The Wild One

by Cardello, Ruth

  “Morning, Wren.”

  I missed “Kitten.” I have problems. “Morning.”

  “I know how we ended things last night, but I’d love to take you out tonight. I have a couple surprises planned I think you’ll really like.” I heard his phone cut out. Please don’t be my text arriving. “Did you just send me a text?”

  I wanted to claim I hadn’t. If I could have thought of one possible scenario in which a complete stranger might have sent him that specific message via my number, I would have run with it. Unfortunately, all I was left with was: “You don’t have to read it now.”

  His laugh said my suggestion had come too late. “We’re both fine, thank you.”

  I groaned. “I didn’t mean to send that to you.”

  “Who did you mean to send it to?” He laughed.

  “Of course I wrote it for you. It’s not like I ran around Paris last night buying toys and sleeping with other men.” I stopped talking because I wasn’t making the situation better.

  After an awkward silence, he asked, “Wren?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t worry. I wrote at least two messages to you last night that I’m glad I didn’t send.”

  I smiled. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “What were they?”

  “Oh. Um. I can’t remember.”

  “Liar.”

  “Possibly. Or I wisely deleted them from not only my phone but my memory as well.”

  “Tell me one. Just one.”

  My phone beeped with a message. I’m sorry, Kitten.

  I smiled again. Kitten. “You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “That’s why I didn’t send it.”

  Hmm. Now I needed to know the other. “What was the other message?”

  “You asked for one, and I gave you one.”

  “Now I’m asking for the other.”

  “A lot of people would be satisfied with the apology.”

  “I’m not a lot of people. And I’m curious.”

  “I’m not telling you the second one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Nothing good would come from it.”

  “That’s not true. I would know that you care about what I want.”

  “No, that wouldn’t be your response.”

  “Try me.”

  My phone beeped again. You’re impossible to please.

  I gasped. “Is that what you almost wrote last night or what you think right now?”

  “Last night. But it’s pretty fitting right now.”

  “It’s far from a compliment.”

  “I didn’t say it was nice. I said nothing good would come from me sharing it. You said it would make you happy. Are you happy?”

  I paced my small apartment. I wanted to say I wasn’t, but it would have proven him right. Between gritted teeth I said, “Yes. I’m glad you told me the truth.”

  “Then we’re good.”

  “Yes.”

  We shared another awkward silence that made me wonder if the connection I’d felt the day before had been in my imagination. Then he said, “My intention was to make you feel better about texting your vibrator.”

  My mouth twitched with humor. “I wasn’t texting the toy.”

  “No need to be embarrassed. It missed you too. Should I get it? Put it on the phone? Give the two of you a moment?”

  “You’re a real ass, you know that?”

  “But you’re smiling, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “So say yes to tonight. I don’t want to brag, but I had to call in some pretty big favors to set up what I have planned. I don’t usually try this hard to impress a woman.”

  “Because they all fall at your feet?”

  “Higher, Kitten. What is your obsession with feet?”

  I laughed out loud. “You really planned something special for tonight?”

  “Mind-blowing special.”

  My thought went only one place when he said that. What I couldn’t figure out was why he’d need to call in a favor with anyone to surprise me with a repeat performance of the day before. “Is this a clothing-optional surprise?”

  “I like how you think, but we should keep our clothing on for what I’ve planned for the start of the evening. Later, when we’re alone, you can feel free to be as naked as you like. I actually prefer you that way.”

  Warmth spread through me, but I didn’t give in to it. “How should I dress then?”

  “Did you buy those crazy-small underwear yet? I’d start there.”

  I rolled my eyes skyward even as my body flushed at the memory of his tongue flicking across my clit. “Formal. Informal. Should I wear a dress?”

  “Normally, I love a good dress, but for this, jeans would be more appropriate.”

  “Now I’m intrigued. What do you have planned?”

  “You’ll have to come out to play to see.”

  Come out to play. I’d never hear those words again without associating them with Mauricio and how it felt to be taken by him. Saying yes to a second date almost definitely meant saying yes to more of everything we’d done the day before.

  Oh yes.

  “Do you need my address?”

  After a moment, he purred, “We should meet there. I have a feeling if I come to your apartment, we’ll head straight for your bed.”

  My sex clenched in anticipation. My nipples shot right to attention. He had a point. “Where and what time?”

  “I’m sorry, was that a yes?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Say it then.”

  “What?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “Try it again.”

  “Yes,” I said a little impatiently.

  “I don’t want to judge, but I believe what I have planned for tonight is worthy of a little more enthusiasm than that.”

  How could I not laugh at that? I did, however, think of the perfect response. I lowered my voice and did my best to mimic how I’d sounded as we’d fucked against the wall. “Yes. Oh yes. God, yes.”

  After a brief pause, and in a deeper voice, he said, “That works.”

  There was a real excitement to knowing I could turn him on the way he did me. “I thought it might.”

  “In fact, from now on you should answer all of my questions in that manner.”

  Flirting with him felt natural. In a husky tone, I said, “I’ll answer all the right ones that way.”

  He groaned. “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s do breakfast.”

  I could have said yes. I wanted to, but I liked the idea that he’d planned a date for us. I didn’t want to take away from that. “Bye, Mauricio. Text me the info for tonight.”

  “We could have crepes . . .”

  I chuckled. “Bye.” I ended the call smiling.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MAURICIO

  At shortly after eight, I stood outside a side entrance of the Louvre. Private tours were not unusual, but it had taken calling a friend who owned a real estate company to get the kind of access I wanted. He knew someone who had made the necessary contacts while organizing a similar experience for promotional purposes.

  Wren was going to lose her shit when she saw what I’d scored for us.

  Everything else fell away as unimportant when Wren stepped out of a taxi and looked around. I waved to her. In dark-blue jeans and a blouse, she walked toward me, and I savored every moment of the view.

  She looked happy to see me, but uncertain. Oh, does Kitten not handle the unknown well? Well, she’d better hang on for the ride, because this is only part one of what I landed for the evening.

  She stopped right before me and tilted her head back as if expecting my kiss. I offered her my arm instead. That would come later. After significant reflection, I’d concluded that the mistake I’d made the day before was rushing us. Yes, she’d suggested something that once we’d purchased had made it impossible for me to think of anything but having her, but if ther
e was any chance that we were headed somewhere more permanent—I wanted to do this right.

  Looking confused, she took my arm. I guided her past the security at the door. She looked around the museum in wonder. “You got us after-hours access?”

  “I did.” I could feel smugness leaking into my smile.

  “Oh my God. I was planning to come here later in the week. This is so exciting. Could we start with the Egyptian collection? It has everything from ancient Egypt to the Roman and Byzantine periods. One of the world’s largest collections of ancient artifacts. Thank you so much. I’m so excited I’m shaking. Some people come to the Louvre and only want to see one thing—Mona Lisa. It’s a nice painting, but it wasn’t famous until it was stolen in 1911. That’s what made her globally known. I appreciate her as I appreciate any of the works by Leonardo da Vinci, but I’m more taken with the skill and precision that went into the statue of the seated scribe . . . the one with the papyrus.”

  We stopped when I saw two men in tuxes standing outside a closed door. “So spending some time with the Mona Lisa wouldn’t be like a dream come true for you?”

  She looked around the hallway, her attention still torn between me and the wonder of the Louvre. “I’d like to see her, of course. I guess it would be interesting for a minute. Why?”

  One of the men opened the door. A woman stepped forward and held out a tray with two flutes of champagne. I handed one to Wren and downed mine in one gulp before replacing it on the tray. “That’s disappointing, because time with Mona Lisa is all I scheduled for here.”

  We stepped into the almost empty room together. Two chairs were set up in front of the glass-enclosed painting. There was no other artwork in the room.

  “Oh,” Wren said, then sipped her champagne. “So, no full-access tour?”

  “Nope, just this.” I led her in front of the painting.

  She looked it over. “It’s beautiful.” She sipped her champagne again. Without missing a beat, she impressed me again. “Did you know da Vinci used a sfumato technique to color and shade her smile? That’s why if you stand at a distance and look at her eyes, it seems like she’s smiling. But if you stand closer and look at her mouth, the smile disappears. Some people say it’s proof of da Vinci’s level of mastery. Others argue it was less intentional.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said, impressed with Wren’s insight on a broad range of topics. “Want to see how true that is?” Together we leaned closer and looked Mona Lisa in the eye. “Okay, now what?” We moved back several feet together. Damned if she didn’t seem to suddenly be smiling. “Wow. That’s really interesting.”

  Wren raised and lowered her shoulders. “I thought so when I read about it.”

  We stood there a moment longer, simply looking at the picture. Finally, I turned and referenced the chairs behind us. “Should we—?”

  “Of course.”

  Wren sat in one chair. I sat across from her.

  She smiled at me. “This is so nice. Really. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to arrange all this.”

  I made a sound deep in my chest. It hadn’t been. “I thought it would be a nice kickoff to our night together. I have somewhere better planned for next.”

  She leaned in and took my hand in hers. “This is great.”

  A staff member came by, took our champagne glasses, and offered us some wine. We each accepted a glass. After she left, Wren and I sat back in our chairs and looked at the famous painting.

  It wasn’t the experience I’d imagined. “So, we have the room for an hour.”

  “An hour,” she said, and I thought I heard humor in her voice.

  With anyone else I would have been irritated, but it felt more like we were sharing a joke. “Yep. We get to sit right here with those security guards watching every move we make for”—I checked my watch—“forty-five more minutes.”

  She laughed—the kind of laugh a person makes when there is a librarian hovering nearby telling everyone to be quiet. “Forty-five minutes. I wish I knew something else about her.”

  I struck a pose, elbow on knee, an open hand splayed in the direction of the painting. “Lucky for you, I have studied her history and secrets extensively.” I cleared my throat. “And by that I mean I googled her today.”

  Wren was a beautiful woman, even more so when she smiled. I loved how I could bring out that side of her. “Then once again, I am the student and you are the master.”

  Completely unfair. Her reference to the day before scrambled my thoughts and filled my head with images of her in my arms, the memory of how every inch of her tasted, how good her mouth had felt wrapped around my—

  “What were we talking about?”

  She swatted my arm. “You were going to teach me something.”

  “Right.” There were things I wanted to teach her, but they would have to wait until we were alone. This was about showing her I could care about history. I began to list what I’d uncovered from doing a search on the secrets of Mona Lisa. Infrared had been used to uncover changes da Vinci had made, damage that had been repaired after the painting had been hit with a stone, even a possible stray eyebrow hair. Bam.

  When I finished, she was giving me an odd look. I’ve always been good at recalling what I’d read, so I was reasonably certain it wasn’t because I’d gotten some of it wrong.

  I waited.

  Wren looked from me to the painting and back. “You put a lot of thought into tonight.”

  I dipped my head in recognition.

  “Thank you,” she said with such sincerity it knocked me off-center for a moment.

  Our eyes met and held. The sizzle from the day before was there, but there was more. I couldn’t label it or explain it. It simply was. “You’re welcome.”

  After another long pause, I looked down at my watch and proclaimed, “Only forty minutes left.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m joking. Thirty.” I took her hand in mine and laced my fingers through hers. “We don’t have to stay.”

  She lightly squeezed my hand. “I want to. Seriously, Mauricio, this was incredibly thoughtful. Much more than I expected.”

  I raised her hand to my lips. “And the night has just begun.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WREN

  If life had a “Rewind” button, I wouldn’t have said anything I had when I’d arrived at the Louvre, but somehow it hadn’t ruined the night. I wouldn’t have blamed Mauricio if he’d called me ungrateful. I hadn’t meant to be. Sometimes I had trouble downshifting from how I thought something would go.

  Once I understood what we were doing at the Louvre and saw how he’d taken the time to actually learn about the history of the painting—for me—I loved every minute of it.

  A private car had been there waiting for us as we left the museum. I’d expected Mauricio to pull me into his arms as soon as the door to it closed, but instead he held my hand and looked excited about where we were going.

  When we parked near the Eiffel Tower, it was lit, and I almost gushed about how excited I’d be if we were going to the top of it, but I’d learned my lesson. I’d let this one unfold without expectations.

  Hand in hand we walked through a security check that was closed to everyone but us. We were met by a security guard as we entered. He escorted us to what looked like it also acted as a security checkpoint during the day. We waltzed through to a waiting elevator.

  “How did you arrange all this?” I asked with giddy wonder.

  He cocked his head to the side. “I have some pretty influential friends.”

  “I guess so.”

  The ride up wasn’t as long as I thought. It ended at the second level. From there we were led to another, smaller elevator. As it flew up, my hold on Mauricio’s hand tightened. I wasn’t afraid of heights, but the combination of the speed and view was unnerving. He pulled me back against his chest, lending me the security of his embrace.

  We stepped out onto a smaller area with a metal floor. It was enclosed wi
th glass windows. We walked over to look down. Stunning. A visual feast. Romantic, but our security guard was right with us. We ignored him, though he did keep us from exploring what might have been on our mind otherwise.

  Mauricio spun me in his arms and gave me a quick kiss before asking, “Want to go farther up?”

  “Sure.”

  He remained with us as we climbed a flight of stairs to an open-air, protectively caged area and gasped at the beauty of the view. In all directions, the city shone. The wind blew my hair around wildly. I felt like I was flying even though my feet were securely planted. There was a champagne bar that was open just for us. We clinked our glasses and took a selfie in front of a sign that claimed that was the kissing spot. Despite our audience, I turned, threw my arms around Mauricio’s neck, and gave him a kiss of sheer gratitude.

  He groaned and kissed me back with matching hunger. It was a kiss that would have taken us all the way had we been anywhere else. A difficult kiss to end, but we did.

  “I’m glad you approve of this tour,” he said lightly.

  “How could I not?” I felt like I was dreaming. “I will never forget tonight. Never.”

  Hands on my hips, he said, “There’s more. The tour isn’t over yet.”

  “No?” I didn’t care if it was. I would have gone home with him right then. “What else is here? The restaurants?”

  “Better than that,” he promised and led me toward another staircase.

  The security guard went up the stairs before us to open the door. As we followed him, I realized where we were headed. “Eiffel’s apartment?”

  “Oh yeah,” Mauricio said, once again looking pleased with himself.

  A slow smile spread across my face. The geek in me was having an intellectual orgasm. We stepped inside the small apartment. It was musty, cramped with old furniture and wax figures of Eiffel, his daughter, and Thomas Edison—the most perfect, romantic spot I could have ever imagined. “This is where Eiffel met with scientists of his time. No one was allowed in unless he invited them. Do you feel their energy? I do.” I didn’t dare touch so much as a tabletop. Everything there was too precious, too valuable.