by Kayne, Kandi
“Very good. You have a nice accent.” He stands. “Can I get you something to drink? Sparkling water maybe?”
“Sure,” I say, once again admiring the cut of his European jeans on his well-muscled backside. He has just the right amount of muscle on his frame - not enough to make him look like a gym fanatic, but enough to show he’s athletic and active. My mouth practically waters at the visions my brain is conjuring of him doing something athletic and active with me. Naked. I have to look away to get control of myself. I’m so not used to thinking about men like this and sex all the time. I’ve amped myself up over the idea of a sexy getaway, and now I’m going nuts with it. I’d better have sex with someone soon or I was going to be in trouble. I’ve been known to eat nearly my weight in chocolate when sexually frustrated. It’s not pretty.
He hands me a cool glass of bubbly water, and I take a sip.
“So tell me what brings you to Paris,” he says, taking a seat next to me on the couch.
I take a deep breath in to calm myself, but then I catch a hint of his cologne and I’m right back to being hot and bothered. Damn does he smell good or what?
“Well,” I say, clearing my throat a little so my voice will work right, “I came here kind of on a whim, actually.” I laugh as my face burns red. I’m embarrassed as I realize how stupid my story actually sounds. I can’t tell him the truth.
“Tell me.” He leans forward a little, and I get the distinct impression he really wants to hear what I have to say.
“Well, it’s kind of silly, really.”
“I like silly. Tell me.” He winks encouragingly. Usually when I see guys winking I think they look like cheeseballs. This guy can do the wink and get away with it. It makes me go warm in my special places.
I shift in my seat to try and distract myself from thinking about it. I’m a pretty visual person. Once I get an idea in my head, it’s hard for me to let it go. I’m really, really close to picturing us naked together again, and I need to stop. He’s only inches away. I focus on telling my story.
“All my life I’ve wanted to come to France. Ever since grade school, when I did a report on it. And with Valentine’s Day coming up, and my week of vacation sitting there, and… well, things that happened… I just decided I wanted to come here and find …” I shrug and take a big sip of my water, realizing I’ve gone on just a little too long.
“To find …?” He’s sitting there waiting for the rest of my sad story.
“Uhhh… a pair of red shoes.” It’s the best I could come up with. I had a flashback to the moment I was waiting for the taxi and that beautiful, sophisticated French woman had come gliding by in those red stilettos. Maybe if I had shoes like that, I could have a man like that as my souvenir too.
He laughs. “A pair of shoes? You’ve dreamed your whole life about buying a pair of shoes in Paris?”
I smile back nervously, sure now he thinks I’m a loon. But that’s better than him knowing I’m so lame that I’d fly halfway across the world to find love at first sight. “Yeah. Shoes. Red ones with really high heels.”
He looks down at my sneakers. “Can you walk in those kinds of shoes? They’ve always seemed a little dicey to me for walking purposes.”
“Sure.” I shrug. I wiggle my feet around. “These are just for sightseeing. When I go out, I’m all about the high heels.” That’s not exactly true, but he’ll never know.
“How about I take you out to find your dream shoes?” he says without preamble. “I’d hate for you to come all the way to Paris and not get what you came for.” His words are saying one thing, but his eyes are saying something completely different. It’s almost as if he knows what I came to Paris for and he’s offering to give it to me.
I’m speechless again. That’s three times in the space of ten minutes. Sweat breaks out on my upper lip, and I move quickly to wipe it away. I’m imagining us together and there’s just no way…
“I know all the best places, I promise.”
“Is this part of the Four Seasons customer service plan? Because it’s way above and beyond anything I ever imagined. Do you have me confused with someone else? I’m not staying in the presidential suite or whatever.”
He chuckles, looking down for a second as he touches his nails for a couple seconds. “No, no confusion.” He looks up at me and reaches over, putting his hand on my knee. “I just don’t want you to come all the way here from California and not find what you’re looking for. Dreams are meant to be enjoyed, not ignored or walked away from.”
He’s staring at me intently, and the way he said that just made shivers go all up and down my spine. The warmth from his hand is spreading up my leg.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to call him out - ask him if there’s a double meaning there to his words. But I don’t because I don’t want to embarrass myself. I could just see me doing that and then him saying he was just offering to help me find shoes, not fill me to the brim with him.
“Well, it would be nice to know the best places to shop,” I admit. I move my leg a little, and his hand slides off. Now that I have those red shoes on the brain, I’m not going to rest until I’ve at least tried them on. He might not be offering me the big package he has all wrapped up in those jeans, but if he’s offering to show me to a store, I’m going. No question.
He stands, putting his glass down on the table. “Let’s go. The stores here don’t stay open as late as they do in the States. You may want to put on a sweater. It’s unseasonably warm right now for February, but it gets quite cold at night.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll tell them to have a key for you at the front desk for your late return. Is that okay?”
I nod, and he makes the call.
As we walk down the hallway, I let his French words being shared with the key person slide over my body like silk. I could so get used to hearing that. Especially if it was in the bedroom. I wonder how to say, “I want you to fuck me hard,” in French.
I dig around in my purse for some cherry lipgloss to get my mind off his voice. We’re in the elevator, and his hand comes up to press the button for the ground floor. I can’t help but notice how tanned and muscled it is. He sure is in good shape for a hotel employee. When he’s not working he must be gardening or surfing or something.
He waves to the people at the front desk, stopping briefly to speak to them in French and gesture at me. He confers with someone who looks like a manager and then we leave.
A limo pulls up to the curb and the driver gets out, opening the door.
“What’s this?” I ask, as François gestures for me to get in.
“Provided by the hotel. Please.” He gestures again.
I’m not going to argue with a tour of Paris in a limo, even if we are just going down the street. I get in and inhale deeply. This car is still new, with leather seats and one of those electric partitions that keeps us separated from the driver.
It takes twenty minutes to get to our destination, and François points out all the places of interest along the way, giving me a miniature history lesson to go with it. He stays on his side of the seat and I stay on mine, but there’s nothing I’d like more than to have his lips on me. They’re full and surrounded by the hint of a shadow. He looks a little dangerous the way his wavy, longish hair falls over his face, sometimes the tips touching those lips of his. I could totally picture him with wet hair, stepping out of the shower and into my arms…
He’s just finished telling me about the Pont des Arts, a bridge where lovers attach locks to the railings and fences on the sides of it. It sounds so romantic, it reminds me why I came here. All this love, just waiting to be shared. All this hope. All these people trying to make connections.
“How do you know all this?” I ask, trying to ignore the smell of his cologne and general male-ness. The term animal magnetism was coined for men like him. He’s moved close to me, so he can point out my window now. The heat of his leg comes through his jeans and mine to scorch my skin. I’m getting hot and bothered, so
the chapstick comes out. I swirl it over my lips several times to distract myself. The car fills with its sweet scent.
“My family has a rich history, and my mother made sure I knew it well. Here we are,” he says, sliding back to his side of the seat.
The limo stops in front of a store I know from the moment I lay eyes on it that I cannot afford to even enter.
He gets out of the car and comes around, opening my door himself. Taking my hand, he pulls me to my feet. He’s standing right in front of me on the sidewalk, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the storefront. I’m nervous about being here and about embarrassing myself. I have to tell him it’s out of my price range. And he’s so close, I know if I look up at him, I’m going to just stare at those lips of his and make a fool out of myself.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I stand there, saying nothing.
He puts his finger on my chin and turns my head to face him. “Hey. Talk to me. Did I say something wrong?” He steps even closer. I can feel the heat from his body and his cologne mixes with the scent of his soap. It’s a heady combination, but my overriding concern is that he’s upset now because I’ve acted like an idiot.
“Oh, no, not at all!” I grab his hands and squeeze them with friendly affection. “It’s nothing you did, please don’t think that.” I’m staring into his deep brown eyes, almost forgetting for a moment what I was so worried about. The friendly squeeze turns into me enjoying the feel of his warm, work-roughened hands.
But then I look askance at the store’s display and I remember my shame. Sighing, I say, “I don’t mean to sound like a complete bumpkin, but this place… those shoes… they’re not in my budget. I’m staying at your hotel for only one night. Then I’m in the cheapo places so I can afford some pastries and a few museums.” I give him one of my patented lopsided grins. “I’ve been saving for this trip pretty much since puberty. I don’t have a ton of money for luxuries.” My eyes stray to the shoes. They are so, so beautiful, highlighted with special spotlights, displayed on pedestals. They’re like celebrities sitting in there like that. I wish I had my camera.
“Ahhh, I see. I’m sorry that I made you feel uncomfortable. But I’ll tell you what… how about if we just go in there and try some shoes on for fun? It can’t hurt to do that, right?” He wraps his warm fingers around mine, sending heat all over my body. A cool breeze on my neck makes me shiver.
I frown, staring at the lady inside. She’s intimidating-looking to say the least. “I don’t think they let people do that here.”
“Of course they do,” he says, pulling me to his side. “Just follow my lead. You wanted an adventure right?” He winks and opens the door, gesturing for me to go in.
I smile, because he’s right. This will be one for the memory books, even if it’s just me being thrown out of a shoe store in the swankiest part of Paris.
The woman greets him with a sultry, “François! Ça va?” and two kisses, one on each cheek.
“Oui, ça va bien, Amélie. Et toi?”
“Oui, oui, ça va.” She lets her arms fall to her sides and looks at me expectantly.
François drops his hand to the small of my back. “Amélie, this is Lilly. She’s visiting from America.”
“Lilly, enchantée,” she says, leaning towards me. “Nice to meet you, and welcome to Paris.”
I give her the kisses on the cheek she’s apparently coming for, a little shocked at how intimate it feels to kiss a perfect stranger like that. I almost laugh at the idea, since the other stranger in the room has already been naked and between my legs several times in my imagination. I guess I have different policies for men strangers than I do women strangers.
“She’s here for some red stilettos, I believe.” He winks at me.
I stammer and turn pink. “I just want to look, really. Your shoes are so beautiful. But I’m not going to buy anything today.”
“Oh, but you do not want to just look,” she says in a heavy French accent. “You want to touch and to try, yes?” She couldn’t be more sexy if she tried. She’s cocking her hip out and her hand comes up to stroke down my arm absently as she gestures with her other hand. “Look, over here we have za latest Christian Louboutin.” She leaves me to pick it up, showing me the bottom. “You see, za red? Zat is za mark for zis shoe, as you know, I am sure.”
I smile weakly. I definitely know that red shoe bottom, but not because I have any in my closet.
“I’ll tell you what,” says François, glancing at me and then Amélie with a crazy look in his eye. He fires off a bunch of rapid-fire French at her, and she nods several times in response, sneaking several knowing looks over in my direction. She’s smiling, so it looks like whatever he’s saying is making her happy. I wonder if they’re arranging a date for later. I’d totally go for her if I were a guy.
When they’re done talking, she comes over to me, leaning in for some more kisses. Is this normal? More kissing? I give her some air kisses and then watch as she walks over to the cash register. She takes some keys out of a drawer and a purse out of the cabinet below. She disappears into a back room and comes out wearing a coat and hat.
“Have a wonderful evening, Lee-Lee,” she says to me as she walks by, handing the keys to François. “A toute à l’heure, François.” She plants some kisses on his cheek and then walks to the front of the store where she stops long enough to pull down some shades before going outside. “Ciao!” I hear from her as the door closes.
I stand there stunned for a few minutes, not quite comprehending what’s going on.
François walks over and locks the door, pulling down the shade that covers it. All of the windows are covered now. Turning to me he holds out his hands to the side. “There. Problem solved. Now you can try on any shoes you want, and you don’t have to worry about being embarrassed.”
I frown. I’m still confused. “But… but… Did she just give you the keys to the shoe store?”
“Yes. Amélie and I go way back. And I am friends with the owner.”
“But… you work at a hotel.” The people in Paris are a lot less sophisticated than I ever imagined. Either that or they’re so sophisticated, they’re functioning on a whole other level than my brain operates in.
He walks toward me, stopping when he’s very, very close. Taking my hands in his, he says, “Lilly. I don’t work at the hotel in that way. I work there, yes, but from my room. It is my home away from home, when I’m in Paris. I’m staying across the hall from you. You were in the suite portion of my room today.”
My jaw drops open. “You live in the Four Seasons?” I thought that only happened in movies.
“I spend some time there, but I wouldn’t say that I live there. If I were going to spend that much time in this city, I’d just buy an apartment.” His thumbs stroke the backs of my hands. “I spend several weeks a year here on my way through while doing business.” He steps back, dropping my hands, gesturing to the displays on his left. “So, are you going to try on some shoes now, or not?”
The giddiness rises up in my chest, and a grin spreads across my face as a laugh escapes. My hand comes up to rest on my stomach, trying to calm the butterflies there. I’m afraid I’m about to get hysterical with happiness. I’m in Paris, locked up in a designer shoe store, with arguably the most handsome man in all of France. This is really happening to me! This is real!
“What?” he asks.
“I’m dreaming. I know I am.” I reach up and pinch my neck. “Ow. Okay, maybe not dreaming.”
He walks over and picks up a black heel off the display. “How about this one?” He pretends to measure it with his eye, putting against his vision of me, moving it around a little. “No. Too boring. You’re not a boring woman, I can tell.”
His words send a tingle to my belly and lower. “How do you know?” I say, my words barely more than a whisper.
He moves over to another black shoe, this one with a burnished-gold leopard print near the toe. “How about this one?” He closes one ey
e and holds it up in my direction. “We’re getting closer, I think. Take your shoes and socks off.”
I sit down on a couch, unable to tear my eyes from him. I kick my shoes off and wait, my breath coming faster. I can’t believe I’m in this store with him and he’s flirting with me.
“What’s your size?”
“Seven. But I don’t know what that is in French sizes.”
“It’s a thirty-eight. You stay right there. I’ll be back in a flash.” He disappears into the back room, and I get up to wander around the store. My eye is drawn to the red stiletto in the corner. It’s even better than the one I saw on that woman’s foot earlier today. I could be so sexy if I had this on my foot. I look inside and see a size, but it’s smaller than the one that François said. I won’t be trying this one on tonight, but its even worth it just to hold it in my hand.
“Sit down,” he says, coming out of the back room with a stack of boxes in his arms.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I rush over and sit down, silly with the overwhelming emotions that are threatening to overtake me. My pulse is pounding in my neck. I’m praying that I won’t have a stroke before the night is done.
He keeps looking up at me as he lifts the lid off a box, moving the beautiful paper aside to reveal the shoe within.
It’s the leopard print. I get a hot flash just looking at it.
He reaches out and takes my foot in his hand. For a minute he just holds it, rubbing his thumb across my instep. I inhale sharply at the sensations it’s causing. It’s so simple, yet so erotic. I might have imagined all the flirting up until this point, but there’s no mistaking the expression on his face and the intent in his hands now. He’s massaging me with two hands, shifting so he can rest my foot in his crotch.
Good lord, I can feel it. He’s moved his leg so I can see the bulge in his pants and touch it with my toes. But before I have a chance to enjoy it enough for my liking, he lifts the shoe and slides it slowly onto my foot. It fits perfectly, like it was made for me. I’m Cinderella, and he’s my prince.
