He ran his strong hands up my quivering legs as he climbed onto the bed, his body hovering over mine, our chests heaving for air. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than for him to devour me, kiss me, make love to me. I’d never wanted anyone or anything more in my life.
Antoine gazed down at me with a fierce hunger in his eyes as he rested his body on top of mine, his intense heat encapsulating me, making me feel a need I’d never felt before. He rolled to the side and removed what was left of my clothing in a few swift movements, then allowed me to rip off his pants and shirt, revealing a ripple of muscles down his shoulders, arms, and stomach. He rolled me over on top of him, his hot skin rubbing against mine, and slid his hand down in between my legs. My entire body throbbed and surged as he massaged me, making me moan and gasp for air.
“Take me,” I breathed into his ear. “Take me.”
Antoine rolled me back underneath his firm body as he brushed his soft lips over my neck, across the tops of my breasts, and down over my stomach. Each second that he wasn’t inside of me made me pulse with anticipation. Finally he lifted himself back up, his eyes telling me he was ready to make love to me. And then I felt him thrust into me, the force, the weight, the depth making me cry out in pleasure. He continued to push deeper into my body, deeper into my soul, deeper into my memories as our bodies synced together in perfect unison, two becoming one, riding this intense connection, this inexplicable pull we had toward each other.
I relaxed completely into him, never wanting him to stop, never wanting to live another moment without his body wrapped around mine. Even the aggression of his kiss made sense to me. I felt that same violent urge as I dug my fingernails into his back and begged him not to stop.
Antoine breathed heavily into my neck as he pulled his weight off of me, flipped me over, then laid his glistening body on top of my back and slid into me. I grasped on to the satin sheets and let him take me. I let his scent, his masculine force engulf me as he pushed farther and farther into me, taking all of me and yet leaving me completely fulfilled in return.
Finally, as Antoine reached around and held my breasts in his trembling hands, our bodies enmeshed as two lost puzzle pieces that had finally found one another, I felt my insides rising, squirming, screaming, and I let out a cry as my entire body shook and exploded with heat. Antoine came with me, pushing deeper than he had before, his hands gripping me so hard it almost hurt. His heaving body collapsed on mine, the blood coursing through our veins, the only movement left in the steamy room as our bodies went limp on the silky black sheets.
TWENTY-THREE
“Mon amour, wake up. I want to show you something.”
Antoine stood over the bed, his hand resting on my cheek, his gaze warm and soft as he peered down at me. I smiled up at him as he handed me a sparkly white sweater, a pair of sleek black pants, and a beautiful violet coat.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I went down to one of the shops near the Opéra to find you some warm clothes.” He winked at me. “You’re going to need them.”
A man who makes passionate love to you all night then buys you beautiful clothes in the morning? I only wished I’d be able to tell my girlfriends back home about this one day.
“Thank you, Antoine. They’re gorgeous.”
He leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips. “Not as gorgeous as you, ma belle.” His scruff brushed against my cheeks, the wintry scent on his clothes making me want to wrap myself up in him and never, ever let go.
“There’s more.” Antoine turned and grabbed a little black bag with a pink bow on the top. A clever grin peppered his rosy cheeks.
Inside the bag, I found a sexy white bra trimmed in pink lace, with a pair of dainty pink-and-white underwear to match.
I stood up and kissed Antoine once more. “You are unlike any man I’ve ever known. Merci, Antoine.”
Antoine fitted the beautiful French bra perfectly onto my breasts, then turned me around and hooked it in the back. Gripping my waist, he ran his lips from the nape of my neck all the way down my spine to the sensitive curve of my lower back. I closed my eyes as he slipped the lacy panties onto me, running his hands over my hips, kissing my thighs, then spinning me back around and kissing my navel, then the tops of my breasts, and finally finding my lips once more.
Next, he slipped the soft white sweater over my head, and finally, with his hands running up my bare legs, his fingers sliding over the throbbing space in between, he slipped on my new pair of pants, zipped them up, and kissed me on the forehead.
Dear God. I didn’t know it was possible to be this aroused while a man was putting your clothes on.
More than the intense sexual energy that danced so effortlessly between us, it was the deep emotional connection I felt with Antoine that made me light-headed…dizzy from love.
Even though I’d only known Antoine for the few days since I’d woken up as Ruby, I was certain that I’d known him before, that I’d loved him before, and that somehow those feelings, those memories, were still imprinted in Ruby’s heart, and were now coming back to life…perhaps with a force even stronger and more powerful than the first time around.
I clasped Antoine’s outstretched hand and immediately felt my body rush with the same tingling sensation I’d felt when he’d first touched me, kissed me, made love to me, and when he’d wrapped himself around me and fallen asleep. And as he led me out of the bedroom, I didn’t bother to ask where he was taking me. I knew full well that I didn’t care, that I would go anywhere with this man. Because despite the clear threats this life held for me, Antoine made me feel safe, like no one and nothing could harm me as long as my hand was intertwined in his.
The craziest part of all was that in my life as Claudia, I was nothing like this. I’d never been so love struck I would’ve blindly followed a man anywhere. I’d never fallen for someone in such a short period of time or felt such a deep connection with a man I barely knew.
Goose bumps prickled my skin when I remembered that I was wrong.
I had felt this way—once.
With Édouard.
But then, that had landed me here, hadn’t it?
When Antoine opened the tall windows in his living room and led me out onto the black iron balcony, I forgot my train of thought and broke our comfortable silence with a gasp.
Big, fluffy snowflakes fell daintily from the sky, their crystal-white circles spinning so slowly toward the ground it looked as if thousands of dazzling white sparkles were suspended in midair in front of us, freezing this surreal moment in time.
I walked with Antoine to the center of the balcony and smiled as swirls of pink-and-purple light appeared off in the distance, the sun peeking through the cloudy morning sky, casting an orange glow over the snow-covered rooftops of Paris.
Antoine wrapped his arm around my shoulders and spun me in the other direction, where I spotted the tip of the Eiffel Tower off in the distance. Snowflakes floated around the tower as if they had no intention of ever landing on the ground but instead wanted to dangle from this beautiful Paris sky forever. I gazed back down to the Opéra Garnier, watched with Antoine as shimmering snowflakes coated its golden statues then fell to the skinny sidewalks below, where a group of young children were playing, balling up the snow and tossing it in the air, their laughter floating up to our perch on the balcony, warming my heart, calming my soul.
Antoine turned to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “It is beautiful, is it not?”
I basked in the warmth of his smoky-gray eyes, knowing instantly that when I’d been Ruby before, these sweet moments with Antoine had been my happiest. I took a mental picture of the snow dusting the tips of his dark-brown hair, the shoulders of his coat, the top of his nose, and I smiled at him. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
And as he leaned in and kissed me, his lips warm and moist against mine, I closed my eyes and kissed him back with a passion I’d never known I was capable of. With our bodies an
d souls intertwined, it suddenly felt as if the balcony gave way under our feet, leaving us suspended in our own perfect little snow globe, the bubble of our love traveling through time, keeping us safe and warm.
But when our lips parted and I realized that my feet were still firmly planted on this earth, a gust of wind ripped past us, taking with it the perfect stillness of the snowy morning and instead leaving me with an icy chill down my spine. I shivered as Antoine wrapped his arms tighter around me and led me back into his apartment, the wind now whipping around us with a fury and slamming the window at our backs.
After Antoine took me back to my apartment, I tried to control the thumping of my heart, the frenzied thoughts zipping through my head, and the butterflies doing laps around my stomach, but nothing worked.
So much had happened since I’d arrived in this life, I was having a hard time keeping it all straight. And with this most recent development…falling in love with Antoine…I could hardly keep myself from spinning around like a top on the living room floor.
Being Ruby was overwhelming, but after what I’d shared with Antoine, I wondered—if given the chance, would I still return to my life as Claudia?
Without thinking, I found myself running my hand over my flat stomach.
Tears rimmed my eyes, all of this emotion too much for me to bear.
I would go back. For my baby, I had to go back.
I’d given Antoine the torn photo of Thomas Riley, shown him the scars on my back and abdomen. I’d told him about Titine’s reaction, her certainty that Thomas couldn’t be here in Paris, her urgency that I tell no one about him. I believed Titine was just frightened, that she didn’t want to face the possibility of such a dangerous man finding me again. And since she wouldn’t tell me what exactly had gone on with Thomas, I’d had no choice but to take Antoine’s offer for help.
Antoine had left to deliver the photo to his private investigator, and to stop by the hospital. He said he’d return in an hour, and that I should stay here with the doors locked until he came back.
But the urgent longing I felt in my heart for my unborn child suddenly boiled over inside of me, overpowering the strong love I already felt for Antoine. I couldn’t sit here and wait for Thomas to find me, for another dead body to show up, for the police to knock on my door.
I thought back to my brief encounter with Madame Bouchard in the café, how she’d told me there wasn’t a moment to waste, that I must fully engage in this life if I wanted any chance at saving my baby. I needed to find out more about past lives and reincarnation, find out what this all meant, if there was really any way to get back. But with no Internet, I would have to leave the apartment to complete my research. I would only leave for an hour.
I checked my purse to find that the gun was still firmly tucked inside. I rummaged through the desk to find my journal, my sonogram photo, and the copy of People magazine. If something were to happen to me, I wanted the remnants of my life as Claudia to be with me…just in case. And as I stuffed everything inside Ruby’s small black purse, I spotted one more thing I couldn’t forget.
The postcard.
The blustering winds that had whipped through Paris the past two days had finally subsided, leaving tree branches and leaves scattered all over the snow-dusted sidewalks. After having mailed the postcard, and sending with it my hope for a happier future as Claudia, I stood at the corner of rue de la Huchette and rue Saint-Jacques, the frosty waters of the Seine floating calmly before me as hordes of tourists, Parisians, and classic French cars combed the busy street. The trees that lined the river were bare save for a layer of sparkly white snow resting atop each scrawny branch. And even though the sun was making a brief appearance on this mild wintry morning, the entire city was bathed in an eerie gray light.
The scene that unfolded before me reminded me of the famous black-and-white photographs of Paris I’d seen in my life as Claudia. And as I stood alone on the corner as a real, live participant in this old snapshot of the past, with Notre Dame Cathedral looming across the river, art and souvenir vendors adorning the riverbanks, and snow crunching at my feet, I almost had to pinch myself. I still couldn’t believe that I was here. In Paris. In 1959.
And that I’d just spent the most romantic night of my life with a man whose kisses were still making me weak in the knees, whose sweet words were swimming through my head, making me question my desire to find a way back to the future.
Who would ever believe me if I tried to tell them what had happened to me?
While I scanned the sidewalk to make sure there was no sign of a man with slick, black hair and haunting black eyes, a wild yet obvious thought occurred to me.
Were there others?
Could there be others walking these same streets, looking for the loophole in time and space that had landed them here, wondering what their purpose was, and how they could find their way back?
Madame Bouchard had said that these past-life revisits were rarely a walk in the park. Which meant there had to be others who’d been through the same thing.
The thought that I may not be the only person to have experienced something this crazy, something this impossible, made me all the more motivated to get to the bookstore and research this whole reincarnation business. Maybe I would find others. Maybe I would find someone who could help me figure out what in the hell was going on and how to make it back alive.
Adjusting the black hat that covered my curly blonde hair, the large black sunglasses shielding my blue eyes, and the small but heavy purse, which carried my loaded weapon, I headed east along the river. Right before I’d left my apartment, I’d had a vague memory of standing inside a charming little bookstore with a view of Notre Dame Cathedral just through the window. And now, as I walked with purpose, I hoped my memories would guide me back to that same place.
After passing by a few touristy cafés that looked familiar, I felt inclined to turn to the right. And there, set back from the crowded street, a green-and-yellow storefront caught my eye. The minute I spotted the sign above the door, which read Shakespeare and Company, I knew this was the place. I walked up the tree-lined path, and as I reached for the wooden door handle, I could already smell the pages of the old books.
Once inside, I peered back through the cramped rooms stacked with floor-to-ceiling books, and I had another strong flash of déjà-vu. I could see myself as Ruby standing in the back corner of the eclectic store, reading a book on the Paris Opera Ballet.
“Can I help you, miss?” the store clerk asked, snapping me from my memory.
“Do you have a section on past lives or reincarnation by any chance?”
“Straight back and to the right.”
“Merci.”
In the back corner of the store, not far from where I remembered standing the last time I’d been here as Ruby, I thumbed through title after title on reincarnation and past lives, my hunger for information, for answers, insatiable. I wanted to know the real reason for my presence in this lifetime. How did I get here? Could I go back? Were there any documented cases of others just like me?
But all I found were different religions’ takes on reincarnation, which all boiled down to one main idea—that after a person dies, his or her soul is reborn into a new form of life. There were stories of people recalling their past lives, but I couldn’t find a single book on what I was experiencing. Apparently traveling back in time to reexperience a past life wasn’t a common occurrence after all.
After frantically skimming every book I could find on the subject, then shoving them all back onto the shelf in frustration, I flopped my hands down at my sides, defeated. But just as I turned around to leave, my right foot bumped into something.
I peered down to find a tattered book that looked to be about a hundred years old, its worn purple cover void of words or pictures. As soon as my fingers touched the frayed spine, a jolt of electricity ran straight through me, jarring my insides and shoving me backward onto my butt. I sat there for a moment, stunned, wondering
what in the hell had just happened when I realized my hands were still tingling. I remembered that familiar sensation. It was the same tingling I’d felt when I’d danced with Édouard. And it was the same feeling I’d experienced every time Antoine had touched me.
The book’s energy, its pull, was so strong I couldn’t resist. I grasped the book in my hands once more, the tingling and prickling intensifying. I didn’t let go this time, though. I had to know what was inside.
Sneaking a quick peek around the shop to make sure no one was watching me, I leaned back against a bookshelf and opened the creaky cover.
On the first page I found what appeared to be a journal entry. I scanned the faded, unruly handwriting that scratched all over the page and felt my heartbeat quickening when I realized this was no ordinary diary.
April 4, 1945
I don’t know how I got here, but somehow I woke up in Rome yesterday morning. Not Dallas. Rome. And that ain’t even the worst of it. It’s not 1988 anymore. It’s 1945. At least that’s what all these pussy willow Italian people keep telling me.
The craziest part of this whole messed-up mind trip is that I’m not me anymore. At least, I don’t look like me. When I woke up, everyone was calling me Benito, and I told them they were all nuts. My name is Jackson, dammit. But when I looked in the mirror, damned if they weren’t right. I have short black hair now, no more ponytail, I’ve lost about a hundred pounds, and I traded in my cowboy hat for a priest’s getup. I told these people I ain’t no priest, and that the closest I ever been to a Catholic church is to bury my great-aunt Jo, but they just think I’m losing my mind.
Dancing with Paris (A Paris Time Travel Romance) Page 18
