The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin

by Michele Renae

  Shaking, I wandered to the elevator and stood before it. To think, I'd popped my elevator cherry with the wife. That was wrong on too many levels.

  Behind me I heard shouting on the other side of Jean-Louis's door. The man was giving as good as he was getting. It was a side to him I'd never seen. Anger so vile it raised his voice and had made him brush me off as if crumbs to be swept under the carpet.

  He'd sent me away.

  My finger hovered before the elevator button. I shook my head, and scrambled off toward the stairs. Two steps down and I stumbled, catching myself on the railing and allowing my body to descend until I sat on the bottom step of the second floor landing.

  The shouts were muffled, but they were still going at it.

  "I could have loved you!"

  I cringed at her shout. Really? Could have? Meaning, she probably had not been in love when they'd married? Greta, you are a first-class bitch.

  "You don't know how to love one man at a time!"

  One point for Jean-Louis.

  "And you do?"

  What had she expected? They'd been separated for a year. She had been screwing around on him since the third month of their marriage, which had only lasted a year before they'd separated. And she was surprised to learn that Jean-Louis had moved on with someone else?

  I recalled the strange feeling I'd gotten when we'd been Skyping one another after our relationship had progressed from window sex. I'd felt as though he were reluctant to meet, to bring it to the next level. And I'd been angry with him, even while I'd known if anyone were going to back out on the relationship it would be me with my one-month-to-detonation dating rules.

  That was when he'd confessed he was married. But only after I'd run into the building manager and the old man had let the big secret slip by assuming I was Jean-Louis's wife.

  When I had spied Jean-Louis in the window the first time and we had flirted through glass, I had been exactly what he had needed. A woman interested in him, someone who had obviously boosted his tattered ego, yet also someone at a distance. He hadn't been ready for the face-to-face.

  For skin.

  And I could completely understand now after having stood in Greta's universe for five minutes. She was a storm, and I believed when angered, she could level everything and anything in her path.

  I glanced up the stairs. It would be foolish to return to the scene of the crime. And I wouldn't help Jean-Louis at all by popping in my head and giving his wife fuel to rage even more.

  Reluctantly, I walked down and out the front door, crossing the street with a shiver as a breeze tickled up and under my coat. So much for the glittery surprise. How had she known I was naked under the coat? Was I flashing?

  It must have been a good guess. Bitch. Yeah, I was going to call that one as I saw it.

  Poor Jean-Louis.

  ***

  It was nine in the evening. I wandered into the bedroom, skin still putting off steam from the hot shower. The light by the bed was on, but it was dim. I wondered if they were still having it out across the street?

  Some Valentine's Day this had been. If I saw a red rose or a box of chocolates it would only remind me of Greta's greasy red lips. Bleck.

  Motion in Jean-Louis's bedroom caught my eye. Across the street, he rushed to the bedside table and grabbed a notebook, scribbling something on the paper. Pressing it to the window, I then read his note, "Can I come over?"

  I nodded and gestured that he could. I hadn't locked the door yet, so he could get in on his own. Crawling into bed, I pulled my knees up to my chest, the robe parting, and settled against the pillows.

  What would he have to tell me?

  It would be ridiculous for him to report anything but that the wicked German bitch had handed him the signed divorce papers. Had my being there thrown her off course? Had she reconsidered after seeing that her husband was happy and had found someone new? I'd never forgive myself if that were the case.

  Ah! There I go again. Thinking too much. My thinks always went a thought too far.

  Sighing, I leaned against the headboard and listened as the front door clicked open. Jean-Louis shuffled off his shoes then turned the lock in the door. He padded into the room, and I patted the bed beside me. The way the low lamp lighted the room, his broad frame cast shadows on the walls. He sat facing me and I noticed his eyes.

  "You've been crying," I said.

  He bowed his head. The slightest nod of agreement. When he looked up I pressed my lips together to prevent my own tears from falling. I hated seeing the defeat in his eyes.

  "It hurts me," he said quietly, "that I couldn't make it work."

  "Did you want to?"

  "Of course, from the start. I didn't marry her on a whim."

  Right. This man was honorable. Trusting. Truthful. Who didn't get married thinking it would be anything but happily ever after?

  "Come here."

  Lying down, he nuzzled his head against my stomach, tucking his hands against my thigh. I stroked his hair. Had she ever held him so gently?

  "She said she hates me," he said. His exhale shuddered his shoulders against my hip. "I don't know what I did. I only ever loved her."

  Now tears pooled at the corners of my eyes. He was a man lost in a world that didn't care. A world that rushed and moved and raced, and when it finished with something, tossed it aside for something new. He had chosen the wrong woman with whom to share his heart. And I could feel the wrenching ache that must have cracked his heart in two.

  There was nothing I could say that would seal up that crack. Only time would heal him completely. And I was willing to hold him for as long as it took for that healing.

  I wrapped my arms around him and bent to kiss his head. Nuzzling my nose in his soft hair, my tears spilled into the strands.

  "It's over," he whispered. "She left the signed papers."

  Not another word was spoken. I held him as he softly sobbed. He clutched at me. His tears wet my skin.

  Together we would face the future.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A month later...

  I never cried when I was a child. Margot would always chastise me and tell me to act like a big boy. Boys did not cry. So crying in Hollie's arms on that night after Greta had left had opened me to her. Splayed me out, vulnerable and small.

  And she had held me through the night.

  I think about it every so often. Her gentle acceptance, her quiet charm. Her exquisite ability to calm me when I most wanted to push her away and close myself off from the world.

  Hollie is the soul I was meant to meet but got sidetracked on the way to that meeting. Perhaps I'd needed Greta's infidelity to redirect my path. Now that Hollie and I were together, I believed nothing could ever part us.

  The shower curtain swished aside and there stood my naked abeille. I grasped her dry hand and pulled her inside, losing grasp as quickly for my hands were slick with soap. We almost toppled but I caught us by slapping a hand to the tiled wall behind the shower spigot where it was still dry. Her hand coiled about my cock and began to lazily slick up and down.

  "The movie starts in an hour," she said.

  I'd suggested we take in the latest flick starring Romain Duris, her favorite actor, and she'd jumped at the chance. Didn't matter that there would be no subtitles. I assumed she would get the gist of the plot, if not enjoy mooning over the actor.

  "I am jealous," I said as she squeezed my cock tighter, which lured me down to kiss her on the neck. "You are in love with another Frenchman."

  "Maybe he's my freebie?"

  "Your what?"

  "You haven't heard about the freebie?"

  "Apparently not. Mm, yes. Just like that." I clasped my hand about hers and directed her motions slower and longer, stretching the foreskin up and down the head of my cock with each thrust.

  "A freebie is that one person we are allowed to have sex with, even though we are committed and in love with one another. The key is that the freebie fuck must be a cele
brity that you've zero chance in hell of ever meeting, let alone, falling into bed with."

  "Ah, I understand. I will give you Duris as your freebie. Though, should he see you in those heels and that sexy black lace dress, I will become worried."

  "You think I could turn his head?"

  "Most definitely." I kissed her jaw, and groaned against her lower lip as the imminent orgasm crept up my cock in a fiery blaze that prepared for liftoff. "Do I get a freebie?"

  "Of course. Who is she?"

  I considered the many celebrities that could turn my eye. None of them held a candle to Hollie. Because what we saw on the screen was merely an act, a facade. The actor beneath the character was a regular person who was generally made to look more attractive with makeup and lots of surgery.

  But, if she insisted...

  "Monica Belluci," I offered.

  "Ooo, Vincent Cassel's wife. You know he would be number two on my freebie list."

  "You have a whole list?"

  She increased the speed of her motions, hand slicking up and down, and I uttered a non-word of restrained pleasure.

  "We could play swingers," she suggested. "You and Monica and me and Vincent."

  "Deal," I offered. Because Hollie was all I ever wanted and needed and— "Fuck yes."

  I came at her direction, spurting onto her belly, which the water washed down her mons and curled into the soap tendrils. I tugged her to me, and we slipped again, but this time I was able to gently lower us down to sit in the tub and I bent to sup between my lover's legs.

  ***

  I had handed in the bible to my fantasy author client two weeks ago, and today I received an email congratulating me on a job well done. Also, he offered me a permanent position to organize the bible for all books in the series to come.

  I replied with a quick yes and thanks. The extra paycheck would cover my lost income from the map shop. And to celebrate, I'd take the afternoon off. Sort of. While I had no plans to work, I did have plans to run down to the US Embassy and renew my Visa for another three years. It felt right for now. If I renewed for a permanent Visa then I'd have to consider French citizenship, and no matter how in love I was with Jean-Louis, I don't know that I'd ever become an ex-pat. Maybe? I'd have to do more research into it.

  I was over Iowa, for sure. I had a couple long-distance girlfriends whom I emailed a few times a year, but no friends I had to rush back to see in the States. Paris was my home now.

  But really? If I could take a moment to get all smarmy and feel-good, home wasn't a place on the map. I'd discovered home was standing in Jean-Louis l'Etoile's arms. And falling into his kisses. And lingering against his skin after we'd made love.

  How's that for feel-good?

  I also remembered I'd promised Jean-Louis I'd pick up something for dessert tonight. The man spoiled me by cooking most nights. But tonight he had online classes until six, and had said dinner would be nothing special. So to decorate the table, dessert was necessary.

  ***

  The client I'd wined and dined before Christmas had decided to invest. To celebrate, I'd called my realtor and bought champagne. Over the dense flourless fudge cake Hollie had defrosted for dessert I told her my good news.

  Clapping gaily she stood and landed on my lap with an effusive kiss and hug. "Felicitations," she said. "Well deserved."

  "Tomorrow is Sunday. I want to take you for a drive in the country."

  "A celebratory drive? Sounds like fun. And it's supposed to be in the seventies the rest of the week. I must dig out my sundress and sandals."

  "You like the country life, Hollie?"

  She shrugged. "I've never actually lived in the country. I was a suburban kid. But I do have fond memories of my parents dropping me off at the grandparents for my annual two-week stay. It wasn't until my teens that I finally figured out mom and dad never actually did go on the vacation they said they were taking, and instead went home and had lots of sex. I loved working in Grandma's garden. But that said, I am a city girl to the core."

  "I can envision you standing barefoot in the grass with a cat in arm and your skirts blowing in the breeze."

  "It's a dream, isn't it?"

  "Dreams exist to come true some day."

  "Hmm, what about you? Got any Green Acres fantasies for yourself?"

  "A nice quiet summer home, so I could work in the city and take the summer off to spend in the country. Maybe have a few vines to grow my own wine."

  "You know how to do that?"

  "I don't know how to grow anything, let alone grape vines, but I am willing to learn." A kiss tasted the chocolate cake on her breath. "Hollie, with my income and the money I have stashed in savings and investments, I wouldn't ever have to work another day and could live quite well."

  "Really? I knew you were well off, but that's nicely well off."

  "It is. But I don't think I could ever stop working. I love what I do. And like you, I am a city boy. But to have the freedom to walk outside and stroll through the vineyard and throw a stick for the dog?" I sighed.

  "You will get that dog someday."

  "I hope so. I will do the dishes tonight because you brought the dessert, d'accord?"

  "Really? Because you made the risotto. And it was fabulous."

  I gave her that Frenchman's dismissive shrug of shoulder. Very well, so maybe we Frenchmen did possess a common gesture that defined our heritage. Ha! "I like to cook for you. It relaxes me after a long day before the computer."

  "You know what relaxes me?"

  I waggled a brow and glanced over to the velvet ottoman.

  "Let's do the dishes together," she suggested. "Then we can get to the sex faster."

  ***

  The drive south of Paris was less than an hour once we'd crossed the ring road. After we'd passed through a small village replete with a clock tower and home bakery, the last fifteen minutes of the drive were spent on a treacherous gravel road that wound through tall grasses and lavender fields.

  "Those are grape vines." Jean-Louis pointed out the bare-branched black silhouettes of craggy tree-like soldiers lined in militant rows every so often. "They are just getting their leaves. I'm not sure when the grapes come to the vine, but I know harvest is late, in October or even November."

  "Isn't that called winter wine when the harvest is so late?"

  "I think so. You know about wine?"

  "No more than what I've read on the labels, but I'm willing to learn."

  He clasped my hand. "I'd like to learn with you. Could you be a vintner's wife?"

  "Really? When did the wife thing come into play?"

  Jean-Louis drove the car up a long drive and parked before a chateau that was fronted by gorgeous willow trees that hung over a stone courtyard. An old iron table and two chairs sat near a fieldstone wall that looked out over a field that boasted more of the blackened grape vines.

  "It comes into play right now," he said.

  My lover turned off the ignition, got out of the car, and swung around the hood to my side, where he opened the door and squatted before me. He tucked his hand in a pocket and when he pulled out a ring I let out a peep.

  Really. It had been a freakin' peep. Like I'd opened my mouth but words didn't form and only a high-pitched sound popped out.

  "Hollie, I love you."

  Tears welled in my eyes as he spoke. The French accent, something I'd always wanted in a man, sang like music in my heart. And his eyes, so genuine and true, held mine captive.

  "I adore you, and admire you," he continued. "I would be honored if you would be my wife."

  I opened my mouth, but he put up a palm to stay my reply.

  "I want you to know I've been thinking about this for weeks. I know this is fast after the divorce. I don't want you to think you are the rebound wife. I had to look that term up, and I hate it. You are not that person to me, Hollie. You make me happy, you make me feel safe, you make me feel more love than I have ever known. You make me so happy to live in this moment, and to
have the opportunity to share it with you. So don't let some silly ring sway your answer. You can think about it for awhile."

  I grabbed him by the face and kissed him hard, leaning out of the car and against his body until we fell backward onto the grass bordering the drive. He started to laugh but I wasn't having it. I deepened the kiss and sought the core of him. That place within him where I fit perfectly. Because I was there. He'd welcomed me in. And I never wanted to leave.

  "Yes," I said. "Yes, yes, and yes."

  "You don't want to think about it?"

  I shook my head. "You are the man for me. I love you. I want to make wine with you, and chase the dog with you. And I want to pick vegetables from the garden and make meals with you. I want to have your baby!" I said with a determination that surprised and excited me. "Can we do that? Can we have a baby?"

  "Oui, I would like that. Right now?"

  "Uh." I looked about. The realtor had given Jean-Louis the lockbox combination and told us to take our time this afternoon. We were alone. Baby-making was in the cards. "Maybe?"

  "You are getting ahead of me." He sat up and I tumbled onto his lap, leaning against his shoulder as he pulled up my hand and slid the ring onto my finger. It fit like a dream. "Let me digest your yes first, oui?"

  "Deal."

  I studied the ring. It wasn't a diamond, but rather an opal that caught the sunlight and dazzled brilliant azure and emerald embedded within a milky background. Surrounding the oval center stone was a crown of amethyst. I'd never seen anything like it. It looked as if it had been made for a princess.

  "I was browsing the diamonds," Jean-Louis offered, "when that one caught my eye. The salesman said 'oh, non, Monsieur, that is not an engagement ring'. But it reminded me of your heart. Bright and colorful and with so much depth."

  "It's beautiful. I love it."

  And I kissed him again, tumbling us onto the grass, which smelled sweeter than I'd ever thought grass could smell.

  In fact, the air out here was delicious and intoxicating and I wanted to inhale big gulps, but I wondered if I'd grow dizzy with the heady delight. Maybe it was the proposal. Maybe it was the ring.