by Kitty French
"Even I can see that it would break your no touching rule to share a bed, Sophie."
Nothing further had been said, and Sophie found herself relaxing as she drank in her first glimpses of Paris out of the darkened windows of the sleek car.
It was still early morning, and the rush hour was in full force. Cars queued bumper to bumper, horns beeped, and taxi drivers waved their arms out of their open windows. Everyone seemed to want to go at breakneck speed even though there was nowhere for them to go, and scooters buzzed in and out of the moving lines like flies. To Sophie at least, it was a different sort of chaos from London, like a scene from a movie compared to the dull, everyday reality of England.
The mish-mash of old and new buildings on the commercial outskirts of the city gave way to grander architecture along the tree-lined edges of the Seine as they proceeded into central Paris. To Sophie's eyes, even the pale grey skies overhead didn't detract from the beauty of the bridges that spanned the wide river, and she craned her neck to look up at the buildings, every inch the excited tourist seeing Paris for the first time. She turned to Lucien and found him watching her with an amused expression.
"Will we see the Eiffel Tower?"
She knew she sounded like a ten year-old in a candy store, but she couldn't hold it in. She'd spent so much time worrying about the trip that she hadn't allowed the excitement of seeing Paris to seep in. Now she was here, it hit her square between the eyes.
Lucien leaned forward and spoke to the driver again in fluent French, then slipped back into his place beside her.
"We will now."
Sophie realised he had asked for a detour, and was touched. What she hadn't bargained for was a full circuit of the architectural highlights of the city. She watched, delighted, as the scenery unfolded. There was the Louvre, grand and sprawling along the riverbank. The dramatic spires of Notre Dame soaring into the skies above. The unmistakable white curves and domes of the Sacre Cour. Lucien pointed them all out and offered snippets about each, knowledgeable and at ease with the city. The solid, grey but intricately detailed Arc de Triomphe. The majestic, glittering fountains of the Place de la Concorde, and, central to all of it, the Eiffel Tower. Excitement built in Sophie's gut at her first glimpse of it in the distance, and roared through her veins as they moved close up. It was every bit as spectacular as in movies and magazines, but infinitely larger and more imposing in real life. It wasn't just architecturally impressive. It stood as a symbol of every romantic novel and love song. It was the scene of countless proposals and Valentines. It radiated romance from its every iron nut and bolt, a great big latticed beating heart of the city that made lovers out of even the most stoic visitors. Lovers. Tour over, Sophie turned back to Lucien.
"Thank you for that. I loved it."
"I'd forgotten how it feels to see it through fresh eyes."
She regarded him. "You've spent a lot of time here?"
"Some." He lifted one shoulder. "Not so much in recent years."
He didn't offer further detail, yet Sophie sensed there was more to know. He clearly knew Paris well, but seemed reluctant to be drawn on the subject.
Further exploration would have to wait though, because the car had eased under a stone archway and slowed to a halt in a leafy little courtyard. How could this be nestled so peacefully behind the busy, cosmopolitan street they’d just driven along? Sophie stepped out into the cool morning and breathed in her first real taste of Parisian air. A faint smile tinged her lips. It was probably her fervent imagination, but she thought she smelled coffee, and croissants, and expensive cologne.
Lucien touched her elbow, and she turned to him with the small smile still on her face.
"This way."
He bowed his head towards an old, broad, studded door embedded in the thick grey wall of the building, and Sophie found herself walking into the elegant, shady vestibule of a sophisticated townhouse. Stunning arrangements of white orchids decorated the immaculate space, and when their driver summoned the elevator, something more akin to a beautiful, wrought iron birdcage than a functional lift descended. Sophie held the rail as they shuttled to the top of the building, watching the inner workings of the townhouse slide by outside the curved confines of the cage. Gracious landings. Picture windows.
And finally, the penthouse. Of course.
She knew she ought to be more accustomed to Lucien's idea of luxury, but this place was on another level again. He dismissed the driver and opened the door, and Sophie lingered for a second in the doorway, stopped in her tracks by the sheer opulence of the penthouse. Should she take her shoes off? Lucien placed a hand on the small of her back to propel her inside.
"Go in, Sophie." He hefted her luggage. "Have you packed house bricks in this thing?"
She glanced around at her packed-to-the-gunnels suitcase and then moved into the apartment, swallowing hard at the sound of the door clicking closed behind her.
This was it, then. Paris. With Lucien Knight.
Chapter Nine
"This isn't yours, is it?" Sophie whispered, robbed of her volume by awe.
Lucien dropped their bags down in the lounge. "No. It belongs to an old friend."
Something in the way he said it made Sophie look back over her shoulder at him, but his expression gave nothing away. Whoever the old friend was, he obviously wasn't going to elaborate.
Sophie could deduce for herself that their absent host was incredibly wealthy. The vast, high-ceilinged reception room had picture windows looking out over the city, complete with a postcard perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, and the chic interior decor screamed opulence. Marble tiles. Floor-to-ceiling heavy, dull gold silk drapes. Glittering glass chandeliers. Muted gold and duck-egg sofas and low glass coffee tables with more of those artfully displayed white orchids. The florist for this building clearly worked overtime. It was all so achingly glamorous, like walking onto a film set. Sophie crossed the room to a tall pair of gilt filigree doors, and when she opened them she found an intimate dining room for two leading out onto a balcony offering yet another panorama of the magnificent Eiffel Tower. She turned slowly back to Lucien.
"Wow."
Lucien nodded. "You should see the bedroom."
"Bedrooms, I hope?" Sophie corrected him quickly. She already felt like a kitten in a lion's lair. She needed a private sanctuary, preferably with a lockable door.
Lucien's eyes all but glazed over.
"I keep my promises Sophie." He led her to another set of double doors at the end of the reception room. "Your bedroom." He slid the doors back to reveal a sumptuously appointed suite, dominated by a bed large enough for four adults to stretch out like starfish and still not touch. Tranquillity meshed seamlessly with sensuality in the decor; with its opulent linens and grand mirrors, it was a room that promised the best of whichever activity you choose to use it for.
Lucien opened another door. "And my bedroom."
By any usual standards the room was stunning, but it was definitely the secondary bedroom of the penthouse.
"You can take this one, if you like?" Sophie gestured towards the larger room.
Lucien shook his head. "You'll change your mind when you see your bathroom."
Curiosity won out, and Sophie padded back through her room to open the glass sliding door to the bathroom. Yet again, she found herself stunned into momentary stillness.
"Wow again."
She sensed rather than physically felt Lucien come up behind her. His voice sounded suddenly very close to her neck.
"Quite something, eh?"
Pale marble and polished mirrors lined the large room and more huge vases of orchids adorned the side tables. Plump, snow-white towels nestled alongside gleaming bottles of exclusive toiletries, and clusters of lit candles lent the room an intimate glow.
The piece de resistance stood centrally in the room - the grand, deep infinity bath, perfectly placed to take advantage of the expansive view through the windows at the end of the room, across the higgledy-piggl
edy rooftops of Paris.
"Still want to swap?"
Sophie shook her head, suddenly greedy and giddy. This place was off the scale amazing, and she, Sophie Black, had it at her exclusive disposal. That had to make her just about one of the luckiest girls on the planet at that moment.
She spun around to face Lucien, her hands pressed against her warm cheeks.
"I can't believe places like this even exist beyond fantasies."
She didn't miss the predatory spark in Lucien's eyes at her choice of words.
"As fantasies go, this is certainly up there," he murmured. A shiver ran down Sophie's spine as surely as if he'd stroked a fingertip down its length.
Not that he had, or would, unless she invited him to.
Did she want to issue that invitation?
She didn't just have the fantasy room in the fantasy city.
She had the fantasy man at her disposal, too.
She upgraded her status from being one of the luckiest girls in the world to being the luckiest girl, period.
But lucky didn't mean stupid. Lucky didn't mean throw caution to the wind and not think about tomorrow, because tomorrow had a nasty way of looming up in front of you, grey, cold and all the worse for your indiscretions. Sophie had been there before.
She ducked past Lucien into the bedroom and unzipped her suitcase, which he had hefted up onto the bed for her.
"Do I have time to unpack before our first meeting?" Sophie carefully unrolled her precious dress from its packing tissue and located a heavy wooden hanger behind the vast wall of mirrored wardrobes. She certainly wanted to take this one garment out of the crushing confines of her case, even if there was no time for anything else.
"Actually, I won't need you this morning," Lucien said. "The meeting will be conducted entirely in French, and from the way you blushed when you thanked the driver earlier, I'm guessing that French doesn't feature on your resume."
Sophie bristled unnecessarily, because he was quite right. "I can get by," she muttered.
"You can?"
"Oui. Bonjour, Lucien." Had she really just said that?
She ignored his snort.
"Bonjour, Ms. Black." He inclined his head. "What?" He threw his hands out to the sides at her maddened glance. "It's appropriately polite."
"Ça va?" Sophie asked, hoping she'd dredged the right words from her dim and distant memory of French classes as a bored fourteen year-old.
Lucien all but laughed, and replied in equally basic French for her benefit. "Ça va bien, merci."
"Bon." She jutted her chin, glad to have navigated her way through the simple conversation.
"Let's see, Sophie..." Lucien ran his tongue over his top lip, and the seductive drop of his voice warned her of danger up ahead. "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"
Thanks to Lady Marmalade, Sophie understood Lucien perfectly clearly.
"What's the French for 'stop flirting'?" she asked drily.
"No clue. I've never needed it."
She was quite sure he hadn't. No doubt women came as easily to him as everything else in his life.
"Take the morning off. Swim in that bath. See some of Paris. Can you order lunch for around two, and then we'll head over to the site to see how things are progressing."
Sophie nodded bravely. She could do those things. Organise lunch. See Paris. Visit Lucien's newest sex club. All in a normal day’s work.
Alone in the penthouse, Sophie drifted from room to room, absorbing the beauty of her surroundings. Contrary to Lucien's suggestion, she settled for a shower under the monsoon jet in the huge cubicle that stood in another corner of her bathroom. Tempting as the bath was, she didn't feel that she could afford to relax too much. Bundled up in the thickest white bathrobe in the world, she set about deciding how to spend her morning in Paris.
First things first. Organise lunch.
But how did you organise lunch in your own private Parisian dining room? The apartment was bereft of a kitchen, so cooking was not an option. The people who lived here obviously didn't do such mundane tasks as operating a cooker.
Happily, however, they did leave at their guests’ disposal beautiful leather-bound manuals in English, listing restaurants that would cater directly to the apartment, and Lucien had left his charge card beside them. Lavish dishes, many of which she didn't understand and couldn't pronounce. She flicked through the heavy menus with rising panic, and then her lips curved into a smile. Bingo. This she could do.
Lunch successfully organised, Sophie dressed carefully. She wanted to blend in, to look as if she belonged here in the chic French capital. Her flimsy black polka dot blouse layered over silk underwear fitted the bill perfectly, demure yet sophisticated when teamed with her new black pencil skirt. She added her cherry red woolen coat as protection against the cool autumn weather when she stepped out of the secret courtyard a little while later and breathed in deeply.
Being away from home and all of its associated complications was a breath of fresh, rejuvenating air that she hadn't even realised she so desperately needed.
Distance from Dan helped put things into a less distorted perspective. At home she was surrounded by the accouterments of their shared life, and she could see now that they only served to make it harder to envisage her life without him in it.
Something in her heart felt different. Lighter maybe, without the heavy weight of carrying someone else's heart too.
She glanced up and down the regal, tree-lined avenue. Leaves drifted from the tall chestnuts’ branches, the change of season a fitting reflection of Sophie's state of mind.
But for now, Paris was her oyster, and she intended to feast on it.
Chapter Ten
"Pizza? You have the finest cuisine in the world at your fingertips, and you order pizza?"
Lucien's gaze swept over the dining table, now laden with elegant white and gold scrolled crockery, gleaming cutlery, glittering crystal, and pizza.
"It's posh pizza," Sophie countered. "It didn't arrive in cardboard boxes, for a start."
Lucien shook his jacket off as he stepped down into the dining room. Sophie could have flexed his credit card on a designer meal, yet she'd chosen instead a safe option. He'd hoped he'd cured her of that habit. Still, he was hungry, and the pizza smelled delicious.
It wasn't just the food that smelled good, though. Sophie moved in close when he held out her chair, and he caught the scent of an exotic perfume that wasn't her usual variety.
He didn't comment on it though, as she'd no doubt accuse him of flirting again.
"How was your morning?" she asked, adding salad to her plate.
He shrugged. "Good." He closed his eyes for a second. He didn't really get to eat pizza very often, and novelty turned into pleasant surprise as the fresh flavours hit his palate.
He opened his eyes again and found Sophie watching him, an amused glint in her eyes. Paris seemed to agree with her. Pink roses coloured her cheeks, and those dark smudges around her eyes seemed less pronounced.
"What did you do this morning?" he asked, suddenly keen to know what had helped lift her mood.
A smile lit her face, and the dining room seemed instantly brighter.
"I walked." She practically swooned. "God, Paris is amazing! I've touched the Eiffel tower, and I've taken one of those bateau buses along the Seine, and I ate croissants in the Tuileries gardens." It was the most animated he'd seen her since her return to his life. "And the metro! I caught the metro, and managed to find my way back here." She sighed happily, and her eyes swam with excitement. "It's official. I love Paris."
Lucien nodded. He shared similar sentiments for the city, although he’d never have expressed them with such elation.
"Did you shop?" He guessed this must be safe territory.
"Just window shopping. I tested the most amazing chocolate though, and I’ve been spritzed with perfume that probably costs more than my salary!"
"It smells good on you."
The words came o
ut without pre-meditation, and Lucien braced himself, ready for her to clam up and shoot him down with the 'no flirting' line again. But she didn't. He saw appreciation of his compliment flare in her eyes first, followed by uncertainty that had her dropping her gaze to her dinner plate.
He sensed a change in her attitude, and wondered how far to push it.
A little, to gauge her reaction?
Or all the way?
Her smile was an aphrodisiac, all the more because he had seen so little of it lately.
He pushed his chair back and reached into a sideboard behind him, turning back with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew in hand.
"Don't we need to get back to work soon?"
He picked up the note of anxiety behind her words. "We're okay for time. Besides, it's practically the law in Paris to have wine with food, Sophie."
He poured claret into her glass, pleased when she didn't try to stop him. Her fingers brushed his as he raised his glass to hers.
"To Paris. And to getting my PA back." He paused, watching her eyes. "I missed your coffee."
She laughed lightly and her fingers played with the stem of her glass.
"It's good to be back," she murmured softly.
"Is it? I got the impression that it was your last resort."
She looked up at last, the laughter gone from her eyes. "It was. It is. But that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it." She swallowed a little wine and looked around the lush dining room. "Not many jobs offer perks like this." She paused, and he didn't interrupt as he sensed there was more to come. "Or bosses like you."
Interesting.
"I think you just broke your own no flirting rule."
She shrugged, and he topped up her glass.
"Am I too English for my own good, Lucien? Too repressed, too frightened to live a big life?"
