The Temptress

by C. J. Fallowfield

  ‘Why the hell hasn’t Ian provided me with pictures?’

  ‘It wasn’t Ian who got the file together, it was one of his interns. Ian and his team are on an urgent job for someone else at the moment.’

  ‘Have you rung to chase them?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, but I only got through to the intern again, he sounded flustered and assured me that they’ll be emailed over shortly. I’m not holding out much hope.’

  ‘Damn it. Nothing on Google?’ I asked, I hated going in blind.

  ‘I’m so sorry but I haven’t had a chance to look. There was a slight crisis with the Adam’s case that Frankie’s currently working. I’m on top of it, nothing for you to worry about, but I need to get back to helping her. I can fill you in tomorrow. Hilda has put your outfit, wig and lenses in your bedroom, Henry’s kitted out Mike with all of the surveillance, as well as putting a microphone and camera in your clutch. Mike’s ready and waiting in his workshop, wearing a suit no less, with the Merc on standby. Go and get ready and make it fast.’

  ‘Message received and understood, Miss Moneypenny,’ I laughed. I hung up and rushed to the bedroom to get changed, emerging ten minutes later with brown eyes, short bobbed blonde hair and my sexy, but obviously classy little black dress. Being in a hotel bar, dressed up, alone, I didn’t want to be mistaken for a hooker. I quickly turned the file on my desk around, I hadn’t even seen the client’s christian name. No name and no photo. I’d never been so unprepared. I sighed as I saw his name was Lucas, Lucas Le Grand. My mind was instantly taken back to my own Frenchman, my one night stand, that it seemed no other man would ever live up to, Luc. I wondered what he was doing now, if he ever thought about me the way I thought about him, far more frequently than was healthy. This Mr. Le Grand’s financials showed that he liked modern art, having spent a fortune on some pieces, so I grabbed my favourite modern art book off my well stocked book shelf, then my clutch and made my way to the door. I had a job to do, reminiscing could wait until I was tucked up in bed, with a battery operated object if my memories turned me on too much.

  Which they always did.

  A Parisian Affair

  Lulu

  Six Years Ago

  ‘Just ring him, if you won’t, I will for you,’ ordered Coco, as she lay on her front, on top of my bed, kicking her heels up, as I turned the card from corner to corner in my fingers.

  ‘It’s crazy, he’s obviously a man whore with all the chat up lines.’

  ‘Man whore equals practice, practice equals skills, skills equals a crazy night of pleasure,’ called Phoebe from the bathroom, before the sound of her retching again forced Coco to go and shut her in with a roll of her eyes.

  ‘She’s never been able to hold her drink, but she raises a very valid point,’ she confirmed, as she bounced back onto the bed beside me.

  ‘We’re on her hen weekend, I can’t ditch you for potentially hot crazy sex,’ I protested.

  ‘Like she’d think twice if the Choo was on the other foot,’ scoffed Coco. ‘It will do us good, sister hang out time, I’m always too busy with you and Dom, I think she misses me.’

  ‘You’re an easy person to miss, Coco Barrella,’ I smiled.

  ‘Aren’t I?’ she beamed. ‘Stop stalling, it’s a crisp, clear, sunny January day, ripe for romance in Paris, call him. He can be your Parisian fling, remind you how good sex can be and get you back in the saddle for when you get home.’

  I bit my lip as I stared at the card again. I’d never had a one night stand, maybe it was time to break out of the mould, live on the edge, after all it wasn’t like I was ever going to see the guy again and it would give me something to look back on with a smile, when I returned to England and my more reserved persona. Everyone had to go a little crazy in their lives, to have something to look back on and say that was the moment I truly lived, maybe this was my chance. Coco squealed with delight as I reached over to grab the hotel phone, took a deep breath and dialled his number.

  ‘Allo?’ came a sexy French male voice after the third ring. Shit, was I supposed to speak in French, in case it wasn’t Luc? I was rusty.

  ‘Ermmm, Bonjour, c’est Lulu pour Luc,’ I offered, grimacing at Coco for my awful accent.

  ‘Lulu, you called, did I not tell you that you would?’ he purred.

  ‘I can also hang up if you’re going to rub my face in it.’

  ‘Rub your face? What would I be rubbing your face in?’ he asked, sounding confused. Maybe it was just an English expression.

  ‘Never mind. I called to say that against my better judgement, after your cocky behaviour last night, I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt, so if you still want to spend the day together, I’m free.’

  ‘I do not make offers that I am unprepared to follow through on,’ he replied seriously, with me stifling a giggle over him using the phrase follow through. ‘It is quarter past nine now, how soon can you be ready?’

  ‘Ten o’clock,’ I suggested, my heart fluttering excitedly at the thought of seeing him again.

  ‘Bon. You know Paris?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then I shall come to you. Tell me, what hotel are you staying in?’ he asked. I hesitated for a moment, but it was our last night here tonight, what harm could it do to tell him? It wasn’t like he knew my room number.

  ‘The Domville,’ I replied. ‘Near the Jardins du Trocadéro. Do you know it?’

  ‘I do, you are a lady with expensive tastes. I will be waiting in the lobby at ten o’clock, ma belle. Dress warm, it is sunny, but there is a chill in the air. I do not want you catching a cold.’

  ‘Thank you for being so considerate, you’ve surprised me already.’

  ‘Trust me, I am full of surprises,’ he replied and I could sense his smile over the phone. ‘À bientôt, see you soon, Lulu.’

  ‘See you soon, Luc,’ I breathed, closing my eyes as I luxuriated in the way my name sounded on his lips.

  ‘You are going to hang up then, oui?’ he chuckled.

  ‘You haven’t hung up either,’ I laughed.

  ‘I am waiting for the lady to hang up first.’

  ‘I’m a modern woman, maybe it’s chivalrous for the man to hang up first.’

  ‘Non, you hang up first.’

  ‘You hang up first,’ I insisted.

  ‘Non, you …’ I stared at Coco, stunned as the phone went dead, to see her hand pressing the base unit, terminating the call.

  ‘There, I hung up, we’d have been here all day,’ she grinned. ‘Now instead of wasting time you can get ready. I’m so excited.’

  I looked down at my outfit as I got into the lift, it wasn’t like I had a lot of choice, given we were only here for two days and nights and we’d packed light. I had on a pair of tight black jeans, black riding boots, that were comfortable to walk in, a white shirt that hung over my jeans, with a black belt over the top, showing off my waist and my cream wool swing coat that stopped mid-thigh. I’d left my freshly washed, thick hair tumbling around my shoulders and had gone for a touch of tinted moisturiser, lashings of black mascara, a hint of pink blusher and some nude lipstick. Given I only had a choice of my sexy black lingerie to wear under my going out dress, or my comfort knickers for the flight home, I’d had to put on the sexy stuff. Just in case. I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure about taking him up on his offer of sex yet, but showing him my comfy knickers, that I usually reserved for when I had my periods, wouldn’t be a good opener. Thankfully I’d been to the beauticians for my usual mani-pedi and wax earlier in the week, I was looking as good as I possibly could. Just in case. I looked up at the shiny gold ceiling of the lift, who was I kidding with “just in case,” I wanted Luc between my thighs, living up to all of his promises, right now. But I wasn’t going to make it easy for him, he’d have to work for it. I didn’t want him thinking I was some British slapper who dropped her knickers at the hint of any kind of French action, be it kissing or the heavy stuff.

  I stepped out of the lift and m
ade my way across the vast lobby, looking left and right, wondering if I’d recognise him again, and halted in my tracks as our eyes met. I gulped, in the brighter light of the hotel lobby, his features seemed even more pronounced, he had to be the best looking man to ever walk the face of the earth. Judging by the approving looks he was getting, I wasn’t the only woman to think it either. He was looking as French as all those stereotypical images we were brought up on in England, minus the bike between his legs and the garlic or onions around his neck. He had on a dark blue pair of jeans, a white shirt under a blue v-neck sweater, with a thick and expensive looking navy wool Breton coat, which he’d left open so he could tuck his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. A flat navy cap, placed at a cheeky jaunty angle, graced his head, but instead of trainers, like most guys of his age, he was wearing a highly polished pair of brown brogues. When I said his age, I actually had no idea. I’d estimate him to be a couple of years older than me, maybe twenty-seven or eight. I saw his lips curving up into a smile and blushed as I realised I was staring, rooted to the spot. He started walking towards me, as I willed my feet to move, barely making it a few steps before he’d narrowed the gap and placed a hand in the small of my back, as he leaned in. I took in a sharp breath, wondering if he was going to kiss me, the way he’d kissed me up against that wall last night.

  ‘Breathe, Lulu, I told you that I’d be respectful today,’ he chuckled, as he kissed me on each cheek, twice, as I closed my eyes and breathed him in, my stomach fluttering and heart beating far too fast. ‘You look even more beautiful in daylight, I cannot wait to see how the sun of the outdoors enhances those hypnotic eyes of yours. Are you ready? Where are your accessories?’

  ‘Accessories?’ I queried, still reeling from the touch of his lips on my cheek and hearing him call me beautiful, as he straightened up to run his eyes over my attire. He was taller than I’d thought, then again I had heels on last night, these boots were flat.

  ‘Hat, scarf, gloves?’ he frowned. ‘We are in Paris in January, the sun is deceptive.’

  ‘I don’t have any,’ I replied, feeling like I was standing in front of the headmaster, being chastised.

  ‘Les Anglais,’ he muttered. ‘Come, we will buy some.’ He took my elbow and steered me quickly towards The Domville shop entrance. Before I knew what was happening, he was picking out a Chanel cream felt cloche hat, with a pretty cream flower on the side and trying it on my head. He nodded his approval, whisking it off and grabbing a pair of their flower embellished fingerless leather gloves, then a black cashmere scarf and guided me to the till. I reached for my purse in my black leather, across the body bag and felt a restraining hand on mine. ‘I am buying these.’

  ‘Luc,’ I protested. I barely knew the man and he was about to spend in the region of £2,000 on three items for me, was he crazy? ‘You have exquisite taste, I love them, but I can get them.’

  ‘Non,’ he replied, with a scowl. ‘You would have no need for them if I was not inviting you out for the day, today you pay for nothing.’

  ‘I insist,’ I scowled back, narrowing my eyes as his smile reached his eyes. He held my gaze as he slipped his card over to the cashier without looking at her, but giving her some order in rapid French that I couldn’t make out.

  ‘I am not used to women refusing my gifts. You are a feminist? Is this why you are so affronted at me wishing to buy you something?’

  ‘A gift,’ I spluttered. ‘Did you check the price!’

  ‘Non, I have no need to. You will freeze outside without these, I don’t want any arguments, I promised you an enjoyable day and that is what we will have, without you freezing to death. Trust me, the cold is deceptive and can take you unawares.’

  ‘Luc, please, they’re far too expensive.’

  ‘You presume to know what I can and cannot afford?’ he asked, raising a rakishly sexy eyebrow as he studied me.

  ‘No, but you barely know me, it’s too much.’

  ‘I very much want to get to know you, Lulu, keeping you warm will ensure that you do not have need to cut our date short, to dash back to the safety and warmth of your room. Please do not argue with me, it is an insult for you to refuse my gesture.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to insult you,’ I sighed. ‘Is this a French thing? A man in England would never be so generous.’

  ‘Les Anglais,’ he muttered again, with a shake of his head, then turned to converse with the cashier as he retrieved his card. I saw a flash of platinum as he slipped it back into his wallet. Maybe that amount of money was a drop in the ocean to him, I could afford a splurge like that now and again, but it was still a serious amount of money. He retrieved the items, with the tags cut off and put the hat on my head, before wrapping the gorgeously warm and soft scarf around my neck and handing me the gloves to pull on. ‘Shall we?’ he asked, holding out his hand. I blinked at him a few times. Hand holding was usually reserved for later in a date, he wasn’t shy in coming forward. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question, so I placed mine in his, inhaling sharply at the jolt of feeling that raced up my arm. O God, I was in so much trouble with this man. He was charming, generous, handsome, sexy, witty and dirty mouthed, which apparently I liked, something I would never have imagined.

  I was surprised when he led me out of the revolving doors and a chauffeur jumped to attention, opening the back door of a sleek looking black Porsche Panamera, Luc guiding me inside and shutting the door. I ran my fingers over the smooth leather and quality stitching, she was a thing of beauty, I loved expensive cars and was saving my money to treat myself to something luxurious back home. He hopped in beside me, immediately taking my hand again as he gave instructions to his driver and turned to face me with a smile.

  ‘Do you do this for all the English girls you meet in a club?’ I asked.

  ‘Non,’ he replied with a smile. ‘I am not discriminate in my choice of women of any nationality, but I do not go on dates with them. I take them back to my suite within an hour of making their acquaintance, then ask them to leave as soon as I have had my fill.’

  ‘Very funny,’ I replied with a roll of my eyes.

  ‘I do not joke,’ he replied with a serious face. ‘Leaving the club alone last night was a first for me, as is taking a woman on a date. This is not in my repertoire.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked, not sure if I believed him.

  ‘I am a busy man, I do not have time for attachments. I offer a good time and I move on when I have provided it, yet …’ he shook his head and sighed as he looked at me. ‘There is something about this English beauty that entices me. So, today I do what I have never done. I woo a woman. I find myself wanting to spend time in your company, but ultimately I want what I always want, to bury my cock deep inside your cunt, to fuck you six ways until Sunday and hear you cry my name each time you climax.’

  ‘Luc,’ I whispered, blushing, as my eyes looked over at his driver. Luc shrugged with a smile and tightened his grip on my hand as I tried to pull it out of his grasp.

  ‘Albert has worked for me for some time, very little shocks him as he knows me well, yet this morning I shocked him by telling him I wished to take a beautiful young woman on a tour of Paris for the day, instead of working. This he has never heard of or seen before. I am a young, rich, good looking man. Why should I not enjoy myself before I am too old to do so?’

  ‘You can do whatever you want to do, but I’m not sure I’m the kind of girl that wants to be used and thrown out in the middle of the night when you’ve taken what you want from me.’

  ‘I told you last night that for you I make an exception, as I am today. Do you have any idea how much money I could make if I were at work? What I have given up to enjoy your company? If you ask me to stay when the sun sets, I don’t see my urges being satisfied with just one night, I intend to keep you as long as possible. When do you return to England?’

  ‘Tomorrow night,’ I replied, feeling confused. I was sitting with a self-confessed man-whore, yet he seemed genuine abou
t his reaction to me, something in his eyes inspired my trust, when I wasn’t usually quick to offer it. I felt some kind of connection to him, like we’d been lovers in a former life, our souls recognising each other in the current one.

  ‘Then I hope that you will make the right decision, so that we can make the most of all of that time,’ he confirmed, as he lifted our combined hands and kissed my fingers.

  The day passed in a blissful blur, with Albert dropping us off and collecting us, from all of the major tourist sights, Luc not releasing my hand unless he had to grab some cash or his card from his wallet. We had a cheese fondue and a tarte au citron for lunch, talked about art, literature, French culture, music and movies, but he was evasive when I asked personal questions, a frown crossing his face when I asked about his childhood growing up in such a wonderful city. He was more interested in me, but in my job I was used to pretending to be someone else, never giving away much personal information myself. I never told anyone what I did for a living, in case they mistook me for a sex worker or the like. I simply said that I owned my own business which kept me busy and he told me the same, which, he explained, was why he was single and preferred a quick fuck when he felt the urge. The only real bit of personal information he gave me, was that he chose his career over a relationship, because he’d never found a woman to hold his interest for more than a few hours. He also told me that he was thirty, which surprised me, he looked younger, though he had an old soul. Deep in the recesses of those gorgeous brown eyes there was something, other than the desire to take me to his fuck pad. It was like he’d experienced suffering. Strangely it made my heart ache for him. He seemed lonely, not that I could see him admitting that, but I was a natural carer and wanted to offer him some kind of ear, or shoulder, which was ridiculous. Tomorrow I’d be leaving and never see him again. The kind of troubles that I felt he was trying to hide, couldn’t be fixed in a night.

  He was true to his word though, despite holding my hand, or standing behind me with his arms wrapped around me, he hadn’t tried to come on to me at all, there’d been no more sexy, dirty, erotic talk, no pressuring for me to return to his bed, not even any kissing. The closest he got to anything erotic, was when we were eating some crepes up at Montmartre and he wiped chocolate sauce off my lip with his thumb, sensuously sucking it with a wicked grin and twinkle in his eye. I was kind of disappointed. The chemistry between us was obvious, his leg jerked every time mine brushed against it in the car, he kept chewing on his bottom lip as I spoke and he focussed on mine. I knew he was thinking about that sensational kiss last night. The more he treated me respectfully, the more desperate I was becoming. My chest was heaving as we drove down to Notre Dame. His raw sexual presence was winding me up and I was in desperate need of a release. As Albert dropped us off, I heard Luc mention The Domville as he looked at his watch.