When in Paris... (Language of Love)

by Beverley Kendall

  “Hey, look, I gotta run. Have a great time on your break and I’ll talk to you later.” I end the call before she can say anything. I depress the off key to power down then I shove my cell back in my pocket. The last thing I want is for the damn thing to be going off all day.

  I’m surprised how happy I am to see Olivia, how good she looks. But then she always looks good, so that’s nothing new. Rebecca’s not half bad either.

  We meet in the middle of the lobby and my natural inclination is to kiss her but despite the make-out session last night, our relationship isn’t that. Hell if I know what’s permissible and what’s not. I guess I’ll play it by ear.

  “Hey,” she says and I can tell she’s a bit nervous by the way she can’t quite hold my gaze. She rubs her hands along the sides of her jeans. Yeah, definitely nervous.

  “Hey, Zach.”

  The minute I saw Rebecca, I’d pegged her for a talker. You know, the kind of girl who always has something smart to say. I learned pretty quickly how right I was. But I like her because she’s down to earth and doesn’t take herself too seriously.

  “Rebecca.” I give her a friendly nod before directing my attention back to Olivia. Again the desire to kiss her washes over me and then I’m wondering how long it will be before I can get her alone. We have an afternoon tour to the Arc de Triomphe and then we’re free for the night.

  Bill suggested we all hang out to eat when all I was thinking was how do I get Olivia to ditch Rebecca so we can go out on our own. I even hinted to Bill that he and Rebecca should hook up. He hadn’t exactly said no but he hadn’t been all fired up about it.

  As we all head to the restaurant, I glance over at Olivia and she does the same to me, a faint smile hovering on her pink lips. I remember her scent, the softness of her skin, how she shivered when my tongue traced the place on her neck right above her collarbone and how she tasted when I kissed her. And then I think of all the places on her I have yet to explore and discover. Yep, I’m definitely going to have to find a way to get her alone.

  ***

  OLIVIA

  It’s the weirdest thing when you feel like you’re dating a guy but nothing has actually been said that would support that feeling. It’s not like Zach officially has ever asked me out, but today it definitely feels like we’re a couple.

  This morning he insisted on paying for breakfast. The only reason I finally relented was because he paid for both mine and Rebecca’s, who told me I needed to chill out and relax if a guy wanted to do something nice for me. Plus, she liked the side benefits she was getting.

  Which got me thinking, maybe I’m not normal. Jeff hadn’t been a cheap boyfriend, but he’d never been that free with his money and his parents are rich, as in five-acre estate, housekeeper and the works. Those material things hadn’t impressed me, although going to his house and meeting his parents had been intimidating.

  Zach is… It’s hard to put into words, but Zach is amazing. Completely attentive to me all day, he opened doors and would use any excuse to touch me, like constantly placing his hand on the small of my back. No big surprise, I love being touched by Zach.

  As a Catholic who now only attends church services on major religious holidays, I thoroughly enjoyed our visit to Notre Dame and thought if this was my church, I’d probably attend services more often. Mademoiselle Dubois gave the tour predominantly in French but aware not a single person in the class possessed fluency in the language, English had been liberally sprinkled in.

  What I love most about this area in Paris are the cobbled stone walkways, which reminds me of South Street Seaport in New York. It adds to the old-world picturesque ambiance of the city.

  By the time we’re done for the day, my feet are aching and I truly understand why Paris is considered the City of Love.

  The group disperses in the lobby with mademoiselle Dubois telling us we’ll meet there tomorrow at nine for the trip to Le Louvre.

  “Hey, if you want to—er—hang out with smokin’ hot over there,” Rebecca gestures to where Zach is talking to Bill and Mike, “I’ll be happy to make myself scarce.”

  Yes yes yes yes, is what I’m thinking but something more judicious comes out of my mouth. “What, like we can’t hang out with you there?” I ask, deliberately being obtuse.

  Rebecca cocks a brow as if to say, Come ooonnn, who do you think you’re bullshitting? “In my vernacular, hang out can mean many things. In this case it means doing the horizontal tango.”

  My breath catches on a sharp inhalation as I glance swiftly around to make sure her remark hadn’t been overheard. “Would you keep your voice down?” I whisper in the same low voice I wish she’d use.

  Rebecca’s eyes widen. “Are you serious? If you could’ve only seen you two today. Jessica and Emily are crazy jealous because you’ve bagged Zach. But as if they had a chance,” she mocks, rolling her eyes.

  “But seriously, Allison and Dawn invited me out for dinner. I don’t want you to feel like you have to drag me along when I know damn well you’d rather be enjoying the kind of entertainment where three’s a crowd.”

  “Okay.” She’s my friend and I can be honest with her. April would certainly understand. Actually, April would be doing everything in her power to make sure getting alone time with Zach was the least of my problems. She has this unshakeable notion that we should be together as in meant to be.

  Judging by the way Rebecca’s brows jump, it’s obvious she expected me to put up more of a fight. Instantly, her eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Well, apparently this lady is not protesting at all.”

  I give a small shrug. “What’s the point? Anyway, I’m young and in Paris. These years are supposed to be some of the best in my life.”

  Uncharacteristically, Rebecca sobers. “Just be careful. Zach’s hot and everything but—” With the dismissive shake of her head, she breaks off. “All I’m saying is just be careful not to fall too hard.”

  Fall too hard? What exactly does she mean by that? “Is there something you’re not telling me?” I ask, my worry nerve properly chafed.

  A swirl of dark-brown hair riffles over her shoulders as she shakes her head again. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I’m touched by her concern. “We like each other.”

  She rolls her eyes as if she thinks I’m understating the matter.

  “Okay, a lot,” I amend. “Where it’s going to go, I’m not sure but in the meantime, I’m just going to enjoy it, capisce?” Now I’m channeling April, channeling Marlon Brando.

  Another eye roll. “We’re in Paris, you idiot. You should be saying comprends.”

  My attention is jerked from her when I see Zach approaching. Rebecca beats a hasty retreat. “Au revoir, and have a great time” thrown over her shoulder as she walks toward the elevator, her cell out and her hands already busy texting, no doubt making plans with Dawn and Allison for dinner.

  Zach stops in front of me and sidles a glance in Rebecca’s direction. “Did I chase her away?” He’s amused and doesn’t look too upset or overly concerned about her hasty departure.

  “No, she has other plans for dinner.”

  “Oh yeah?” He gives me a slow up and down that never fails to make me hot and deliciously bothered all over. “Does that mean I have you all to myself for the night?”

  My insides go from hot to a blazing fire that no amount of water can douse. “I guess. What did you want to do tonight?”

  I don’t realize how provocative my question is until I see Zach’s eyes darken and his lips compress as if he’s struggling to contain a smile…or dirty thoughts. Or both.

  “I meant what did you want to eat tonight?”

  Again, Zach looks like he’s struggling to contain himself and it takes me a second to realize how he’s interpreting my words.

  If it were any other guy, I would be totally put off but with Zach it has the complete opposite effect, little sparks of desire go off inside me like fireworks and I can’t help but laugh.

&n
bsp; “You have such a dirty mind.” More teasing than chastising, my tone is also flirtatious; something I never thought I was remotely good at.

  The smile that lifts the corners of his mouth is part amusement and wholly wicked. Placing his hand on the small of my back so his fingers skim the side of my waist, he bends his head and whispers in my ear, “How ’bout we go to dinner first and work on the other two things after?”

  I’m not even going to pretend to not understand what that means but I’m too bemused and embarrassed to respond. The meaning of life is vividly clear to me then. And by life I mean why so many girls do crazy things in the name of a guy. Yeah, the pull of attraction is strong, almost like a riptide that’ll drag you under before you even know you’re in danger. But there’s something else, a feeling of connection. Like he gets you and knows how you tick and that feeling is mutual.

  I clear my throat and try to control my own lascivious thoughts as to what’s going to happen after dinner. “So where do you wanna go?” My voice isn’t completely normal but it’s close enough.

  Zach names a restaurant right off des Champs-Elysees. I nod mutely. The truth is, I don’t care where we eat, being alone with Zach is the only thing I care about. We agree to meet after we go back to our rooms to freshen up. I need a shower and a new outfit.

  As we take the elevator to the ninth floor, I notice Zach keeps his hand on my waist and I like it there. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to be walking next to him, our bodies in sync, touching.

  He walks me to my door and just when I think he’s going to let me go with a simple, See you in a few, he pulls me tight against him and kisses me.

  The second his lips touch mine, my lips part and I’m lost. Completely and utterly lost. Unlike last night, when his lips seduced me by degrees, this time no seduction is needed. Lips, tongue, teeth make a mockery of my willpower and self-control.

  I feel drugged, incapable of doing anything but follow his lead, chase the sinewy dance of his tongue. He captures my bottom lip between his and my body becomes a flesh-and-blood ache of longing.

  His hand skims from just beneath my breast, down the curve of my waist to my hip before sliding behind to cup my butt. He gives a gentle squeeze and urges me closer.

  The distant ding of the elevator penetrates my haze of lust. I’m making out with Zach in front of my room where anyone could walk by and see us.

  I press my hands against his chest and push gently back, breaking the kiss. “Zach, someone could see us,” I pant.

  Still lost in the moment, Zach follows me backward, landing another deep, drugging kiss on my lips before sanity finds me again. “Zach.” This time although my voice is firmer, my hand on his chest isn’t any less shaky. Under my palm his heart is thundering in concert with mine.

  A couple seconds tick by before he lets out a long breath that stirs the wisps of hair feathering my forehead. “God, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and gritty. “It was supposed to be a quick kiss. Guess, I got carried away, huh?” The rueful half-smile he aims down at me causes my heart to skip a beat.

  “I guess we both did.”

  “See you in a half hour.”

  Another kiss, this one closed-mouthed with not even a hint of tongue and over so quickly it leaves me blinking, the imprint of him still on my lips. Then I’m watching him as he strides back to his room.

  Inhale. Exhale. I try to collect my composure as much as I can before I have to face Rebecca. Luckily she's busy getting ready. We only cross paths when she vacates the bathroom and I dash in. By the time I’m out, she’s sailing out the door with a cheery, “Have fun and be careful. If you can’t be careful, name her after me,” and then she’s gone, a titter of laughter trailing in her wake.

  “Very funny,” I mutter. But her parting words do have me seriously considering the one thing I didn’t think I’d have to think about…at least for this trip.

  Sex.

  No, not just sex. Sex with Zach.

  Just the thought of it has my body humming. I consider myself a normal girl with a normal sexual appetite—virgin that I am. But with Jeff things were…okay. I mean we used to make out a lot—at least in the beginning and I enjoyed it. And if I never felt the jolt of sensation I did when I would only look at Zach, that didn’t mean anything. These were the lies I used to tell myself.

  My reaction to him proves how deep the lies ran. Even when I didn’t like him, I wanted him. There’s always been something about him that drew me.

  Well on this trip, I’m going to enjoy myself and live in the moment. While I’m not planning on having sex with him, there’s still a lot of ground a baseball player has to cover before he rounds the final base to score the home run.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ZACH

  The last time I saw Olivia in a dress was at prom. I swear to God, I nearly tripped when I got my first glimpse of her. Ashley had not been impressed with the dress or my reaction to it.

  I think every straight guy at the hotel wished they were going home with her that night—me included. But that privilege had gone to her idiot boyfriend Jeff.

  Well Jeff is history and I’m the guy in Paris with Olivia, who’s looking gorgeous in a simple, blue, long-sleeved dress. I’d told her the restaurant wasn’t fancy but jeans and t-shirt wouldn’t be appropriate. She didn’t disappoint.

  I don’t kiss her because if I do, I know I won’t want to stop, so I just take her soft hand in mine.

  Conversation between us on the way to the restaurant in the cab is sporadic at best. I’m more than content to hold her hand, sitting close to her, breathing in the light scent of her perfume. I love the way she’s wearing her hair tonight. Big, bouncy curls frame her face and make me want to see her hair spread out all over my pillow.

  At the restaurant, we hand our coats to the maître d’. Thank God, our table for two is located near a window tucked away in the corner. This is the kind of seating Brett would get in a posh New York restaurant.

  “Zach,” Olivia says, looking around the place in awe. “I thought you said it wasn’t anything fancy?”

  “It isn’t,” I reply, following her gaze, trying to see the restaurant through her eyes. Large windows dominate two walls and on each white-linen-covered table are candles and a vase of assorted flowers. The chairs are pretty cushy and the tables are set a good distance apart from each other. No squeezing between chairs to move around comfortably. Not first-class dining but somewhere in between that and Olive Garden. Moderate is what my mom would call it. But hey, to me it’s perfect for the time, place and company. Especially the company.

  Watching me from across the table, Olivia says, “Well, this is fancy to me. Maggiano’s is fine Italian cuisine to my family.”

  Amused, I reply, “You mean it isn’t?”

  She smiles but doesn’t say a word. It isn’t until a waiter materializes at our table do I realize we’ve just spent the last, I don’t know how long, staring at each other. I start and a wash of pink suffuses her face at the interruption.

  The menu is in French but with mine and Olivia’s growing proficiency, we place our order without trouble. I don’t care if escargots is a delicacy here, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no way to dress up snail—in any language or country—because snail will always be snail.

  While waiting for dinner, I steer the conversation to the innocuous like talking about what we’ve seen of Paris so far. I want to put her at ease, not make her nervous. Excited yes, but that can wait until later tonight when we’re alone. We’re served twenty minutes later and it’s then things get more personal.

  “So do you want to go professional?” she asks, taking a sip of the white wine the waiter had suggested.

  I shrug. “I haven’t made up my mind.”

  “I thought everyone playing college ball wanted that.”

  “Yeah, they do. I’m not like most guys though. I thought you knew that,” I tease.

  Lips pinned together, she blushes.

>   “My brother’s in the pros so that might be what makes it different for me.” This is a question I get asked time and time again.

  “I would think it’d make it easier for you. You have the inside track.”

  “It’s actually just the opposite. I don’t have illusions of what being in the pros is all about. I mean Brett’s been in the league for six years. For me, going pro wouldn’t be about the fame or the money. I don’t care about that.”

  “So why aren’t you sure?” She takes another sip of her wine.

  “I don’t know, not sure if I want that kind of life. The constant traveling, dealing with injuries, the demands on my body. Not sure my love of the game will be worth it in the end.” And it would sure get my dad off my back.

  Watching me intently, she nods. I wish I could read her mind. Does the fact that I may never play pro ball make her like me more or less? Shit, if it makes her like me less, I don’t want her. That would make her just as shallow as a lot of the girls I’ve gone out with. Brett Pearson’s little brother is a ticket to fortune and fame and the easy life. Yeah right. They’d learned just how quickly they were wrong.

  “So what about you? Why haven’t you decided on a major? Or have you decided?” A lot could have gone on the two weeks we weren’t talking.

  Olivia cuts into her sole filet terrine. “No, still undecided,” she says before putting a forkful in her mouth.

  Sore subject, I wonder. It’s hard to tell.

  “You were in a couple of school plays and you’ve got the lead in…”

  “A Man’s World,” she supplies after she finishes chewing.

  “Right. Plus you’re really good.”

  She sends me a curious look. “How do you know I’m good? Did you see any of the plays?”

  I’m not going to admit to seeing all three. “One or two.”

  I can tell she’s pleased about that by the way she looks down and then peers at me from under her eyelashes, her pink lips tipped in a smile.