Sweet Promise (The Grahams Book 1)

by Jennifer Woodhull

  “We made a change. I’ve got it sorted. No worries. Have a good night.” I said firmly to my friend. Georgia told him good night as well, and we headed to the bank of elevators. As I hit the button, John caught up with us and asked for a word. I stepped away to have the conversation I had known was inevitable out of Georgia’s earshot.

  “Nash, are you sure about this, mate?” John asked. “She’s not like other girls.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. She is nothing like other girls. That’s precisely the point,” I replied. I hadn’t shared with him that what was going on between us felt like so much more than just some fling. If he couldn’t give me credit for seeing her as more than that, why should I share my feelings with him anyway?

  “I don’t think it’s fair for you to use her up and cast her aside just to keep your bed warm,” John said curtly.

  “I don’t think it’s up to you what I do. She can make her own choices – you don’t see her putting up an argument, do you? You know, John, jealousy’s not your color. I haven’t seen you act like this since…,” I trailed off.

  “Go ahead then, say it! Since when?” John was becoming visibly angry.

  “I’m not doing this with you. Not now. Get some sleep, mate. We’ll see you in the morning.” I returned to Georgia’s side.

  “Everything alright?” She asked, concerned.

  “Yeah, long story for another day. He gets a bit up in his feelings is all.” I handed Georgia the key to her room. I’d arranged to have her next door to me on the floor with larger suites, away from the crew. I wasn’t sure what we were doing, exactly, or if anything would happen, but I wanted her close to me. I wanted her all to myself.

  I dropped my stuff inside the door of my room and went next door to get Georgia settled into hers. I held her bag as she opened the door and walked inside. Georgia walked over to the window and looked out. “No way! Have you seen this?” I walked up beside her and peered over her shoulder grinning. “What am I sayin’? Of course, you have. I’m the bumpkin – you’ve seen everything.” She shook her head.

  “I’ve told you – don’t say things like that. I feel very lucky that I get to see things for the first time through your eyes, you know.” I undid the latch, and she realized what she thought was a window was actually a French door. Taking her hand, we stepped out onto the balcony. She leaned on the railing, and I stood behind her, my hands just outside of hers, looking over her shoulder. “It’s pretty great, yeah?” I said, looking at the twinkling lights of the unmistakable landmark in the distance. “Did you know it was supposed to be temporary? It was for a World’s Exhibition, and the people of Paris liked it so well, they kept it up.”

  “I didn’t realize that,” she said, “but I do know that the designer, Eiffel, also designed the Statue of Liberty. So, hey, there is somethin’ I knew!” She giggled, and as she did, I slid my arms around her waist and buried my face in the side of her neck. The giggle turned into a faint growl, making me hard.

  I took her by the hips and turned her to face me. Her eyes were soft but flashed with intensity at the same time. I kissed the side of her neck, then the line of her jaw before finding her lips. She kissed me back every bit as passionately as she had on the train at first, then suddenly, I felt as though she were holding back a little. I pulled her hips closer toward me, and she slid her hands, which had been on my chest, around me, and pulled me close. Our lips mingled, playfully tugging one at the other. She ran her tongue along my bottom lip, pulling it between hers.

  The sensation of her sucking on my lip shot straight to my cock. I wanted her so damn bad I could hardly breathe. Her lips parted, welcoming my tongue when it breached them, exploring her mouth eagerly. I pulled my lips away from hers, still holding her tight in my arms. “So, what’s it going to be,” I asked. “To quote one of my favorite bands, should I stay or should I go?”

  She laid her head on my chest and squeezed me tight in her arms. “I don’t know, Luc. You know I want you to stay, but I don’t know…I mean, Paris is beautiful…romantic…but isn’t this city a little complicated for you?”

  “How do you mean?” I thought for a moment, then realized she was talking about Simone. “Oh, I see. You know that’s over, right?”

  “I do. Still, being here has to bring some things up for you.” She looked up at me sweetly. Damn her for being right, I thought. I studied her face, tracing her jaw with my palm. She really did want what was best for me. It was my marriage, my baggage…my complicated bullshit. She wasn’t thinking about herself, though. She just wanted me to be happy.

  “You really do care, don’t you?” I said it a bit incredulously, and she nodded her head. “You are a rare bird indeed, Georgia Graham.” We both smiled. “Well, I guess I had better go then.”

  I turned, but she held my hand. “I know it’s getting late and hangin’ out in my room is not a good idea, but I’m not quite ready to let you go, either. Could we…I don’t know, maybe go for a little walk or somethin’?” She tugged on my fingertips, bringing me back to her. It was pleading and sweet and irresistible. “Please don’t leave me just yet,” she said, her blue eyes blinking up at me.

  Fuck, mate, this is bad. You could really fall for this one if you’re not careful. I thought, then realized. Could fall? Are falling, more like.

  I heaved a little sigh. There was no way I could deny her anything. “You look at me like that, and I’m supposed to tell you no? Come on…,” I said, “find some comfortable shoes to wear and I’ll show you my favorite places in Paris.

  We left the hotel and walked toward the Eiffel Tower. It was lit up at night, twinkling like an organic grouping of stars that had aligned in perfect shape. We walked along the Seine which was busier than Georgia had expected, bustling with tourists and young lovers walking hand in hand.

  The walkway along the river was made of cobblestones, and there were little pylons every so often, most of which had people sitting on them, chatting, laughing, and making out. “Come on,” I said, “let’s hop on the Metro. I’ll show you my favorite place.” We took the Metro, Paris’s subway system, to Ile de Cite. When we emerged, I led her down the block and along the Seine. We crossed a little footbridge to Notre Dame.

  “Luc, it’s beautiful!” She exclaimed, squeezing my hand tightly as she leaned her shoulder against mine.

  “Yeah, it is, and it was almost destroyed,” he said.

  “No, really? Like, in the war?” She asked.

  “No, in the nineteenth century. It was falling apart. Then Victor Hugo wrote his famous novel, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. It became so popular, support for the cathedral poured in, and repairs were made to save it. Anyway, this bit of land, Ile de Cite – Island in the City – is one of the longest-inhabited bits of Paris. The Vikings came here when they sacked Paris. If my old aunties are to be believed, some of those Vikings were my ancestors.”

  She turned to me tracing my shoulders with her delicate fingers. “I can believe that,” she said playfully. “You’re built like a Viking.”

  I whispered in her ear, “Just you wait, Belle,” I said playfully, “I fuck like a Viking, too.” I winked, and she giggled. That giggle, I thought, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to hear that sound.

  We walked a bit further, and I took her down the steps to walk along the Seine. This part of the river was less crowded, though there were lots of couples walking and kissing. We found an empty quay – one of the pylons along the river, and I picked her up, depositing her on it.

  I leaned against her and kissed her. She wrapped herself around me, parting her lips to explore my mouth with her tongue. Her soft, full lips pulled gently on mine. Her skin tasted sweet and salty, and all I could think of was tasting more of her. I wanted to devour her skin, to consumer her completely.

  We kissed passionately, tempered only by the fact that we were in public. After several minutes, I pulled my lips from hers. “This is pretty hot even by Parisian standards. If we don’t stop, we’re going to get arr
ested for public lewdness.” She giggled, again scrunching her nose. “Besides, it’s half one, we had better get some sleep. The makeup artist can only do so much for these eyes after a late night. I’m not twenty anymore, you know.”

  I took her by the hand, and we went back to the hotel. Outside her door, I kissed her one last time. Before I turned to go to my own room, I embraced her and she whispered in my ear. “Luc?”

  “Yeah, Belle?”

  Her look was serious but still sexy, “Don’t hurt me, okay?”

  I stroked her face with my hand. “I won’t,” I kissed the top of her head and murmured, “Not on purpose, anyway.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Georgia

  John had obtained a shooting permit for the Eiffel Tower that was good from six until eight in the morning. During that time, the second deck would be closed, and we could shoot unencumbered by tourists. On camera, I talked about the history of the structure and made recommendations about the best time to visit. As I spoke about Gustave Eiffel and the history of the structure, my mind wandered back to seeing it for the first time the night before with Luc’s strong arms around me. It had been a perfect moment – a perfect night.

  Using a hotplate and a tabletop setup, I demonstrated the technique for making authentic crepes, stuffed with Nutella spread. Next, we filmed from a Seine river cruise boat and ended with a tour of a small neighborhood bakery that had been making macarons for more than two hundred years. We had some time until the evening’s filming near Moulin Rouge, so Sarah, the photographer, asked me if I wanted to go with her to shop for some of the excellent and cheap skin care products that Paris was known for. I was glad for the opportunity to do a little shopping and get to know Sarah better. It was nice having another woman on the crew, after all.

  We hopped on the metro and headed to Saint-Germain-Des-Prés. Sarah was a native Californian who had been living in Los Angeles since she was a teenager. “So, how’d you get into photography?” I asked her.

  “Well, my dad was actually a videographer for one of the big movie studios. I guess I sorted of followed in his footsteps.” She replied. Sarah was the epitome of a California beauty. Her light brown hair had golden highlights that looked natural, and her skin had a sun-kissed glow. She was slim, but not at all curvy. I imagined that she could probably go without a bra if she had a sweater on, which I somewhat envied. “I took up still photography about seven years ago when I started dating a portrait photographer. You know how that goes,” she shrugged, “their interests become your interests…that sort of thing.”

  “Oh? And how did that work out? With the photographer, I mean?” I asked.

  “Well, my love of photography outlasted the relationship,” she snickered. “But it all worked out in the end. I got a new vocation out of it.”

  “So do you have a boyfriend or husband in LA?”

  “No…I’m sort of married to my work these days.” She quipped. “Speaking of, I see that Lucas has definitely piqued your interest.” She raised an eyebrow at me.

  I blushed. “That obvious, huh? I know, I know. Everyone warned me. He’s just…he’s really different than I expected he would be.”

  “You forgot the insanely hot part.” Sarah laughed.

  “Well, true! Have you known him long?” I asked.

  “A while, but not very well. We’ve worked on a few projects in LA, and one shoot in London. I typically work on all Ian’s projects, usually with Pierce…and Ryan.” She smirked a little.

  I grinned, “So, you and Ryan then? Do people know?”

  “Yeah, me and Ryan. No, no one can know. He’s in the middle of a nasty divorce, which, for the record, was not my fault.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.” I smiled.

  “Same here,” she smiled back at me.

  The pharmacy we stopped at had a great selection of the skin care products Sarah was shopping for, and I picked up several things as well. We stopped into a handbag shop, and I picked up a small makeup pouch as a souvenir of Paris.

  We went back to the hotel, and I laid down for a short nap before getting ready for the evening’s shoot. I awoke, showered, and began to get ready. The red cocktail dress that had been provided for the evening had a halter-style crisscross neckline and a full skirt that came to just below my knees. I wore simple makeup with cat eyeliner, big lashes, and a peachy-nude lip. As I twirled around in front of the mirror, I thought I looked pretty good, if I did say so myself. I decided to take a selfie on the balcony with the Eiffel Tower in the background and posted it on Instagram. WE BITE! @lucasnash @georgiagraham @BITETV #sweetandspicy #paris

  Feeling pretty confident with the look, I took a second photo of myself leaning on the railing and sent it to Lucas.

  ME: thought youd like a sneak peek

  LUCAS: open your door

  I walked back into the room and looked through the peephole of the door just as he walked up. I opened it before he could knock. He was wearing a navy suit with a slight sheen to the fabric, and a pale blue shirt, unbuttoned at the top. He was clean-shaven, no sign of stubble, and his hair was neatly combed back. He looked even hotter than I had ever seen him. “Hi, there,” I said coyly. “So, what do you think of my dress?” I asked, stepping back and twirling enough to make the skirt swirl around.

  He stepped inside. “Mm, Belle, you do know how to torture a bloke, don’t you?” He slid his hand around my waist and twirled me around again. He buried his face in the side of my neck, playfully nibbling at me. It drove me absolutely crazy when he did that. “And you know perfectly well what I’d like to do to you in that dress.”

  I giggled. “Well, you look pretty damn delish in that suit, yourself, ya know.” I winked at him.

  “If we didn’t have to get to work…mm, mm, mm.” He shook his head. “I saw your selfie on Insta. I’m pretty disappointed.”

  “Why?” I asked, furrowing my brow a little.

  “I’m not in it.” He winked and pulled me to the balcony. He leaned against the railing and pulled my back to him. He put one hand on my waist and leaned his cheek against my head. “Take another,” he said. I took one, smiling broadly. “Give the people want they want, Belle. Give them sexy.” I pursed my lips a little, leaning my head to the side, touching his cheek. I showed him the photo. “Okay, one more,” he said. As I positioned the phone, he slid his hand under my skirt, rubbing my backside with his palm. That big, strong hand on my ass made me want to drop my panties then and there. I gave a dirty smile to the camera and took another photo. Just as I was about to snap one more, he took my phone in his free hand, and said, “Here, let me hold it.” I was mustering my sexiest look when he slid his hand between my legs, pressing into the damp spot on my panties. I gasped, then smiled. He took several photos as my expression changed.

  “This one,” he showed me one where our smiles were relaxed and sexy, “is for Insta.” He scrolled back to the one where he had caught me off-guard, my mouth slightly agape. “And this one is just for me.” He sent it to himself. He turned me to him and nuzzled his cheek to mine. “We’ve gotta go, beautiful. If we stay here any longer, I’m going to ruin your makeup…and that pretty dress.”

  “You pull another move like you just did and I’m gonna trash that sexy suit,” I replied.

  The shoot at the Moulin Rouge went well. The colorful nightlife of the area was a fitting backdrop for the sexiest man on television to talk about what to drink, and what to eat to keep up your stamina for a long night out. After the Moulin Rouge, we went to a nightclub called Wanderlust. The club had a big, open patio where patrons danced until daybreak. I sat at the bar, sipping a mimosa, next to Lucas while he discussed the subtler points of the rose cocktail and where in Paris you could still order absinthe. After the take, we stood at the edge of the dance floor, and Ian and Lucas discussed whether more takes would be needed.

  I was mindlessly shuffling from foot to foot, shaking my hips a little the music playing on the rooftop patio. After Ian decided they could fil
m some b-roll of the beautiful patrons of the trendy bar, Lucas walked over to me. “You like the music?” He said close to my ear so I could hear him over the din.

  “I love it! I haven’t been dancin’ in forever.” I smiled. This place was glamorous – sexy. It was nothing like the honky-tonks back home.

  “Shall we, then?” He asked, holding out his hand. I nodded enthusiastically. We stepped onto the floor, and I was surprised by Lucas’ dance moves. He shook his hips and moved his feet in time with the music. He was fantastic. I, in turn, did a little salsa-step followed by the swivel of my hips. I put one hand on his shoulder, the other on his arm, and twisted my hips to match my footwork. He spun me around, then pulled me closer, pulling my hips to his, and slid his hands down the small of my back. The sway of my hips turned into more of a grind as I looked up at him from under my brows, my eyes soft and sexy.

  He looked at me and licked his lips. “You’re killing me, Belle,” he said playfully. I laughed, and turned away from him, rolling my shoulders, and grinding my hips into him, my arms above my head as I moved in time to the music. He spun me back to face him and pulled me close again. “Not nice, Belle,” he said. “I’m going to remember that.” He gave me a smoldering grin.