Julien’s eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Suit yourself.”
I strolled through the store in search of black or white cotton bikini briefs—the kind of underwear I normally wore. I wasn’t a thong girl, and even if I had been, I wasn’t about to buy a bunch of lacy, provocative thongs while Julien was trailing along at my side.
I’d never been in a French lingerie store before though, and the problem was, there didn’t seem to be anything that wasn’t provocative. Rows of lacy, transparent bras in purples, grays, light greens and blacks paired with matching transparent boy shorts and panties lined the walls. I had to admit, I’d never seen lingerie more beautiful, but who was I kidding? This was awkward. And I was engaged. Just thinking of Paul made me uneasy as I strolled through the aisles of gorgeous, sexy, French lingerie with Julien, who was acting as if we were shopping for something as benign as apples.
After making a round through the entire store without picking up a single thing, I turned to Julien. “I don’t think there’s anything for me here. We can just go.”
“What? You do not wear lingerie like this at home? Even with your fiancé?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Julien crossed the store and picked up a white bra with gray straps and a little gray bow in the middle that came with a matching pair of white, non-transparent boy shorts. “What about this? Would you not even wear something this prude in front of him?”
“That’s not prude! That’s . . . well, it’s sexy. And yes, of course I would wear that in front of him. We’ve been together for eight years. It’s not like I’m afraid to show myself to him.”
“The question is not if you are afraid. The question is, do you even wear lingerie with him? Ever? Because the way you are walking through this store, with your hands in your pockets, not touching a thing, I imagine the answer is no.”
I yanked the bra and underwear set out of his hands and pushed past him toward the dressing room. Julien chuckled behind me, making me want to turn around and smack him. Who did he think he was constantly questioning my relationship with Paul? Our level of intimacy was just fine, and it wasn’t like I was actually going to divulge the details of our sex life to him.
Besides, he was totally wrong about me and Paul. Sure, I wasn’t wearing sexy lingerie every night of the week and giving him stripper lap dances like I’m sure Julien’s girlfriends did for him, but we’d been together for eight years, and it was normal for the passion to die down by that point. Paul was stable. And he’d known me since I was twenty-one years old. What did Julien know about that kind of stability? Obviously nothing.
Inside the dressing room, I continued to stew over Julien’s rude comments as I pulled the text message note out of my bra, reminding myself to translate it as soon as possible. I tucked the note into my jeans pocket, slipped on the new bra and underwear set and regarded my reflection on the mirror. I hadn’t checked the sizes before I’d ripped them away from Julien, and I quickly realized the cup on the bra was a size too small. Other than that though, it was a gorgeous set.
Julien’s voice sounded on the other side of the door. “I found another one you might like.”
A raspberry colored bra with fuscia straps and a matching pair of lacy raspberry panties with little pink bows on either side appeared under the door. I took them from him without responding and decided that while I was stuck here, two pairs of clean underwear would be better than one.
After slipping on the second set, I flipped around to check myself out in the mirror. Wow. This one was . . . well, it was hot. It was the sexiest, most beautiful bra I’d ever worn, without a doubt. Not that I thought I was that hot in it, but I had to admit, it made my chest look pretty nice. I always had a hard time bra shopping in the States because everything had so much padding, which made me look top-heavy and oversized.
But there hadn’t been any padding in either of these bras, so it was just me, au naturel. And I liked it. I liked it a lot, actually.
Just as I realized I was beginning to enjoy myself, I remembered where I was and what I was doing. I was lingerie shopping with a mysterious French agent who had a picture of me on his cell phone and wasn’t telling me everything. It was time to get the hell out of here and get that text message translated.
As I was about to slip off the bra, Julien burst through the door of the dressing room, his eyes as wide as quarters.
“What are you—?” I began, but wasn’t able to finish or cover myself up because Julien had wrapped his arms around my all-too-bare waist. He lifted me up onto the dressing room bench then stepped onto it himself, smashing his warm body into mine.
“Shhh,” he whispered, lifting his finger to my lips.
A booming male voice echoed through the store. My mind flashed back to the night before—to the bulging muscles around my neck.
It was Tattoo Guy.
I lifted my eyes to Julien’s and gave him a knowing glance. Staying still, I leaned my back against the wall, my body completely exposed except for the racy lingerie strung onto me, my short legs resting against Julien’s jeans. His hands stayed firmly planted on my shoulders, his cheek touching mine, his hot breath on my neck, as we listened to Tattoo Guy shop for lingerie with a woman who I was assuming was his girlfriend.
“This would be right sexy on you,” he growled in his Australian accent.
“Wouldn’t you like to see,” she purred.
Footsteps entered the dressing area, then padded into the room next to us.
“Show me,” he said.
“Oh, baby,” she responded.
The girlfriend giggled while Tattoo Guy made a grunting noise. The wall between us shook as the two of them slammed up against it, and the heavy breathing commenced.
“Oh yeah, right there,” she heaved in a low voice.
I arched my eyebrows at Julien. Seriously? They were going to go at it on the other side of the wall, in a public place no less, and we had to just stand here and listen?
The corners of Julien’s mouth slid upward just the tiniest bit.
Oh my God. He is actually enjoying this. The man who we were hiding from was about to have sex with some woman in the room next to us, and Julien was pressed up against my almost naked body, thinking this was funny.
I glared at him, careful not to make a sound, even though I wanted to shove him off me and bop him in the head.
He wiped the near grin off his face and resumed a serious look, his eyes not breaking my gaze. And as Tattoo Slut and his girlfriend began pounding into the wall, Julien slid his hands down to my waist, stepped off the bench and guided me down with him.
Moving swiftly and silently, he stuffed the white lingerie set inside of the cardigan sweater he’d just bought me, then crammed them both into the shopping bag. I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing, but a low groan from the other side of the wall reminded me to shut it.
Julien motioned for me to put my clothes back on.
He wanted me to walk out of this store wearing the raspberry lingerie underneath my clothes? He wanted me to steal?
I mouthed a big fat no to him, but as he pointed to the pounding wall, then ran his eyes up the length of my body, his pupils lingering on my chest, I remembered that this bra was practically transparent. I grabbed my clothes off the floor and threw them back on.
Once I was clothed, Julien led the way out of the dressing room, opening and closing the door in complete silence as Tattoo Guy carried on his public display of affection in the next room over.
Julien leaned into my ear. “You go first. I’ll be out in a second.”
My heart thudded in my chest, my face burned, and I was sure, absolutely sure, that the saleswoman was going to start screaming and call the police, and that a loud, scary alarm would go off, and that I would be in prison for the rest of my life for stealing this stupid, transparent, gorgeous, raspberry-colored lingerie set.
Instead, I smiled at her and jetted out onto the sidewalk. No alarms, no police.
Nothing. It didn’t matter though. I knew the truth. I was officially a criminal. I was a slimy shoplifter. And as if that wasn’t all, I’d just allowed another man to see me in the sexiest lingerie I’d ever worn.
But then again, Claude had obviously seen me in my underwear too, just the other night. Ugh.
I scuttled down the sidewalk and around the corner to wait for Julien. As I thought about the way he’d been pressed up against me, his hands on my bare skin, his cheek touching mine . . . my entire body felt weak all of a sudden. My stomach flopped. My ears were hot. I felt dizzy and shameful and excited all at the same time.
Julien appeared at my side, donning his devious grin. “I am impressed.”
“About what?” I demanded, trying to ignore the butterflies dancing around my stomach.
Julien did his characteristic eyebrow raise.
“What? You’re impressed that I stole? That you made me a thief?” I snapped, wishing he would go away. Wishing I didn’t feel so weird all of a sudden.
“No. It is not that I am impressed about, although that was quite a surprise.”
“I don’t want to know then,” I said as we wound through the streets, my pulse still racing. I had a pretty good idea what he was talking about, but I was going to pretend I didn’t. And as Paul’s face flashed through my guilty conscience, I realized that just for today, it would be easier that way.
Eleven
Julien and I wound back through the town toward the hotel, passing by a crêperie, a pâtisserie, a boulangerie, and a fromagerie along the way. The smell of Nutella, fresh pastries, fluffy breads and tangy cheeses emanating from their open doors made me feel light headed from hunger. Tourists and locals strolled along the sidewalks, baguette sandwiches in their hands, munching and chatting, not in a hurry to be anywhere.
As I noticed a young French couple strolling along ahead of us, their clasped hands swinging back and forth, I felt that familiar pang I’d felt when we’d first arrived the night before—wishing I could step into their shoes and be someone else for the day. Someone who was visiting this gorgeous little town for fun. Someone who wasn’t worried about the fact that she’d just shown her body to a French guy she barely knew when she was engaged to be married in a couple of days. . . and who couldn’t get the electricity she’d felt from his hands on her bare skin to leave her memory.
I glanced over at Julien, taking in his large brown eyes, his messy chestnut hair, his strong cheekbones, and as my stomach churned, I knew what I needed to do.
I needed to call Paul.
“You are okay?” Julien asked as we neared the hotel.
I nodded, keeping my gaze on the sidewalk. “Just hungry, that’s all.”
“You know, it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable in there.”
“Then why did you do that? You knew I was barely dressed. And I know I don’t need to say it again, but I’m engaged.”
“It would not have been good if that man had seen us. Like you saw last night, he does not care for me or for Claude, and now you are on his list too. We have enough problems. We do not need one more.”
“Who is he anyway? Some kind of gangster? I mean, it’s not like he owns the town of Annecy.”
“The story is too long and complicated to get into. Trust me. We don’t want to see him or Marie again. It will only lead to more trouble.”
“I have a feeling that all of your stories are too long and complicated to get into, aren’t they?”
Julien didn’t respond as he held the hotel door open for me, then rode the elevator in silence.
Back inside our hotel room, I dialed Paul’s number, ignoring Julien’s presence behind me.
“Hello?” Paul answered, with more than a hint of panic seeping through his voice.
“Paul, it’s me.”
“Chloe, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. With your cell phone gone, the only number I have for you is the Plaza Athénée, but they said you’re not a guest there anymore?”
“Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Angela had me switch to a hotel that’s a little less expensive so we don’t rack up the company credit card. Seeing as how the extra days weren’t planned.”
“Jeez, Chloe. It’s not like you to forget to tell me where you’re at.”
“I know. Things have been a little hectic over here.”
“This job is getting too stressful. I don’t like what it’s doing to you. You should be home, preparing for the wedding. And when the wedding is over, it would be nice if you could take a break from all of this event planning business.”
It didn’t sound like Paul was going to forget his offer of stay-at-home mommy-hood in suburban Pennsylvania anytime soon.
As I festered silently at that thought, Paul kept talking. “Also, I tried to use our debit card yesterday, and it wouldn’t go through. I called the bank and they said they’ve put an indefinite hold on our account due to potential fraudulent activity. I explained to them that you’re in Paris for business, but they said it was more than that. They’re doing an investigation, Chloe, and they refuse to take the hold off the account until they’re finished.”
“That’s weird,” I said, rubbing my throbbing temples.
“You still have possession of your debit card, right? That wasn’t stolen too, was it?”
Shit. What am I supposed to say?
“No. I have it right here.” God, what am I doing?
“Fine. I’ll call them again today. We still have a few final bills to settle before the wedding. Not to mention our normal bills that come out of that account. Just hold off on using your card for now until I get this figured out. You can use the company card while you’re there, right?”
I stole a glance at Julien and noticed him pretending to mess with his phone. “Hmm? Yeah, the company card is fine.”
“Are you alright, Chloe? You sound a little distracted.”
“I’m fine. Just really busy with the conference, you know. Still working out the kinks.”
“So when will you be home?”
“Hopefully by Wednesday.”
“Wednesday? I thought you said a day or two at the most.” Paul’s voice rose in agitation.
“I know. I don’t have a choice though. I’m the only planner here handling the messes that have come up, so I have to stay.”
“Have you thought any more about Pennsylvania?”
I let out a quiet breath as Julien went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. “Let’s talk about it when I get home, okay? I have a lot going on here right now, and that’s something we need to talk about in person.”
“Promise me you’ll think about it and really consider it, okay?”
“Okay, Paul. I will. I’ll think about it. I hate to run, but I have to get back to work here.”
“Can I have the hotel number where you’re staying?”
“You know, I don’t have it on me at the moment. I’m calling from a colleague’s cell phone. I’ll call you later on before I go to bed. And don’t forget to pick up Sophie at the airport tonight. Her flight comes in at seven.”
Paul sighed loudly into the phone. “I really wish you were here right now. I can’t believe this. Just make sure you get home by Wednesday. Your dad and sisters are arriving then, right?”
Ugh. “Yes. I’ll be back by then. I promise. And I’ll try for earlier, but no guarantees.”
“And don’t use the debit, okay?”
“Got it.”
After hanging up the phone, I rested my head in my hands and closed my eyes. God, what a mess. But what was I supposed to do? Should I have told Paul that my entire wallet was stolen, so at least the debit card fiasco would make a little more sense? I hadn’t thought any of this out, and I hadn’t realized it would go this far. That I would be seven hours from Paris, letting the lies roll off my tongue each time I talked to the man I was marrying in just five days.
I gazed down at my engagement ring—which I had slipped back on this morning before leaving the h
otel—and silently thanked God that Julien had gotten it back. I couldn’t even imagine what Paul would’ve said about that. I had no idea how I would explain the rest, but at least I had the ring.
Julien appeared at my side. “You are okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“You talked to your fiancé?”
“Yes.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I just talked to my not-a-man fiancé.”
“I am sorry I said that yesterday. I do not know him, but . . . never mind. I should not have said that.”
I shot up from the chair and paced the room. “What am I going to tell him when I do finally get home? How is the illegal activity on my bank account going to be cleared? How is he not going to find out what really happened? And if he does find out, is he even going to want to marry me this weekend?”
Julien reached for my shoulders and pushed my butt down onto the bed before sitting next to me. “Like I told you, I have seen Claude do this many times before. I can’t promise that things will go well once you go home, but I can at least help you get there.”
“Why do you have my picture on your phone?” I demanded, not willing to just go along for the ride anymore.
Julien’s voice caught in his throat as he opened his mouth. “What?”
“I looked at your phone last night when you were in the shower. You had the same picture that the police had of me, with some strange message underneath that had my name in it. What’s going on?”
“You already know everything that is going on, Chloe. I told you I work for the government, and I have been assigned to find and arrest Claude. There is nothing more to tell.”
“That’s funny because when I asked you how you knew it was me in the hotel lobby yesterday morning, you said it was the signature red dress and the bewildered look on my face. You failed to mention the fact that someone had sent you my name and my picture. Who sent it, and what does the message say?”
Julien stood abruptly and walked to the window where he avoided my gaze . . . and my questions.
Kissed in Paris Page 11
