Kissed in Paris

by Juliette Sobanet

  “I need to speak with my lawyer before answering any more of your questions,” I said.

  Officer Laroche turned around, a creepy grin spreading across his thin lips. “Your fiancé is a lawyer, no?”

  My gut clenched. How did he know that?

  “How would he feel about the fact that you allowed Monsieur Dubois up to your hotel room last night?” He let out an obnoxious snort, then turned and filed through the door with Officer Fournier.

  My mind raced as I followed the officers back into the hallway, wondering what in the hell was going on and how I’d gone from being an event planner on a last-minute business trip in Paris to a suspect wanted for fraud. We passed by the women’s restroom on our way back to the lobby, and I realized I needed a minute alone to think this through. To figure out what I was going to do, who I was going to call, and how I was going to get out of this mess.

  “Excuse me, Officers,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster. “I need to use the restroom.”

  They shared another questioning glance.

  “Please, I’ll only be a minute. I’m not feeling well.”

  Officer Laroche nodded. “D’accord. But I will have to accompany you.”

  Accompany me? To the restroom?

  I opened my mouth to tell him to stop treating me like a criminal, but the severe look in his black eyes made me stop. Instead, I kept quiet as Officer Fournier set off through the lobby and Officer Laroche escorted me back down the hallway of the elegant hotel, my head suddenly so dizzy I wondered if I would pass out before I even made it to the stall.

  “I will wait outside the door,” announced my new babysitter.

  Thank God. I needed to be alone.

  The pristine marble bathroom smelled of roses and honey, but the wary-eyed reflection staring back at me in the mirror along with the scant red dress strung over my shaking body, reminded me that life was anything but honey and roses right now.

  I leaned over the sink and ran my hands under the cool water, trying to decipher a way out of this unimaginable situation.

  My mind glazed over with fear, refusing to cooperate. Refusing to do anything but worry.

  How in the hell was I under investigation for fraud? Why didn’t they believe me? How was I going to explain any of this to Pa—?

  The bathroom door burst open and Officer Laroche fell through it, crashing onto the floor with a grunt. I stifled a scream as a rugged man with a full head of messy chestnut hair and an unshaven face tackled Officer Laroche, punched him in the face, and knocked him out cold. He removed Officer Laroche’s gun from the holster, tucked it into his jeans, then lifted his deep brown eyes to mine.

  “Who are you?” I screeched, backing myself up against the wall.

  He reached into his back pocket and whipped out a shiny badge.

  “Julien Moreau. I am an undercover agent assigned to the case of a certain Claude Dubois. Judging by the miniscule red dress you are wearing at eight o’clock in the morning and the police escort waiting outside the bathroom door, I see you have met him. No?”

  “Yes . . . but why—”

  “I know you are innocent, Chloe. I can help you get your passport back, but we have to get out of here before he wakes up.” Julien reached for my hand. “Come.”

  A million questions zipped through my dazed head as Julien peeked outside the door, then swiftly led me down the hallway, past a lush arrangement of red roses and around the corner where we were alone.

  I pulled my hand from his grip. “How do you know my name? And why did you just knock him—”

  “Shhh!” Julien covered my mouth with his hand, his face only inches from mine. “If you don’t leave this hotel with me right now, the police are going to arrest you. Claude’s operation has infiltrated the police. He has someone working for him on the inside, which is why you must not follow Officer Laroche and Officer Fournier to the station.” Julien let his hand slide from my mouth, his body still hovering all too close to mine.

  “But they said—”

  “What they said does not matter. I have been on this case for months now, and trust me—Claude could not arrange the types of scams he pulls off and get away with it every time without using someone on the inside. If you go with them, you will not make it home in time for your wedding. I am one step away from arresting Claude, and I know exactly where he is headed next. If you come with me, we will get your passport back, and you can go home without any trouble. But we must leave now.”

  “How did you know I’m engaged? And where are you going to take me? And how do I know for sure—”

  “If you do not want to be accused of fraud and held in France against your will, you’ll have to trust me.”

  I took a closer look at the man who was asking me to place my trust in him. He wore a coal gray T-shirt paired with dark jeans and scuffed black boots, and there was an intensity in his eyes that made my stomach flutter . . . but then again, that was probably from all of the red wine Claude had fed me the night before.

  “You don’t seriously expect me to evade the police and run off with you, do you? I mean, you just knocked out that officer and stole his gun,” I hissed.

  Instead of answering me, Julien peered over my shoulder, took my face in his hands and planted his lips on mine. I vaguely heard Officer Fournier’s harsh voice echoing down the hallway as Julien pressed his warm chest into me and pushed me up against a marble pillar. He held me there in a deep, long kiss, his moist lips brushing over mine, his cool, masculine scent engulfing me and nearly drowning out the sound of the restroom door banging open and shut.

  By the time he pulled his lips away, I’d completely lost the ability to speak. Or to breathe.

  “I rank higher than the police,” Julien whispered, his warm breath tickling my neck. He shot a pointed gaze down the hallway, where the officer’s tense voice rose. “And if you don’t come with me, your fiancé will find out what you have done. You think it is a mistake that Claude chose you, the cautious American with a hefty bank account and a wedding next week? Your life will be in ruins faster than you can blink. I have seen it happen to many women before you.”

  I locked eyes with the man who’d just kissed me, trying to concentrate on his words, but instead wondering why I hadn’t felt the urge to push him off me and run away.

  “They just took the elevator,” Julien continued, completely unfazed by my dropped jaw or my inability to form a coherent response. “We have only two minutes before they will realize you are not in your room and come back down looking for you. This is your only chance.” His big brown gaze intensified as he slid his hand over mine and squeezed it. “Follow me and act natural.”

  In that split second, it was as if some other girl swooped in and inhabited my body. I felt as if I was watching myself in slow motion—my hand resting inside Julien’s, my legs following him underneath the crystal chandeliers and through the lobby, and my dazed eyes looking on as he smiled at the doorman on our way out of the Plaza Athénée Hotel.

  As we emerged onto the fancy Parisian avenue, the late summer humidity clung to my skin like a leech and snapped me out of my trance. I yanked my hand free of his grasp. “Who do you think you are? I’m engaged! You can’t just kiss me like that. You don’t even know me.”

  A smirk passed over his full lips. “You didn’t seem to have any problem doing that with Claude last night, no? And besides it was the only way to make you stop talking. Allez, viens. We don’t have much time.”

  Julien took my hand again and led me around the corner of Avenue Montaigne toward a miniature, sleek black car.

  “Get in,” he ordered as he unlocked the passenger door.

  “Okay, just hold on a second. I can see that you clearly know who I am and that you know this Claude character I met last night. But how do I know you’re not in on this whole thing with him? You could be the insider he’s working with for all I know. I have a flight to catch today, and I’m getting married this Saturday. I need to go to the embassy ri
ght now. They can help me there. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  I spun around on my heel and scoured the street for a cab, trying to push the memory of Julien’s warm kiss out of my dizzy head.

  “Suit yourself.” Julien leaned against the car and folded his arms over his broad chest. “But you must know, the embassy will not be able to protect you. Your name and your bank account are now tied to illegal activity, and it could be weeks or even months before you will be cleared to leave the country. In fact, the last girl Claude scammed—a beautiful Brazilian woman—is still under investigation. But, if you come with me, we will take a short drive to where Claude is, I will arrest him, you will get your passport back, your name will be cleared from this mess, and you could still make your flight. Simple, n’est-ce pas?”

  I shook my head at him, my stomach still woozy and my legs wobbly from the night’s events. And, if I was being honest with myself . . . from his kiss. “I’m not getting in that car with you.”

  He shrugged, letting out a low laugh before nodding back toward the hotel. “It’s now or never.”

  I swiveled around to find my two favorite police officers rounding the corner.

  “C’est elle!” Officer Fournier shouted before they took off in my direction.

  I hadn’t taken French in years, but I understood enough to know they weren’t charging at me to tell me they’d made a mistake and they believed I was innocent. Or to help me get my passport back and make it home in time for my wedding.

  Julien was already in the driver’s seat when I jumped into the passenger’s side.

  As he sped down the tree-lined boulevard and took a left onto the crowded Champs-Élysées, he glanced my way, shooting me a disarming grin.

  “Now do you believe me?”

  Three

  “Where are you taking me?” I peeked around my seat to make sure the police weren’t following us, my heart threatening to pound right through my chest.

  Julien shifted the car into gear, causing it to jolt forward as we sped past swarms of tourists lugging their heavy shopping bags while they meandered up the sun-lit Champs-Élysées.

  “We are going to Giverny. It is where Claude Monet lived. You know Monet?”

  “Yes, I know who Monet is. What does that have to do with anything? How far away is this place?”

  “Only one hour. And with me driving, it will be less.”

  I gripped the door handle as Julien raced around the Arc de Triomphe and zoomed through a red light.

  “And you’re sure that Claude is there? In Giverny?” I asked.

  Julien balanced the steering wheel with his knee as he used one hand to roll down the window and the other to grab a cigarette from the pack in the center console. “So many questions. It seems you have trust issues, no?”

  “Well, excuse me for asking questions, but I’m riding in a car with a French maniac who just accosted me in the lobby of a five-star hotel less than a week before my wedding, which I may not even make it to now that some other maniac French man has stolen my passport. Not to mention the fact that the police are chasing me! I think I’m entitled to a few questions.”

  He popped the cigarette between his grinning lips, once again letting go of the steering wheel to light it. “Yes, I guess so.”

  My stomach churned at the smell of cigarette smoke billowing past my face. “Do all French police officers drive like this? And what is it with French people and smoking? Has France not received the lung cancer memo?”

  “First of all, I am not a police officer. I am an undercover government agent. And secondly, has America not received the ‘live your life and have fun while you can’ memo?” He shook his head, puffing another cloud of smoke into the tiny car. “It seems not.”

  “If having fun in France means drinking poisonous French wine that makes you forget what you did the night before and getting all of your things stolen, then yes, I believe I’ve received the memo.”

  Julien actually refrained from racing through the next red light, instead glancing over at me, the smile wiped clean from his face. “You are not the only one who needs to find Claude, you know. After following this dirty voleur for months now, and seeing woman after woman in your situation, I will not stop until I put him in prison. You have my word.”

  “What is a voleur?”

  Julien shifted in his seat, an odd flicker passing through his gaze. “A thief.”

  “Speaking of thieves, what do you know about my bank account being tied to illegal activity?”

  Julien ignored my question and removed the gun from his jeans.

  “What are you doing?” I screeched.

  “I do not need to carry two guns. I only stole this one because I did not want to risk the officer using it on us.” Julien rested his arm on my bare knee while he tossed the gun into the glove compartment. After closing it up, he reached into the back seat where he rifled inside a plastic bag.

  A greasy croissant wrapped in tissue paper emerged, the strong scent of butter and fluffy bread almost drowning out the cigarette smoke. He dropped it into my lap. “Eat this. It will help you calm down.”

  I gazed down at the pastry when suddenly another scene from the night before flashed through my head. I could see Claude, his chiseled cheek bones and his jet-black, slick hair, feeding me an olive. I could almost feel the juicy, bitter taste rolling around in my mouth. Then he’d picked up a glass of red wine and tipped it past my lips, the blackberry currant sloshing down my throat and into my stomach.

  “It tastes good, does it not?”

  Ugh. My stomach gargled. I glanced over at Julien, the skinny cigarette dangling from his lips, his muscular forearm shifting gears, his brown eyes fixed on the winding Parisian boulevard ahead. Noticing the way his cheekbones cut straight through his jaw line and reached all the way down to his full lips, the gargle in my stomach turned to a flutter.

  Oh my God. Who cared about his damn cheekbones? What was I doing? How had all of this happened in less than a day? I should’ve been on my way to the airport. Flying home to greet my sister as she arrives in DC the next day. Finalizing my wedding plans. And preparing to marry Paul—my stable, no-nonsense fiancé who would never dream of smoking a cigarette or running a red light or eating a fattening pastry for breakfast.

  “You look a little pale,” Julien cut into my thoughts.

  I gripped at my aching stomach. “It’s just . . . this situation is out of control.”

  I tried to take a breath, but suddenly felt as if no air was coming in or going out. What was I doing? How could I have climbed into the car with this man? What if he wasn’t telling me the truth? What if he wasn’t really an undercover agent? I had to get out of here.

  “You need to breathe. Are you okay?” he asked, his deep voice ringing loudly in my ears.

  I leaned my head back on the headrest and squeezed my eyes closed. A wave of heat made its way through my stomach and up to my stinging face. Sharp pains ripped through my chest as I struggled to suck the air into my heaving lungs.

  Julien’s hand enclosed mine, and I felt the car come to an abrupt stop, my ears now ringing even louder, blackness closing in around me.

  “Chloe, look at me. Chloe, open your eyes,” he said firmly.

  I blinked my eyes open and peeked up at Julien, hoping he wasn’t going to hurt me. Hoping I hadn’t made a huge mistake in choosing to trust him. Clearly I’d already made a catastrophic decision in trusting Claude the night before.

  “You can trust me,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on mine. “I know you are confused, but it will all be over soon. I have seen Claude do this many times before, with women just like you, and I do not want you to get hurt. We are driving to Giverny, we will find Claude and get your passport, and you can leave France. I promise.”

  My sharp breaths slowed down as I focused on his eyes. I didn’t know this man from a hole in the wall, but for some strange reason I believed him.

  Julien reached down for the croissant in my lap.
“Mangez,” he said. “You had a lot to drink last night and if you do not eat, you will be sick.”

  I didn’t say a word as I picked up the croissant, tore off a piece of the flaky pastry, and tucked it into my mouth.

  My breathing relaxed further as the chewy bread made its way into my stomach and soaked up some of the alcohol that was still swishing around in there, making me feel nauseous.

  “Better?” he asked as he put the car back into gear.

  I nodded as I gazed out the window and noticed row after row of gray apartment buildings, their black balconies all in a line, bunches of purple and white flowers trickling over the sides. The charming scene zooming past reminded me of a postcard of Paris my mom used to keep tucked in her bedroom mirror. After she died, my dad had boxed up the postcard and stashed it away in the basement, just as he’d done with the rest of her things.

  Finishing the last bite of my croissant, I pushed the memories of my mom and her boxed-up life out of my mind. Now wasn’t the time to think about her. I had a few more pressing questions that unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to answer for me.

  “Does Claude usually. . . take advantage of the women he steals from?” I asked.

  “You mean, does he have sex with them?” Julien said, not missing a beat.

  I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “No, sex is not in Claude’s game plan. That complicates things too much, and all he is after is your money.”

  “So you’re saying he doesn’t do anything with the women except get them drunk to the point of passing out before stealing their things?”

  “No, I said that he doesn’t have sex with them. That doesn’t mean he won’t do other things. You did wake up in your underwear, no?”

  I clasped my hands together in my lap, my knuckles turning white. “Yes,” I gritted through my teeth.

  “With the exception of sex, Claude will do whatever he needs to do to get you to drink a lot, take off your clothes and pass out. If that involves kissing you or—”

  “I get it,” I said firmly. I didn’t want to hear what else I may have done with Claude last night prior to the point of passing out in my underwear.