by HELEN HARDT
“Drink, Lorraine.”
Lorraine. He knew her name. The name she loathed. But in his sexy French accent it sounded beautiful and exotic. Lor-Renne.
Heat spread through Raine. She should be frightened—indeed, she was—but the lure of a crisp drink of water proved too tempting to resist. Her body craved hydration. Eagerly, she sucked the liquid into her mouth. And promptly spit it out, staining her moonstone silk shell with a splatter of purple.
“That’s wine!”
“Oui, it is wine, of course. What else would it be?”
“Water. You know. Eau? I was expecting water.”
“I am sorry.” A soft chuckle rumbled in his throat.
“What’s so funny?” The words sputtered from Raine’s lips. “And who are you, anyway?”
“I am Blaise,” he said. “Blaise Dartagnan.”
Raine closed her eyes. What a poetic sounding name. Blez Dartanyan. “Dartagnan. Like in The Three Musketeers?”
“Oui. Yes. Something like that.”
Raine struggled to clear her vision. If he was as handsome as his voice suggested, she definitely wanted a better look. She widened her eyes and scanned his face. “Oh, God.” Her heart thudded against her sternum.
He sat across from her on a black lacquer coffee table. A few days’ worth of golden stubble dusted his chiseled jaw line, and his long nose turned up just a touch at the tip, which, for some reason foreign to Raine, was incredibly sexy. High cheekbones, full lips, an adorable dimple in his chin. And eyes. Deep set and slightly slanted, they sparkled like lapis lazuli fringed with a nutmeg curtain of lashes. But as spectacular as his eyes were, they paled in comparison to the flowing mane of gold that fell over his broad shoulders. She wanted to touch it, let it slide between her fingers like strands of silk. But that would be insane. He was a stranger. He had cared for her, taken her from the tower when she couldn’t help herself, but still, he was a stranger.
“What is it?” He searched her face. “Are you all right?”
“Huh?” Damn, his hair was beautiful.
“You said, ‘Oh, God.’ Is something the matter?”
Uh, yeah. I said “Oh, God” because you’re the most amazing creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. “I just…” Raine cleared her throat. “Water. Please.”
“Yes. Of course. I should have thought. You’re American. You don’t want wine.”
“I’ve nothing against wine. But right now, I need water.”
Blaise rose from his seat on the coffee table and strode out of the room. His firm ass encased in jeans drew Raine’s gaze. Every part of him was good looking. And…familiar? Where had she seen him before? The elevator? But she didn’t remember his face from the elevator…
A moment later, he returned with a glass of water. “Here you are, Lorraine.”
She winced. “Call me Raine. Everyone does. I hate the name Lorraine.”
“Pourquoi? It is beautiful. Beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Beautiful? He thought she was beautiful? Sitting here with clammy skin, her walnut hair in disarray around her stained blouse? No, he didn’t think she was beautiful. He was just using the French charm she’d heard so much about.
“It’s an old lady’s name. I hate it.” She took a long sip of the water he handed her. Ah, nectar. “How do you know my name anyway?”
“I look at your passport.”
She stiffened. “You went through my purse?”
“You fainted on me. I had to take care of you. Know who you are.”
Raine took another sip of water. “Just exactly what happened? What do you mean I fainted on you?”
“In the elevator.” He sat on the coffee table again, facing her. “When the doors opened, you fall backward. Onto me.”
“Oh, God,” Raine said again. Her cheeks warmed with what she knew was a deep crimson. He was the hard thing she had fallen onto? She shook her head, and blurry images appeared in her memory. Of him holding her. Telling her he’d take care of her. She sighed and stared at him.
Every muscle group was visible through his tight sky blue T-shirt. Kind of a feminine color, but on him, it worked. She must have been in complete panic not to notice him in the elevator.
“What happened to you? Are you malade? Ill?”
“Yes.” She let out a soft scoff. Totally embarrassing, but what the heck? She had already fainted on the guy. “Ill. In the head. I’m afraid of heights.”
“Oh. Is that all?” Blaise chuckled.
“What is that supposed to mean?” And why do you sound so damn sexy when you laugh at my expense? “It’s called acrophobia, and it’s a very serious condition.”
“Why did you go up the tower if you are afraid?”
“I was trying to conquer my fear. Obviously, I wasn’t successful.”
He smiled. Damn, he was gorgeous.
“How did you come to France? By boat?”
“Of course not. I flew.”
He laughed again. “But you are afraid of heights?”
“It’s not the same thing.” Raine rolled her eyes. She had grown tired of explaining this idiosyncrasy over the years. “In a plane, I’m enclosed. And I always get an aisle seat so I don’t have to look out the window.”
“Of course.” He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “You are mignonne. Cute.”
Cute? Forty-three year old women weren’t cute. She opened her mouth to say so, but then closed it. Why advertise her age? Of course, he had seen her passport. He already knew her age.
Raine took a deep breath. Blaise couldn’t be a day over thirty, and he thought she was cute? Beautiful even? Just the French charm, she reminded herself. He was the cute one. Strike that. The incredibly gorgeous ‘oh my God, I’m considering becoming a cougar’ one. She imagined those full lips covering hers, tasting her, as she tunneled her fingers through his mass of waves.
A rush of heat scalded her body, settling between her legs. It had been too long since she’d had sex. Since her divorce five years ago, boyfriends had been scarce. She had purposefully concentrated on her writing career, deciding that love was more trouble than it was worth. As for sex? Well, she and her vibrator—along with a few discreetly purchased porn DVDs—had become best friends.
Raine’s heart lurched and her mouth dropped open as she let out a soft gasp.
Porn. That’s where she had seen Blaise.
Only his name wasn’t Blaise. It was Jacques Le Grand. Grand. The French word for big.
Oh, yeah. Blaise’s hair was longer than Jacques’s, but it was definitely him. She’d recognize him anywhere. Most male porn stars weren’t much to look at, in her opinion, which was why she had noticed Jacques Le Grand. He was beautiful.
“Lorraine?” The muscles in Blaise’s face tightened. “What is wrong?”
Raine stared at his concerned gaze. Exactly how did one bring up the subject? Thank you for taking care of me. And by the way, I’m a big fan of your work. She settled for, “I think I’ll take that wine now.”
“Of course.” He rose and walked back into what she assumed was his kitchen. Raine’s pulse raced. She had to get out of here. He was a porn star, for God’s sake! She stood, her head still a little fuzzy, and looked around for her shoes and purse.
Blaise hurried toward her with two glasses of wine. “Lorraine. You should not be up. Sit. Please.”
She relented, plunking back down on the sofa.
He sat next to her and handed her a glass of wine. “This is Beaujolais-Villages. It is light and fruity. I think you will like it.”
“Sure. Thank you. Er, merci.” At this point, she didn’t much care if it tasted like motor oil. She wanted something to calm her nerves. She took a sip. Crispy, grapey, and non-complex, the liquid danced across her tongue. Perfect. “So, Blaise”—she cleared her throat—“how do you speak English so well?”
“I lived in L.A. for two years.”
“Oh.” Of course. That’s where the porn industry flourished.
“Yes.
But I return to France three years ago.”
“Why?” “I hoped to get into acting in Hollywood, but my big break never came, so I come home.”
Yeah, well, the big studios frown on porn. “What do you do now?”
“I am a model.”
No surprise there. “I see.” She took another sip of wine. Delicious.
“And what do you do, belle Lorraine?”
Belle. Beautiful. He didn’t really think she was beautiful, did he? “I-I’m a writer. Freelance.”
“What do you write?”
“Short stories, mostly. Some non-fiction pieces.”
Blaise set his wine glass on the coffee table and picked up her left hand. She tried to hide the shiver his touch produced. “You do not wear a wedding ring.”
“No. I’m divorced. You?”
“Never married.”
Why did that response send a chill through her? She wasn’t interested in a porn star. She sipped her Beaujolais, relishing its softness on her tongue. He continued to hold her hand, lightly rubbing her palm with his thumb. She tried not to think about how good that thumb would feel circling her hard nipples.
“Lorraine.”
“Hmm?”
“May I tell you something? Honestly?”
“Sure. Go ahead.” Her skin prickled. He was about to tell her who he really was. She knew it.
Still holding her hand, he reached the other toward her face and lightly caressed her cheek. Tingles shot from her head to her toes.
“I find you very beautiful.”
Raine widened her eyes. Not exactly what she had expected. He was a porn star. He had fucked beautiful women nonstop. What the hell did he see in her?
“I want to kiss you,” he continued, moving his face closer to hers. His full lips curved into a grin. “And then I want to lick your pussy.”
Her wine glass tumbled from her grasp, splashing burgundy liquid over his shirt. She jerked her other hand out of his and glued it to her lips. “Oh my God,” she said through her fingers. “I’m so sorry!”
He chuckled, the soft rumble vibrating from his throat. “It’s okay. Sometimes I speak too frankly.” He lifted his T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the coffee table.
Raine gasped, her heart pounding. His torso was beautifully formed—solid pecs, ripped abs, beautiful brick red nipples. And chest hair. Soft sprinkles of dark blond chest hair.
But Jacques Le Grand didn’t have chest hair! Raine ought to know. She had watched his scenes often enough. A glow of relief surged through her. Blaise wasn’t Jacques Le Grand! How could she have thought it? Blaise’s hair was much longer and thicker, and he was more muscular and much more handsome. On impulse, she lunged toward him and plastered her mouth to his.
* * *
Blaise’s body tightened. Her lips were as delicious as he thought they’d be. He’d wanted to kiss her since she first fell onto him in the elevator, her lush dark hair cascading down his chest and arms. He’d impetuously decided to bring her here, to his place. It wasn’t far from the Eiffel Tower and for some reason unknown to him, he’d wanted to care for her.
She kissed him like a sédutrice, opening her mouth and swirling her tongue around his. She nipped his lips with a hunger that was both innocent and passionate. The fire she ignited in him traveled straight to his groin, reminding him how long he’d gone without a woman. Nearly two years now.
Not that he hadn’t had the chance. He was a model. Women constantly came on to him. But he hadn’t been interested. Until now.
Lorraine was older than he, more mature, but he didn’t care. He wanted her. She was beautiful, yes. And cute. So adorable to be afraid of heights. But he’d known his share of stunning women. What was it about her?
Sighing into her welcoming mouth, he deepened the kiss, tangling his tongue with hers. Enjoying the soft moans from her throat. She tasted like the Beaujolais, with a touch of honeyed sweetness. He groaned. His cock throbbed inside his jeans, aching for release.
But no. He wanted to go slowly. To savor her. Summoning all his willpower, he broke the kiss, trailing his lips over her cheek to her ear. He pressed a moist kiss to the silky skin below her lobe.
“You’re so beautiful, chérie. So hot.”
“Mmm.” Her voice had lowered, and her breath feathered against his cheek.
“I knew it would be paradise to kiss you.” He traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. “You are delicious.”
She sighed. “You are, too.”
“I meant what I said.” His body shuddered at her nearness. “I want to kiss you. Lick you.”
“Mmm. Okay.”
“I want to fuck you, chérie. Until you cannot walk.”
Her body stiffened against his. He pulled away—it was torture—and touched her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes were orbs of bronze, with the longest black lashes he had ever seen. He could gaze into them forever. “Chérie?”
“I’m sorry. You just…speak very bluntly.”
“Bluntly?” Blaise didn’t know the word. Two years in L.A. and he still stumbled sometimes.
“You know. Like you said before. Frankly.” “Ah, yes. I suppose I do.” He continued to caress her cheek. It was soft as suede under his calloused thumb. “When it is something I want, I do not hold back.”
“But…why do you want me?”
He smiled. “Why would I not?” He sifted the fingers of his other hand through her long, dark hair, letting its satiny texture stroke his skin.
“H-How old are you anyway?”
Her voice shook. Just a little, but he noticed it.
“I am twenty-nine.”
“Good Lord.” She tried to pull away.
He grasped her cheek in his palm. “What is it, chérie?”
“I’m old enough to be your…very young mother.”
He laughed. “I know how old you are. I see your passport, remember?”
“Yes, I know. I just don’t understand…”
“Why I want you?”
“Yeah.”
“You are beautiful, chérie. And cute.” He smiled at the obstinate look the word “cute” produced and shook his head. “But that is not why I want you.”
“Then why?”
“Honestly, I do not know.” He didn’t. He hadn’t a clue. But he wanted her with an urgency, a raw need, he hadn’t felt in years. “I just know that, when you fall…er, fell into me, I knew I wanted to fuck you.”
She stiffened under his touch. Again.
“More ‘bluntly’?” he said.
“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s been a long time for me, and I’m not used to some young stud saying he wants to fuck my brains out.”
“I did not say I would fuck your brains out.” The soft flesh of her cheek was like silk under his fingers.
“But you will, won’t you?”
“Oh yes, chérie. I will. It has been a long time for me, also.”
“How is that possible? Have you seen you?”
Blaise shook his head. “Have you seen you?”
“Yes. Which is precisely why—”
He brushed his lips lightly over hers. “Shh, Lorraine. Let me tell you what I see. I see the face of an angel. Full red lips that kiss me like no other. Satiny brown hair falling over mountainous breasts. I want to feel it sweep across my naked chest. Bronze eyes that singe my soul. And your body…” He reached out and cupped one firm, full breast in his hand and squeezed. He smiled at her gasp. “Dieu, I have wanted to do that since you fell into my arms. You are as soft as I imagined. I want to kiss you all over. Lick your nipples. Your pussy. Shove my cock into your heat, chérie.”
“Oh my…”
“I know. Bluntly again.” He cupped her pretty face in both his hands. His heart dropped to his stomach.
Fear. Such a long time since he’d felt such uncertainty. Would she reject him? He resolved to face his turmoil. His need was that great. “Lorraine, will you be with me?”
Blaise wasn’t sure what he’d do if she s
aid no.
* * *
Raine stared into the ocean of Blaise’s eyes and saw her own longing reflected there. He did want her. This beautiful stud of a man wanted to keese her, suck her poosy. God, his accent was sexy.
Her. Middle-aged Lorraine Frye. Afraid of heights. Hadn’t had sex in years. Why on earth did he want her? She still wasn’t sure. But she no longer cared.
“Yes.” She breathed, inhaling his spicy scent. “I’ll be with you.”
“Grâce à Dieu.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her out of the living area, into a bedroom, and laid her gently on a soft comforter.
“Your room?”
“Oui. I mean yes.”
“Do you bring a lot of women here?”
“Not as many as you think.”
He pulled her blouse out from the waistband of her navy capri pants, his fingers sending sparks over her skin as they skimmed her bare belly.
He tugged on her belly ring. “Sexy, Lorraine.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t know if it says ‘sexy,’ as much as it says ‘drunk on my fortieth birthday.’”
He laughed, a deep rumble. “Trust me. It is sexy.” He pulled the shell over her head and tossed it aside. “I’ll wash the stain out for you later.”
He was going to wash her blouse?
He cupped her breasts through her lacy bra, circling her nipples with his thumbs. “Si belle, chérie.” So beautiful. He lowered his head and caught a nipple in his mouth through the fabric.
She gasped as a blaze ribboned to her core. He glided one hand to her back, deftly unhooked her bra, and dropped it to the floor. Raine’s full breasts fell gently against her chest.
“Dieu,” Blaise said, raking his gaze over her, melting her flesh with its intensity. “Creamy white with nipples like the Beaujolais.” He touched them lightly and then gathered them in his hands, thumbing her nipples. “So pretty, Lorraine. You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen.”
She sighed. Her boobs were nice. Even her ex had liked them, and he’d liked little else about her. But no one had ever paid them such homage as Blaise. His gaze never wandered as he explored every inch of them, his fingers leaving a trail of currents everywhere they went. He touched them with an intense passion that was so pure, she wanted to swoon and scream at the same time. Swoon, because his touch felt so wonderful and his pleasure at touching her made her giddy with desire. Scream, because what she really wanted was his mouth. But clearly, Blaise wasn’t about to be rushed. He spent several more minutes caressing her breasts, murmuring in half English, half French how beautiful they were, how hot she made him, how hard he was for her.
