by Vicki Savage
Evernight Publishing ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2016 Vicki Savage
ISBN: 978-1-77233-882-9
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Lisa Petrocelli
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A CANADIAN IN PARIS
Romance on the Go TM
Vicki Savage
Copyright © 2016
Chapter One
I know I’m not the first person in the world to be dumped by their boyfriend. I’m sure I’m not the first person to feel ugly either. But standing up on the top of the Eiffel Tower, looking out at the sun dipping over the horizon, I felt like the most worthless, rejected human being in the world.
This trip to Paris was supposed to help Robert and I reconnect. It was supposed to cement our relationship and carry us into the next phase of our lives. While I didn’t expect a marriage proposal, I had expected something. I certainly didn’t expect him to leave me for a dancer in the red-light district.
Seven years of my life had been wasted on that man. Seven years of being made to feel not good enough, not pretty enough. At first I had thought Robert was different. Now I knew he was no better than my ex-husband. One would think that turning forty would make me wiser, but no. Perhaps it was my destiny to be with men who crushed my spirit and made me feel unworthy. Perhaps it was my destiny to be alone.
Closing my eyes, I longed to remember the beautiful, vibrant girl my parents gushed over four decades ago. Instead, all I could see was a middle-aged woman with skin that was too brown, hair too frizzy, and eyes filled with pain and heartache.
I was so tired of hurting.
Pressing my lips together with determination, I glanced around and saw that there were only a few people visiting at this late hour. All of them were chatting and looking out over the Paris landscape. None of them were focused on me. If I was quick, I’d be able to do this before any of them reached me. I could take one grand step and end this farce once and for all.
This was reckless. I could almost hear my sister’s disapproving voice saying that Babou women weren’t quitters. I needed to keep my chin up, to forge ahead with my life. She hadn’t had the rug pulled out from underneath her, however. She had a husband, friends, and a fulfilling job. It was easy to keep living when you had so much to live for. Robert was everything I had left in the world. Losing him was like losing myself. In many ways, I was already dead. This jump would only make things official.
Placing my hands on the cold, hard metal, I pulled myself up and looked over the edge at the ground below. A nylon lattice obstructed my view, and I frowned at the new and improved safety feature the government must had installed since my last visit several years ago.
Damn it, I couldn’t even get this right.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
I yelped as someone grabbed my arms and yanked me off the edge, back onto safe ground.
I stumbled back, crashing into the stranger’s hard, muscular body. He slid his arms underneath mine to steady me, accidently grabbing my breasts. We both fumbled together until I managed to regain my footing.
I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of his youthful face. The man looked to be about half my age, fresh out of college and with so much to look forward to in life.
“You speak English.” My words sounded ridiculous considering the circumstances, but in a city where people prided themselves on everything French, his words had caught me off guard.
“I’m American.” He seemed to realize he had his hands over my breasts and slid them away. I swallowed down the sense of loss as he stuffed them into his pockets. “I like to come up here sometimes to think.”
“I see.” I shifted my feet, suddenly feeling awkward. “Well, thanks.” I turned away, hoping he didn’t see my embarrassment play out across my face.
“You’re not from around here,” he said.
I stopped and turned to face him. “No. I’m Canadian. My boyfriend and I came here as a last effort to save our relationship.”
“Let me guess—it didn’t work out.”
I shook my head and averted my gaze.
He took a step closer. “And that made you think you should jump off the tower?” The setting sun shone down on his golden hair, causing it to glow. If it weren’t for the scruffy five o’clock shadow and thin scar on his right cheek, I would have considered him an angel.
I stared at my feet and said nothing. The man was too astute for his own good.
He shook his head and nodded to a spot behind his shoulder. “My friend owns a café not far from here. Come, let me buy you an espresso.”
I took a step back. “I don’t drink espresso.”
“Cappuccino, then. Or if you prefer, tea.” He held out his elbow. “It will make you feel better. Promise.”
“I don’t know. . .”
“Just one drink. That’s all I ask.”
Just one drink. It was dangerous to wander off with someone I didn’t know. I was in a strange city, and at a disadvantage. He could easily overpower me if he wanted.
Going with him would be reckless, but then again, jumping off the Eiffel Tower was reckless. I was at a point in my life where nothing really mattered anymore. I had nothing of value and nowhere to go. This kind man was offering me a warm drink and a little conversation. Why shouldn’t I take it?
He smirked and inched closer. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.”
“Your best behavior, eh?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s too bad. I was rather hoping to be reckless tonight.”
He seemed to ponder my words for a moment before answering. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Lovely.” We started walking toward the elevator in silence.
“You’re limping,” I said after we stepped inside.
“War wound.” He winked at me. “Afghanistan.”
I nodded and let the subject drop. Prying into his past would be like an invitation for him to ask about mine. I wasn’t quite ready to talk about Robert just yet.
As we descended in the elevator with the other tourists, a strange sense of calm came over me. It was coming from him, I realized. There was this peace about him, as if he had his act together and was content with his station in life. It made him even more attractive, if that was possible, and despite having just met him, I found myself wondering what it would feel like to have his lips on mine.
It wasn’t long before we reached the crowded café. From the outside the place was unremarkable. Small and stone in structure, the building looked as if it had been built in an era before cell phones and laptops, back when conversation could only be done face-to-face. Laughter bubbled out onto the sidewalk, making me slightly uncomfortable. As if sensing my distress, my companion tightened his grip on my arm and ushered me inside.
In an instant, my uneasiness vanished. Potted plants and abstract paintings dotted the room, making it feel like a secret garden hideaway or a private sanctuary. The peace I had felt outside was stronger here, and it made me want to curl up with a warm blanket and a good book.
As my companion slid his arm around me, a large man with shoulder-length brown hair grinned and waved us over to the counter.
“Yes.” The American helped me into my seat. “Claude, this is. . .” He turned to me with a questioning look.
“Maggie,” I answered.
“Ah.” Claude’s golden eyes sparkled as he picked up my hand. “Maggie.”
“Maggie said that she is feeling a little reckless tonight.”
“Is that so?” Claude raised his brow as he took my hand and kissed my knuckles. I giggled like a schoolgirl. Who the heck kissed knuckles anymore? It was so . . . Downton Abbey.
“Audrey, take over for me.” Claude tossed a tall brunette his bar towel and apron. He grinned as he turned back to me. “I’m busy.”
“Yes, sir.” The brunette immediately put on the apron and started serving drinks.
Claude leaned his elbows on the bar and tilted his head to the side. “So, what brings you in here, Maggie?”
I glanced at the American and wondered just how much of my story to tell. “My boyfriend broke up with me this morning.”
“Aw, I’m sorry. A breakup can be very hard, no?”
“No. I mean yes.” I took in a deep breath and let it out. “But it was for the best.” When the men gave me questioning looks, I tried to explain. “It was an abusive relationship.”
Claude raised his brows. “He hit you?”
“No, but he was constantly comparing me to everyone else.” I averted my gaze and toyed with the edge of my jacket. “He always found me lacking. I was never pretty enough or smart enough. . .” I knew what he was doing was wrong, but I had been so lonely. Robert was a rich and powerful businessman. With him, I felt like somebody. Without him, I was nothing.
“Idiot,” the American muttered.
Claude crouched down until he met my gaze. “A man who doesn’t cherish a woman isn’t really a man.” He glanced at his friend. “Don’t you agree, Brice?”
The American nodded. “Absolutely.”
Perhaps it was the conviction in their voices, or the fact that I hadn’t talked to anyone since the breakup and really needed to let everything out. Whatever the reason, I found myself pouring out every last dirty detail of my relationship to these two men. As I talked, they fed me croissants and cappuccino and listened as if there was nowhere else in the world they’d rather be.
“What an ass,” Brice said when I finally finished.
“Agreed.” Claude slapped his towel on the counter. “Good thing we have just the thing to help you get over this relationship.”
“You do?”
The smile he gave me lit up his face, highlighting the golden flecks in his eyes. “You told Brice you felt a little reckless tonight.”
“Well, yes.”
The men exchanged a look. “Then I think it’s time to throw caution to the wind, no?”
I studied each man in turn, wondering exactly what they were trying to tell me. “I suppose.”
“No worries,” Brice said. “This will be fun.”
“We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do.” Claude turned to Brice and motioned over his shoulder. “Mind helping Audrey close up?”
“Not at all. I will be along in a little bit.”
I frowned and glanced at the large clock on the wall. “Close up? But it’s only nine.”
“What good is owning your own café if you can’t make your own hours?” Claude rounded the counter and helped me off of my stool. “Come.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Women are like flowers,” he said as steered me toward a small doorway in the back of the cafe. “Comparing two women is like comparing two roses. It can’t be done.” We walked down a long hallway, then stopped in front of a door.
He inserted the key. “Each is beautiful.” He turned and brushed his fingers down the side of my cheek. “Each is special.” He opened the door with a flick of his wrist and took my hand. “Tonight, Maggie, we are going to show you just how special you really are.”
“Oh, my.” The door opened to an elegant, private patio surrounded by rosebushes. In the middle of the patio was a large table full of steaming hot food. Off to one side, away from the building, there was a smaller table with three chairs. On the other side of the patio were several lounge chairs that appeared to have been moved out of the way to make room for the buffet.
“Come.” Claude led me to the table in the middle of the patio and opened the bottle of champagne. I covered my ears when the cork finally popped, and smiled as he poured the bubbling liquid into three glasses.
“This is beautiful,” I said as I took a glass from his hand. And it was. The rosebushes were large and in full bloom. Every color of the rainbow seemed to be represented. The flowers’ sweet fragrance filled the air, and the leaves provided complete privacy from the busy sidewalks of Paris. While I could hear conversations of the patrons, no one could see us. We were secluded, which made me feel a little detached from reality. It was as if I had stepped into my own fantasy world.
I moved over to one of the blooms by the lounge chairs and leaned over to inhale the fresh scent. “They’re so beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said as he stepped up behind me. A ripple of desire shot through me as I felt his warm breath against the back of my neck. “So very beautiful.” He brushed my hair to the side and ran a rough finger over my neck. My skin tingled, and I became hyper-aware of his cock pressing into my backside. I knew what he was after. I wasn’t stupid. A much younger version of me would have thrown the champagne in his face and left the café in a huff.
But I was older and more weathered now. My youthful skin had been peppered with wrinkles, each one a testimony to the tough years I had lived.
My sister and I grew up in the foster care system, and only had each other as family. It wasn’t long before I realized that she was the smarter one, the more resourceful one. She kept the bullies away from me, and in exchange I dedicated my life to helping her succeed. First it was working so I could help pay her tuition in law school. Then it was doing odd jobs in her new firm. Years later, it was marrying a notorious, hard-nosed judge so her firm could gain advantages in court.
When that judge started punching me, my sister had championed my divorce. A few hours after signing the final paperwork, she arranged for me to have drinks with Robert, an associate at her law firm. Robert never hit me, but his hurtful words felt like a thousand knives in my gut.
Not once was I allowed the opportunity to make my own choices or enjoy life on my own terms. Now here I was, in Paris, with a man who wanted me, not what connections my sister could provide. He thought I was beautiful and special. He wanted me to show my true colors, just like his roses. More than anything I wanted to embrace that, to cherish it. All of my life I had done the good thing, the right thing. Now, just once, I wanted to do something spontaneous and daring.
So, instead of doing what was proper and pushing him away, I sipped my champagne and leaned back into his warm embrace.
“My delicate flower, leaning toward the sun.” Claude kissed my temple. “Let me tell you a little secret, Maggie.”
God, I loved how he said my name. I loved how he brushed his fingers over my waist even more.
“I would like nothing more than to touch and taste your skin, to pleasure you in the way you were meant to be pleasured.” I gasped as he slid his fingers up and brushed them over the hard tip of my breast. “Would you let me do that?”
“You can have any woman in Paris.” I shook my head. “I’m old, Claude. Used.”
“You are beautiful.” He spread apart his fingers and pressed his palm over my chest. “And I would consider it an honor to worship your body tonight.”
I couldn’t believe a young, handsome man such as himself would want anything to
do with me, and yet here he was, kissing and touching me as if I was the most attractive person he had ever met.
“Say yes, Maggie.” He nipped the base of my neck and slid his free hand over my soft belly.
“Yes,” I whispered as he dipped in between my legs. Closing my eyes, I focused on his gentle massaging and let the pleasure roll through me.
“Good.” He eased back, and I turned to face him. Flashing me a seductive smile, he plucked the glass from my fingers. “Now take your clothes off.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He sipped my champagne and raised an expectant brow.
His words made me feel vulnerable, and I glanced at the bushes around him.
“No one can see us here,” he reminded me. “It’s just you and me.”
“Yes, I know, but—”
“Have you changed your mind? Do you not want to be reckless?”
I did. I wanted to do something wild and crazy more than anything in the world. I was so tired of living my life for other people. Once, just once, I wanted to do something selfish.
I faced him and realized that I hadn’t been this nervous since high school. He was a stranger. What did I care what he thought? It was in that moment that I realized how much damage Robert had done. His words had robbed me of my self-confidence. My sexuality. For years, everything I did, everything I became, was to please him. By letting me take off my own clothes, Claude was trying to give me some of my confidence back.
Lifting my chin, I slowly swayed my hips as I took off first my blouse, then my skirt. I touched myself, caressing my body in ways I hadn’t been touched in a long, long time.
“Magnifique,” Claude said as he placed the glass to one side. He closed the distance between us and snaked his arms around my middle.
The kiss was incredible. Hot and needy, he attacked me like a starving man in need of sustenance. I grasped his shoulders, digging my nails into his muscles and steadying myself against the cresting wave of desire. Hands were everywhere, mouths everywhere. I attacked his clothes as he undid my bra, and it wasn’t long before we stood naked and desperate in the moonlight.
