Frenched

by Harlow, Melanie

  “Mia, would—”

  But he was interrupted by the waiter approaching with a pitcher of water and two glasses. Lucas poured water for us, and I waited for him to say whatever it was he’d been about to say, but he didn’t.

  “You were going to ask me something?” I prompted.

  He shook his head and took a drink of water. “No.”

  “Yes, you were. Right before the water arrived. You said my name.”

  His brow furrowed, and either he had a good poker face or he really hadn’t had anything of importance to say. “I don’t remember, I guess.”

  My chest caved a little, and I picked up my water. What is this? Why am I getting weird and mopey about Lucas? Last night I hadn’t even liked him that much. So my first impression of him had been off, so what? I found him attractive in spite of the scruff, big deal. So beyond the smartass mouth was a curious mind and a romantic soul, whatever. I hadn’t come here to meet a man; I’d come here to forget one. Straightening up in my seat, I vowed to quit allowing serious thoughts to get in the way of a good time.

  Our wine arrived, and I watched as the waiter poured the ruby-colored liquid into glasses. My insides got quivery with excitement the way they always do when I’m anticipating a really good glass of wine. I must have bounced a little in my chair or something because Lucas laughed. “Excited?”

  “Totally. Can I drink it now or do I have to let it sit for a while so oxygen wafts around above it or something?” I waved a hand in the air over my glass.

  “No, you can drink it now.”

  “Good.” I picked up my glass and breathed in the aroma as if I knew what I was doing. “So you know about wine?”

  “A little. My family has a small vineyard in Provence.”

  I lowered the glass. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. In fact, this wine is very similar to one we make. Try it.”

  “Say no more.” The wine was cool on my lips, and I let it linger in my mouth a few seconds before swallowing. “Mmm. Delicious. I wish I knew better how to describe it. Soft? Silky?” I took another sip. “God, it’s just so good. Sorry I don’t have better words.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you like it.”

  The waiter brought our salads and Lucas set down his glass in favor of his fork, but I wasn’t quite ready to part with mine yet.

  “So tell me something about this wine.”

  “Well, I don’t know nearly as much as my brothers, and I’m not much into rules about wine, but the first thing any expert would tell you is that this is the wrong wine to have with these salads.”

  “Who cares about that? I’m with you—no rules.” After one more sip, I swirled it around in the glass. “But what’s something about it you can teach me?”

  “Well, this wine is a Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which can have up to thirteen different varietals—but don’t ask me to name them all.”

  “How about just one?”

  He thought for a second. “Grenache.”

  I nodded. “Good enough.”

  As we ate our salads and polished off the bottle of wine, Lucas and I chatted easily about wine, our families, and our childhoods. His mother had been a film actress.

  “But she only acted for maybe five, six years before quitting to marry a Count,” he said.

  “A Count? Really?”

  “Really. Old name, old money. That’s where the vineyard comes from. She had two sons with him before he admitted he preferred men.”

  I paused with a bite halfway to my mouth. “No way.”

  He nodded. “They stayed good friends, though. He’s a great guy. He and his partner run the vineyard and my mom is a constant guest there in the summertime.” He paused before adding, “With her new husband.”

  “What? God, that’s so French. Is the current husband your dad?”

  “Nope. My dad was an American musician on a European tour. He met my mom here, fell in love, and left the band to stay and marry her. When I was about six we moved to the U.S. When I was twelve, she decided their affair had run its course and moved back to France. Now she’s married to the tennis pro at her club, who’s ten years younger than she is.”

  “Oh. Well, good for her.”

  “And for the pro too. He spends his summers sunning himself at the Count’s pool and practicing his serve on the Count’s court.”

  “And everyone gets along?”

  He shrugged. “Well enough.”

  “Where’s your dad now?”

  “He works as a studio musician in New York, but he also teaches college classes on music theory.”

  I nodded slowly. “Wow. You had quite a childhood. Mine’s boring by comparison.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well, Mom was a legal secretary, Dad was a lawyer, I was an oopsie. They married but it didn’t work out, and I did the back and forth thing until I graduated from high school. Now my dad is married to another attorney and they have three little girls, and my mom is married to a cardiac surgeon. They live in Chicago, which is a good place for her.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because it’s three hundred miles from me.”

  He smiled. “You don’t get along?”

  “Well enough, I suppose. But you know what?” I drained the last drop of wine in my glass. “Let’s not talk about her. She stresses me out, and I am feeling amazingly good about life right now.”

  He poured the remains of the bottle into our glasses. “Good wine will do that for you.”

  “It’s not just the wine.”

  Shit, did I say that out loud?

  Lucas froze for a moment, eyes locked on mine, the wine bottle still suspended above the table. Finally he set it down. “Oh?”

  Heat rushed my face, but I didn’t look away. “Yes. Lucas, this is the best day I’ve had in a long time. In fact, I’d forgotten what it was like to feel this way.”

  “What way?”

  I lifted my shoulders. “Happy. Carefree. Just…excited about what might come next, even though I have no idea what it will be.”

  “In life or in Paris?”

  I smiled. “Both.”

  Triumph danced in his eyes. “So you’re staying.”

  “I’m staying. But!” I held up one finger. “I still want the rest of my day with you as tour guide.”

  “I’m all yours.”

  Are you?

  I watched him bring the rim of the glass to his lips and drink, and I imagined the wine slipping into his mouth, between his teeth, sliding over his tongue. The image was so erotic I squeezed my thighs together against the gush of arousal between my legs.

  Whoa, Nelly.

  Picking up my own glass, I looked out the window and sipped, trying to recall the last time I’d been really good and hot before even being touched. I used to get excited thinking about Tucker’s good looks and hard body, but I’d learned pretty quickly he wasn’t quite the sexual dynamo his reputation made him out to be. My gut feeling was that he’d had a lot of one-nighters with girls who didn’t come back for seconds, and that suited him just fine. It meant he never had to get to know anyone sexually, really spend time learning what they wanted, what they needed, what they liked.

  Not that he’d done that with me either.

  Frowning, I watched a couple kiss before parting on the sidewalk outside. I’d tried—I’d really tried—to be the kind of woman a man desired in bed. I made it perfectly clear I was willing to try different things—not only willing but interested—and I offered myself in every way, but he just wasn’t interested in changing his routine. Because it worked for him, every time.

  What an asshole. Why did I ever think he was good enough?

  “Hey, you. No frowning.”

  I looked over at Lucas. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “What about?”

  I finished my wine and set the glass down with a clank. “Sex.”

  Lucas’s eyebrows shot up. “Should I get the check?”

  Dissolving into gigg
les, I dug into my bag for my wallet and took out my credit card. “Yes, but not for that reason. I want to see more Paris today. And I want to pay for lunch.”

  “No.” Lucas pushed my hand away when I tried to lay down the card. “My treat. I chose an expensive bottle of wine.”

  “So what? I loved it! Please let me pay for lunch. You’ve been so nice to spend this entire day showing me around.”

  “I wanted to do that. It was my idea, remember?”

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothing. Put your card away. You can buy our next bottle of wine, OK?”

  I dropped my hand to my lap, nodding once. “I like the way you think, Lucas Fournier.”

  #

  Outside the restaurant, Lucas asked what I wanted to do next.

  Make out with you.

  The thought slammed into my head with astonishing speed, and I tried to banish it just as quickly. What if he wasn’t feeling any chemistry between us?

  “Hmmm. Let’s see—we’ve done a monument and a cemetery, so I’ll vote for a museum or a cathedral.”

  Lucas looked skyward, where the sun was trying hard to peek through heavy clouds. “Well, the light’s not awesome for stained glass windows but I think it might be even worse tomorrow, so let’s do a cathedral.”

  “Notre-Dame?”

  “You got it.”

  We took the Metro to a stop a few blocks from the Seine, and rather than switch to another line to get closer, we decided to walk. The day had warmed up and gotten a little humid, so I shrugged out of my sweater and tied it around my waist.

  “So I have to ask,” said Lucas, who’d been pretty quiet since the restaurant. “Why were you thinking about sex before?”

  Because watching you drink wine made me hot in the pants. I glanced over at him and decided to go with a different reason. “Because Tucker was boring in bed.”

  “What?”

  I held up my hands. “Truth. I used to offer, in an effort to improve what was not a very interesting or mutually satisfying part of our relationship, to do more fun things than we were doing, but he had a routine that worked for him and didn’t really feel it was necessary to deviate from it.”

  Lucas stopped walking and stuck a hand out in front of me to halt my steps. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

  I laughed. “I’m serious. He didn’t even like blowjobs. Maybe he heard that story about the French President and got scared.”

  Lucas stared at me for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Nah. I’m pretty sure he was just an asshole who didn’t know what he had. You deserve a lot better.”

  Was it the compliment or the alcohol that gave me the fleeting urge to reach over, grab him by the cardigan and smash my lips to his? What would he do? He said flirty things to me sometimes, but other times he acted totally platonic and casual, even a little aloof. Was he waiting for me to make the first move?

  We stood there in silence for a full ten seconds, during which I couldn’t help wondering what he’d be like in bed.

  I’ll bet he’s a million times more generous than Tucker. I’ll bet he’s fun and hot and willing to take it slow sometimes. Just talking about sex with him felt so easy…and damn if I wasn’t turned on again thinking about him that way. My stupid nipples were hard, poking right through the thin material of my bra and cotton tank. I don’t have huge breasts or anything, barely a C cup, but my nipples get incredibly hard and they’re ultra-sensitive. Naturally, Lucas’s eyes were drawn right to them, but then it was obvious what he was looking at and he dropped his gaze to the ground, his cheeks coloring.

  I opened my mouth, racking my brain for something clever or flirty to say, but the moment had dragged on too long, and Lucas just gave me a quick smile and started walking again.

  Shit.

  Next time, I’d be braver. What did I have to lose, anyway?

  As we got closer to the river, the towers of Notre Dame came into view, and Lucas began telling me a little bit about the Île de la Cité, the small island in the middle of the Seine on which the cathedral stood. I listened with interest as he told me about narrow medieval streets, stone walls, and the construction of Notre-Dame, which took almost two hundred years.

  “God, imagine dedicating all that time and labor to something you knew would never be finished in your lifetime,” I said. “Or even your children’s lifetime. You work your ass off for something and then you never even see it completed.”

  Lucas shrugged. “I think it was less about the finished product for them and more about their faith. The reason they were building it.”

  It may have been an offhand comment, but it made me think about the huge, ridiculous wedding I’d planned for myself, and how mad I’d been that it didn’t come off. I should have been thinking more about the reason for the marriage, and less about the wedding. But I’d never felt the kind of devotion to him I should have, nor had strong faith in the relationship. Thank God we didn’t get married.

  Lucas insisted the outside of the Gothic masterpiece was even more magnificent than the inside, so we spent quite a bit of time looking at its exterior—from the bridge we crossed over the Seine, from the square in front of the cathedral, from the garden behind it. I wanted to know the names of all these things but Lucas wouldn’t let me open my guidebook.

  “What does it matter what the name of the bridge is? You don’t need to stick your nose in a book right now, Mia—look at the damn cathedral.”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to call it a damn cathedral.” I handed him the book. “How about if you read to me while I look?”

  Lucas nodded. “That is acceptable.”

  We found an empty bench and sat down. Leaning back, I studied the church while Lucas read to me about buttresses, barrel vaults, and gargoyles. After a few minutes, though, I stopped being fascinated by characteristics of Gothic cathedrals and starting rhapsodizing about the low, fluid sound of Lucas’s voice, the expressive way he read, the charming hint of an accent that sometimes crept beneath his words when he wasn’t paying attention. Hiding a smile, I told myself to quit drifting and pay attention—I’d have a hard enough time remembering any of the information—but his reading was so sweet and soothing, I grew a little drowsy.

  When he was done, he closed the book and said, “Want to go inside?”

  Actually, I kind of just wanted to sit there with him on that bench, maybe lay my head in his lap. Kiss him. Take a nap or admire the scenery. But instead I got to my feet and stretched. “Yes.”

  After we toured the crypts underneath Notre-Dame and admired the soaring ceilings and gorgeous stained glass windows inside, I asked Lucas to climb the tower with me.

  “What? No, Mia. I already told you I don’t like heights.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  “No.” I have no idea what made me act so bold but I actually took his hands out of his pockets and held them between us. “Please, Lucas. We won’t stay up there long, and I promise I won’t make you go to the edge.”

  “Why do you need me up there?” His expression was pained. “The view’s the same whether you’re alone or not.”

  “I know. And it’s not that I won’t enjoy it alone. I just really want you to come up there with me.”

  His shoulders sagged a little as he exhaled, closing his eyes.

  “Please, Lucas, for me?” I shook his hands.

  He opened his eyes and peered at me warily. “You’re gonna make me do this, aren’t you.”

  I nodded. “Yep. So you might as well give in sooner rather than later.”

  He grimaced. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  Three hundred eighty-seven steep, narrow spiral steps later, we emerged at the top. Lucas was a bit pale and skittish, but I took his hand and tugged him forward. “Come on. Show me where you live.”

  Reluctantly he moved closer to the edge but remained behind me, speaking into my hair to be heard above the wind. Over my left shoulder, he pointed in the direct
ion of the river. “I have a studio apartment in the sixth, near Saint-Germain-des-Prés. It actually belongs to my mother but I’m the only one who stays there anymore.”

  “And where is she? At the vineyard?” I was curious about his family, but mostly I was enjoying having him stand so close behind me.

  “No, she’s visiting friends in Nice right now. Are you cold?”

  I glanced back to see him looking down my arm, where gooseflesh had blanketed my skin. “A little. It’s breezy up here.”

  “Want your sweater?” Before I could answer, he tugged the wrap loose from my waist and held it up for me to slip my arms into.

  “Thanks. I’d like to see your apartment sometime.” He went silent and motionless for a moment, and I wondered if the statement been too suggestive. “I mean, if you have time. No big deal. I’m just curious about apartments. I have to find a new one when I get back, and—”

  “Mia, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

  He wants to have dinner with me! Even my toes tingled. And how cute was the anxious expression on his face, like he was scared I might say no? “Sounds great.”

  Smiling, I looked out over the city again and thought how lucky it was that I’d chosen to walk into his bar last night instead of just going home. I turned back to him, an impish grin on my face. “I’m really glad I came in The Beaver last night.”

  He burst out laughing. “You know how bad that sounds, right?”

  I nodded happily, and my heartbeat quickened—I loved making him laugh. “That’s why I said it that way. But I really do mean it, Lucas. This day would have been a disaster without you. In fact, I probably would have just gone home.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Will you take a picture with me?”

  “I’ll take a picture of you. You don’t need me in it.”

  “I want you in it. Come on, please ask someone if they’ll take one for us. I want to remember this day with you.” His expression softened and he tapped the shoulder of a woman nearby. She nodded and smiled, and I handed her my camera.