Blitzed (36 page)

T
he next day
, Felix went to the bank to deal with some of the financial issues we had pressing after months overseas. The Internet is a wonderful tool, but there are certain things that must be done in person, especially when so many of our investments and bank dealings are not always ones we wanted Interpol to know about. Leaving as soon as breakfast was finished, he told us as he’d be gone for some time. "Spreading the cash around takes a lot of effort sometimes," he explained to Jordan.

All it really meant was that I got to spend the entire afternoon alone with Jordan, something I was more than ready for. “You ready?” I asked her as she was fussing with her sweater. "Don’t worry, you look beautiful."

"I feel frumpy," she complained, tugging at the hem. "French girls are supposed to look glamorous and sexy. You know, skinny jeans and slinky cuts and all that. I feel like an American girl from the Midwest."

"You are an American girl from the Midwest," I reminded her, coming around and wrapping my arms around her waist. She was bigger than the average girl in Paris, but that was perfect for me. "As for your sense of fashion, it doesn't matter. Your beauty isn’t dependent on the drape of some Merino wool off of your shoulder or on it."

Jordan looked at the two of us in the mirror and smiled, taking my hand and kissing it. "Thank you, Francois. You know just how to make me feel better. So where are we going, anyway?"

"Notre Dame. It is about three kilometers away if you want to walk along the river, if not we can take the Metro," I said, sneaking another kiss on her earlobe. Jordan moaned, and I brought my hand to cup her full breast through the soft fabric. "Or we can stay here."

"Tempting, but later," Jordan said regretfully. Seeing my disappointment, she turned and kissed my lips. "You know I want to, but I want to see Paris too. Besides, don't be in such a rush — we have all the time in the world.”

“I’m going to pray at the cathedral for just that," I said, confused when her expression darkened. "What is it?"

"I . . . I have no need for the church in my life," Jordan said.

I nodded and kissed her forehead, noting that there must have been some tragedy in her life. I didn’t press the issue and just let it go. “No worries, my love. It was just a turn of phrase."

We headed for the hatch on the barge, and I helped her up the last two steps. Sometimes they’re slippery in winter. On deck, I stretched and enjoyed the weak afternoon sunshine. "I’m baptized, confirmed even. But growing up the way I did, there was plenty that I learned that wasn’t strictly according to Roman Catholic tradition."

“I’m sure," Jordan noted wryly. "I doubt your parents were ever married in a Catholic church."

I nodded, keeping my words to myself, and smiled. "Along the way we can get some lunch. It’s not a proper introduction to Paris without a stop at a street stall for good food. Paris has the best street stall food in the world, even better than the food trucks of New York or street sellers in London."

Jordan grinned and patted her stomach. "Careful, you’re going to fatten me up."

I laughed and kissed her cheek again. "I'm sure we can find plenty of ways to burn off any extra calories," I teased. "Come, let's go."

There’s nothing quite like walking along the River Seine through the oldest parts of Paris, especially after spending nearly half a year in America. "Even the Nazis were not so craven as to destroy Paris," I said as we strolled. "Despicable in every other way, they could still appreciate that which is the City of Light."

Close to the bridge that leads to the island that Notre Dame is built upon, we found the exact type of street stall I was looking for, serving pommes frites, or French fries, and a sandwich in a baguette. "Here, nothing beats the way they do it here," I said, handing Jordan a large cone filled with the fried potatoes. “I’m sure the British would disagree, but who cares what they think?"

The vendor, who apparently understood more English than he let on — like many Parisians — grinned and nodded. Jordan laughed and smiled. "Merci."

The man grinned in appreciation, charmed by her attempt. We continued on, Jordan relishing the potatoes, which in the French tradition had been covered with a mayonnaise based sauce instead of ketchup. "I don't think I'll ever eat a fry the same way again," she said, licking a blob of mayo off her finger in a very arousing yet unladylike way. “Geez, how do you stay so thin with stuff like this around?”

"At our place in the Rhone, we have our ways,” I promised her. "It’s one of the ways that Papa trained Felix and I. Anyway, we’ll be doing a lot of walking today, I’m sure. I’m glad you chose tennis shoes instead of something more chic and fashionable. I knew one girl who insisted on wearing high heels for almost everything, and walking in Paris cut her ankles to shreds."

"I'm sure you had no qualms about tending to the young lady's wounds," Jordan teased, causing me to blush. Laughing, she kissed me on the cheek. "Don't worry, Francois, I'm not jealous."

Notre Dame is probably the most famous church in the world, and even in the middle of winter it was crowded with tourists. Flanked by old trees, the plaza in front was neatly trimmed, the shrubs waiting for the coming of spring. "An important place to people of my background," I joked as we admired the outer decorations. We passed a group of Americans who sounded like they were from Alabama or Georgia or someplace like that, and I looked up at the bell towers. "Sanctuary, and all that."

"Yet I’m the Esmeralda this time," Jordan replied, "although you hardly look at all like Quasimodo."

We joined a tour group, staying within earshot as the guide explained various things to them in passable English. I felt bad for the tourists, though, as the guide seemed to have forgotten every adjective other than 'famous.' In the course of the ten minutes we were near them, she used the term 'famous French' to describe at least half a dozen different things. Jordan noticed too, and on the way back to the barge, we both descended into utter silliness. "Ah, it is the famous French street lamp," I noted, causing Jordan to giggle helplessly.

"Along the famous French river," Jordan laughed, leaning on my arm. We continued on, until both of us nearly breathless with laughter. We rested against a building, Jordan in my arms, and she turned her eyes up to mine. "And what of the famous French kiss?"

* * *

T
hat evening
, after Jordan had gone to sleep, I left the barge again, this time taking the Metro to Stade Charlety. Underneath the larger soccer and rugby stadium I found what I was looking for, the small indoor arena. Inside, the Paris Volley volleyball team was practicing, the stands mostly empty except for a few dedicated fans and my contact.

"They’re not shit compared to Dynamo Moscow," my contact said in a heavy accent.

"You didn’t come here just to watch men in overly tight uniforms jump around playing volleyball," I countered. "Besides, women's volleyball is much more entertaining."

"Spoken like a man who’s not in a new relationship," my contact said. "Are things not as I was led to believe?"

I glowered and shook my head. "Things are fine there, not that it’s your business. On the other hand, your business is telling me you have your eyes on a special item.”

"There’s an item within the Institut du Monde Arabe that my employer wishes to have," he said. "A twelfth-century illuminated copy of the Quran, one of the most valuable copies in existence. It belonged to the great Saladin himself, according to legend at least. What would a fair price for such an item be?"

"If you assist me with my problem I spoke to you about, it wouldn’t be much," I said. “Just one condition.”

“And what’s this condition?" he asked curiously as I gathered my few items and prepared to leave.

"This is a deception, so you must approach Felix as if we’ve never talked. I have an easy way to get him involved without it looking like a setup. If your employer can figure out a way to get him alone, that would be best."

"Agreed. We’ll contact you in about a week. Until then, have a pleasant day."

I left the arena, heading back towards the Metro station. Along the way I stopped at a late night chocolatier, picking up fourteen truffles, a dozen for Jordan while I enjoyed two on the way back to the barge. Getting back on board, it was my turn to find Felix sitting on the deck watching the lights. He was sipping at a large mug of coffee, a habit he'd picked up in America, favoring huge cups over the tiny flavor-packed sips I preferred. "How was your walk?"

"I picked up some chocolates for Jordan," I said, showing him the box. Felix inhaled the aroma and nodded in appreciation. "Think she’ll enjoy them?"

“Who doesn’t like chocolate? Anyway, I heard you two had a great time today. Jordan even said you were the perfect gentleman.”

"You sound surprised, Felix,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe I have been rash in my judgment of you, Francois. Sometimes it’s difficult to remember that you’re not me, regardless of how similar we are."

"More similar than you'd like to think, in my opinion," I replied. "Or perhaps Jordan is just that special of a woman." It was true, the only other person who could keep the two of us together on a consistent basis was our father.

T
he drive south
toward the Rhone district was picturesque. Along the way, Francois sat in the back with me and helped me with my French, which I struggled with constantly. Despite both of the brothers telling me that I was doing fine, I knew they were just trying to make me feel good about it.

"I feel like a fool, and my tongue keeps tripping over itself," I complained as we passed a sign on the road for Avallon. We'd been on the road for about two hours, and I was ready for a pit stop. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to sound fluid."

“I think you just need some wine," Francois said with a grin. When I looked at him like he was crazy, he chuckled and nodded. "It’s true. Not the wine specifically, but the loosening of the tongue. You’d be surprised at how much you actually know. After a glass or two of wine, the alcohol helps you relax, and you'll find yourself just speaking without worrying about if you’re saying it correctly. Just don't overdo it, or else you end up singing drunkenly in a language you don't know."

"Speaking from personal experience I take it?” I asked, and Francois shook his head.

"No, but Felix can, can't you brother?"

I was shocked and looked up at Felix in the front seat. "Really Felix? I totally can’t imagine that.”

He blushed and glowered at Francois, who laughed quietly. “Maybe another time," Felix muttered. "I could use a drink and a trip to the restroom."

We pulled in and I looked at the map on the gas station wall while Felix did his shopping. I was shocked at the amount of cities and places that I could identify.

After a couple minutes, Felix came out carrying two cans. "It’s cheap plonk, but you might like it,” he said, handing me a can of wine. “Don’t like it too much, though.”

I laughed and toasted Francois as we continued on, and I found that he was right. Once I was relaxed, I got out of my own way and was able to speak a little better. I still didn’t know what I was saying sometimes, but at least it was more enjoyable than the stressful repeating I'd done before.

"Now we just need to get to where you don’t need alcohol in order to relax," Francois said. "Don’t worry, Mama and Syeira won’t be too harsh.”

"Whoa, wait a second. You’re taking me to see your mothers?"

"Of course," Felix said from up front. Looking into the rearview mirror, he saw my eyes and gave me a reassuring smile. "Jordan, you know we told our mothers about meeting you. If anything, they wanted to know why we had to spend the extra weeks in Mexico."

I closed my mouth and looked out worriedly at the French countryside that rolled by. Two hours later, I still worried but was distracted as I looked at the beautiful hills and valley surrounding Valence. Near the center of the Rhone Valley portion of France, it was the dividing line between the northern and southern Rhone and looked like a postcard. It actually looked like you should’ve been shooting a romantic comedy in the streets and among the hills of the town. Francois saw the look in my eyes and smiled. "Welcome to one of your new homes."

I gulped and looked around again, amazed. "This is yours?”

"Well, not the whole city, of course, just a house in the southern outskirts," Francois replied.

I was speechless for the rest of the drive, Felix turning down a dirt road and trundling along for a quarter mile before pulling up in front of an old-fashioned looking farmhouse. "Here we are."

Getting out, I felt like I was in a sort of dreaming wakefulness, the whole experience leaving me stunned like I'd just been smacked in the head by a pillow. I stood in the sunny front yard, staring at the two-story house, a silly grin on my face. "I feel like I've stepped into a fairy tale. Or the French version of The Wizard of Oz. Tell me there’s a barn in the back somewhere."

"There is, but we use it for something else,” Felix said. “You’ll see it later. Come, let’s introduce you to our mothers."

For all of the old-fashioned exterior, the inside of the house was beautifully done, in a rustic style that balanced modern convenience with a simple countryside charm. For a girl who'd spent most of the past eight years in Los Angeles, it was quite different, and wonderfully warming. I could definitely see myself wiling away the days and weeks in this sort of house, surrounded by these two men and the beautiful countryside. Felix led the way to the back of the house, opening the door. "Mama!"

The two women who turned at Felix's voice were stunning, plain and simple. Much shorter than their sons, each of them about five foot five or so. Their thick, wavy black hair hung all the way to their waists, framing faces that showed hints of their sons. They were dressed elegantly, with long flowing wool skirts and cashmere tops that showed both of them kept themselves in great shape.

Both ignored me however, greeting their sons with excited hugs and loud kisses on their cheeks. They shifted from French to another language, which I could only assume was Romani, leaving me totally in the dark as to what was being said. From the facial expressions and tone of voice, it didn’t sound bad.

One of the women turned her eyes to me. I found her scrutiny unsettling, and I had to resist the urge to squirm under her gaze. "Donc ceci est le voleur qui a volé le cœur de mon fils," she said, then smiled and in accented but clear English. "Welcome. I’m Syeira."

When she smiled, all the tension in her eyes evaporated, and I could see the similarities between her and her son. "Thank you. I must say that you both are stunning.”

They both laughed and one came over, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "You’ll do well here," she said, patting my just-kissed cheek. "I am Charani, Francois’s mother."

I tried my best to discern any difference between the two women, but it was impossible. They were truly identical twins, with the only difference I could tell between them being the color of the blouses they were wearing underneath their open fronted cashmere tops. "Thank you both," I said in my best attempt at French. "It’s nice to meet you."

"It seems we must try our best with good English, and you must try your best with good French," Charani said softly, before giving her son a hug with one arm. "Come, it’s time for celebration."

I was grateful that they’d prepared some light fare. I’d more than feasted since living with Francois and Felix, and barely managed to maintain my weight even with the sex and exercise I’d been getting. Conversation flowed nice, and I began to feel a little more at ease.

Felix had told them about how we’d met, using French and Romani interchangeably while Francois kept me abreast of the conversation with whispered bits of English.

"They may have taken me captive, but they’ve certainly stolen me away from a life of drudgery and boredom," I added. I’d come to the conclusion quickly in Mexico, and knew that even if I was given the opportunity to go back to Los Angeles, I wouldn't. "The past two months have been the best in my life."

After the light meal, Francois took my hand. “It’s time to show you around," he reminded me. "Mother, Aunt, if you'll excuse us. Felix, you mind?“

Felix waved with good humor, and Francois led me outside. While the weather was milder than Paris, it was still winter, and the orange glow of the sunset in the sky lent enough warmth that I was comfortable. Francois led me to the barn, pausing at the large double doors. "My brother told you earlier that this is not a normal barn. Take a look inside."

It took me a while to understand what the collection of ropes, beams, and other things in the dimly lit cavernous barn was until I spied something hanging from a beam. "Are those gymnastic rings?"

Francois nodded. "Welcome to the place where our father taught my brother and I every physical skill needed to become who we are. This place was our training hall, our sparring center, and as much our classroom as the schools we went to. It’s also one of the few places that I’d routinely best Felix."

"Oh, why's that?" I asked, thinking that while Francois was different from Felix, I didn't find him deficient to his brother. Maybe it was just a case of the grass being greener, and Francois not being aware of his own strengths.

He took my question differently, though, his mouth tightening. "Felix has always been a bit larger than me, a bit stronger. But many of the skills that our father trained us in, that extra mass was a detriment."

“What’d you two do in here anyway?" I asked, looking into the shadows. "I wish I could see this in daylight."

"Tomorrow. Father never installed lights, saying that it was vital that we learn how to maneuver ourselves in darkness. It’s difficult at first, but you learn to use your other senses. Here, I’ll show you a little, for what you can see anyway.”

Francois stripped off his shirt in a single smooth motion, and with a happy grin took off across the barn. Jumping over a rope I hadn't even seen, he went up the beam in the middle arm over arm, nearly launching himself from hand grip to hand grip, using holds that I hadn't even realized what they were until he was hanging from them. With a final little leap, he grabbed a rope that was tightly stretched across the space, leaving his feet dangling a few feet above my head. "How’s that?"

"You move like a damn cat," I said, amazed. I came over and took his hands, surprised that they weren't shredded on the rope. I traced the red lines that had been caused by the material, amazed. "How'd you do that?"

"Twenty-three years of experience," Francois said. He clasped my hands in his and smiled. “But I have a feeling it won’t take you as long.”

"You expect me to be flipping around and doing all that?" I asked, flabbergasted. I was a rock and roll guitar player, not a member of Cirque De Soliel. “You’re crazy.”

"I've been called that a few times," Francois said with a chuckle, "but I didn't mean all of that. Just that you can enjoy this space too. In the meantime, I was thinking something more like this."

Francois pulled me in close and kissed me hard, his arms crushing me against his firm torso. His skin pressed against my hands, and his lips pressed against mine. He was warm, masculine, and strong. I had to admit, the display of physical ability he'd just done had done more than a little to my pulse, and the taste of him added to it, turning the warmth into a fire.

"Have I been so neglectful of you?" I asked Francois when I could breathe again, my hands resting on the swells of his chest. The light hairs added texture underneath my fingertips, and I traced the muscles in appreciation. "Have I really?"

"Sometimes I feel like you have more in common with Felix than with me. I understand, he’s a better conversationalist once he lets you in," Francois whispered, smiling sadly. “But I’m a lot more fun, don’t you think?”

“Well, you certainly know how to use your tongue. Which reminds me," I teased, reaching down. "Maybe I should return the favor for that night in Paris?”

Pushing Francois, I walked him backward until his butt was against one of the beams of the barn, a smile on his face. “Mmm. I like this new aggressiveness."

"You bring out the animal in me, you know that?" I countered, sinking to my knees. I pulled at the button on his pants, undoing them quickly and reaching in, pulling out his still mostly soft cock. I wasn't offended, we'd just started kissing only a few seconds before. Instead, I relished the soft texture in my mouth as I sucked him in, rolling my tongue around his shaft before releasing him to taste the silky texture of his balls. "In fact, I'm going to eat you up. One rule, though."

"What?" Francois asked, his eyes rolling back as I sucked one of his balls into my mouth and licked.

"Keep your hands on that post behind you and don't let go," I teased. "I know how you like to take control."

I wrapped my hand around his cock, smiling up at him while his hands trembled. He quickly hardened and I stroked gently, teasing him while I cocked an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Wi, mon coeur," he said, leaning back and grabbing the post behind him. I gave him my most angelically devilish smile before licking my lips and licking his now hard shaft from the underside base all the way to his tip. Swirling around, I gazed into his eyes as I swallowed his shaft, running my lips all the way down as far as I could. "Mon Dieu."

"You could say that again," I said when I pulled back, his cock coming out of my mouth with an audible pop that caused his shaft to bob up and down playfully. Pumping him with my hand, I smiled.

I'm no porn starlet when it comes to giving head, but Francois seemed to enjoy my efforts, soft curses in French and English coming out in between deep breaths as I bobbed up and down, my tongue massaging the steely, soft-skinned tool. I felt powerful, knowing that he was gripping the beam behind him tighter and tighter as I sucked, his control slipping further and further away.

It wasn't that I didn't enjoy giving in to him. Like I said, sex with him was amazing and adventurous. But he was normally the initiator, and almost always in control. He'd taken me to places I'd never been before with a man, including the time he’d inspired me to that wild night of three-way passion with him and Felix. Now, I had him right where I wanted; I had him literally in the palm of my hand. Well, and in my mouth too, but that was part of the fun. I resisted the urge to scrape my teeth lightly on his shaft, focusing instead on bringing him pleasure.

I reached under his balls, finding the tender spot of his taint and pressing upwards, massaging his prostate while I kept sucking. He groaned deep in his throat, his self-control barely holding on, all of his focus going into the sensation I was causing in his cock and in holding onto that damn beam behind him. I could read it on his face, and it was a high like I'd never felt in my life. Taking him deeper than ever before, I pushed until the head of his cock slipped into my throat and massaged him with my throat muscles.

"Fuck, I'm going to come," he groaned apologetically. Normally a long-lasting lover who never came before I was screaming and tearing at the blankets, he was ready to come after just a few minutes. I guess I was better than I'd thought, or perhaps Francois really had been being ignored by me in favor of Felix. I grinned and pulled back some, letting him out of my mouth while I pumped his cock with my right hand.