smile lingering. I wanted him to know I was interested. I was single and in Paris, of course I’d thought about the possibility of meeting new people. Mostly I thought the opportunity would come my way through my job.

  As we left th
e building the concierge saluted us from his reception post, a polished oak and glass office at one side of the hallway.

  “May I offer you a drive to your workplace?” My companion nodded at a sleek black Mercedes parked on the opposite side of the street.

  “Thank you, but a colleague is meeting me at the Metro station.” Would I have accepted if I’d been able to? Of course I would. Looking up into his sharp blue eyes I wondered what that sensuous mouth would feel like covering mine, and I couldn’t deny it.

  “Au revoir, Jennifer.”

  My breath caught. Warning signals sounded in my mind. “How did you know my name?”

  “I am your landlord, as well as your neighbor.” He offered his hand. “Armand Lazare.”

  The strength of his handshake made me feel as if it was holding me up. Or maybe it was because my legs turned weak under me when he touched me. Then he took my hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it. When he released me, I had to reach out for the marble pillar at the bottom of the steps to steady myself. My stay in Paris had launched in the most delectable way.

  “Au revoir,” I whispered as I watched him dart across the road toward his car. I couldn’t help admiring the view. His tall frame was limber and fit, broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hips. Gathering myself as quickly as I could, I headed off towards the Metro station before he could look back and see my gawking..

  The encounter kept flitting through my mind over the course of that day, my moments in La Cage with my upstairs neighbor haunting me in the most intimate way—keeping me simmering and alert.

  That night as I lay in my bed listening to the faint strains of his music, I stroked my body to a delicious peak as I thought about him. The underlying rock beat to the classical score seemed to get under my skin, fueling my lascivious thoughts. I saw myself in the cage, back to the metal struts, with his hands on me. Going down? The way he’d said that made me picture myself on my knees in La Cage, my hands on his belt, opening it while he stared at me with those intense eyes. When he’d spoken to me, before he let me free from the cage, he’d been so close I could smell his cologne. I wanted him closer still. I stared up at the ceiling, imagining him over me in a different way, naked and eager and thrusting.

  In time to the music, I ran my fingers back and forth over my swollen clit, following the rhythm of the music, letting my fantasies run wild, letting Armand Lazare fill my senses until I found my release.

  The following morning Armand ran down the steps as I locked my door.

  “Good morning, Jennie.”

  “Bonjour, Armand.” Was it obvious that I was grinning because we had coincided again? I didn’t care.

  He gestured at the elevator. “Shall we?”

  As he latched the doors closed and turned to face me I took a deep breath and savored the feeling of being alone with him in that confined space. Although he did not move, he seemed always to be prowling. It was his nature, I realized.

  We began our slow descent.

  “Are you enjoying your work at the embassy?”

  His question leveled me, momentarily. He knew what I did. The embassy probably had to tell him who was moving into the apartment they’d rented. I imagined what they might have said—single female, conference and events organizer. Was he single? I hadn’t seen him with anyone, but that didn’t prove a thing.

  “It’s going well, thank you. I’m settling in and finding my way around. Their elevator is not as beautiful as yours, though.”

  I wanted to talk about him, not me. Was I being obvious?

  “There aren’t many quite so beautiful.” He stroked one of the metal struts as he spoke, and the action did bad things to me, making the heat between my thighs build, fast.

  “I heard your music last night, while I was in bed. It was beautiful.”

  He inclined his head, accepting the compliment gracefully. Humor lit his eyes. I felt as if he knew what I’d done while listening to that music. Why did I think that? Because I wanted him to know? Something about the man made me feel decadent and wanton. I wanted the space between us to disappear and for him to touch me.

  “Do you live alone?” I asked.

  “Yes.” No hesitation.

  I nodded. His gaze held mine. We were circling each other, the mutual interest overtly reciprocated. When the elevator jolted to halt I gasped aloud. I’d been taken unawares, my attention fixed on him as it was. He stepped over to me and steadied me with one hand beneath my elbow.

  “Thank you,” I whispered breathlessly.

  There was some kind of commotion in the reception, a delivery.

  “May I offer you a drive?” he asked, before he even broke contact with me.

  Once again I had to refuse. My colleague was determined to guide me through the Metro for the rest of that week.

  By Monday, however, I wanted to be able to say yes.

  The following day was Friday, and as I left my apartment I figured I could ask Armand what I should do during my first weekend of free time in Paris.

  Alas, there was no sign of him. I waited by my door, lingering while I put my keys into my shoulder bag. He did not appear. I checked my watch. It was a quarter to eight, exactly the same time I had left my apartment on the previous days.

  I hovered expectantly by the elevator but he still didn’t appear. Then I noticed that the elevator was there on my floor, as if it had been left there specifically for me. I shook the odd notion off and flicked the latch up, heaving the metal gates open. It was about time I tried it out for myself. In the evenings I’d jogged up the stairs to shake off the workday, but I didn’t want to take on the stairs now.

  The gates were heavier than I’d expected but once they got going the oiled wheels sped them on. Of course Armand was so much stronger than I, he made it look easy. As I locked the internal gate I realized I’d also missed the chance to ask his advice about my free time. Perhaps he’d gone away for the weekend. The thought made me realize just how much I’d enjoyed meeting him. It was such a good start to the day, being confined in La Cage with my sexy landlord.

  As the elevator made its slow descent I felt almost forlorn, not having seen him. Silly, really, but I couldn’t help it. He was such a thrilling man to be around. Why was that? I wondered. His sexual magnetism, yes, but there was something else. As I stood in the metal cage, alone, it occurred to me that it was his air of utter self-control. He was a confident man, subtly commanding, too.

  A shiver ran through me; a shiver of arousal. Would he be like that as a lover?

  Yes, I just knew it. He’d be masterful.

  I reached for a metal strut and held on, my senses running amok, my body stimulated by wild thoughts alone. I glanced at the staircase as the elevator passed through its spiral, imagining him walking down the steps, looking in at me as he did so. Even though he wasn’t there, his presence haunted me.

  When I retuned to the apartments that evening I noticed that Armand’s Mercedes was parked opposite, and the window was wound down. As I got closer my breath caught, because I saw his reflection in the wing mirror. He climbed out of the car, tossing a pair of sunglasses onto the seat before closing the door.

  As I glanced his way he smiled and waved, then stepped across the road, joining me as I arrived at the steps up to the apartments. Had he been waiting, hoping to catch me? If it was a coincidence, it was uncanny.

  “Good evening, fourth floor neighbor,” he said.

  “Good evening, fifth floor neighbor.”

  While we walked across the black-and-white checkered hall, side by side, it occurred to me that this was so much better than having seen him this morning, and I could ask him about the weekend after all.

  “Shall we climb into La Cage together?”

  Was it just his delicious French accent that made that sound so damned sexy, or did he mean it to sound like an overture to something entirely different than riding in the elevator with him? The suggestive undertow in his statements kept me on edge whenever we spent those preciou
s few minutes together.

  I nodded. “Although I’ll have you know I managed it alone.”

  He paused before he closed the gates. “You in the cage, alone. How beautiful you must have looked, like an exotic bird.” His eyes burned with his intensity. “I’m sorry I did not catch sight of you.”

  I could only stare at him, startled as I was by his comment. He really did think of this as a beautiful cage, and I was in it. The slow metal clanking sound as he hauled the gates together seemed to catch my very nerve endings, stringing them out with tension.

  He took his time, controlling the complicated contraption, as ever. When the doors were secured he put his hand to the fifth floor button and pressed it. Then he rested back against the metal struts and folded his arms loosely across his chest. He looked at me, watchful as ever, if not more so.

  He hadn’t pressed the button for the fourth floor, my floor. Had he forgotten, or had he left me to do it on purpose, so that I’d have to reach over to his side of the space? He didn’t seem the sort of person to forget, but maybe he had something else on his mind? My heart raced.

  The cable mechanism whirred and after the longest moment, jolted into action. The elevator began its slow ascent. Still he didn’t press the button. The only one lit up was for his floor. If he’d just forgotten, I’d look a twit when we shot past my floor.

  The tension escalated.

  “Oh,” I said, as if I’d just remembered. I reached over, but before I could press the button his hand covered it, stopping me.

  “I thought you might like to come up to my apartment, share a bottle of wine and listen to some of the music you liked.” He kept his hand over the button. The look in his eyes was so suggestive that there was no mistaking his intention. This wasn’t just a casual neighborly invite.

  So much for asking for his advice about what to do with my spare time. He’d derailed me, but onto a much faster track. My hand dropped to my side. I nodded. “I’d like that.”