Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) (17 page)

After John Galliano’s show was
McQueen.

Since Alexander McQueen’s death, Sarah Burton had been the
visionary at McQueen. This season, she made a dramatic shift away from what had
been done in the past. Most significant to the collection were Burton’s
historical references: collar frills that could rival any found in Henry VIII’s
court and corseted homages to Victorian silhouettes, complete with dangling
tendrils of hair. I immediately thought of
Pride and Prejudice
.

Where was the edgy avant-garde attire? We’d come to see the
elaborate and theatrical. Where was the House of McQueen heading? I found
myself very disappointed. Most of my favorite designers had struck out this
season, as far as I was concerned.

“Well… that was a bit of a letdown,” Marian sighed.

I nodded in agreement. “A big one.”

“This was supposed to be the grand finale, the tour de
force!” Tiziana proclaimed morosely. Apparently she wasn’t a fan of Sarah
Burton’s collection either.

“What are you talking about? It was marvelous.” Well, at
least Hillary had fallen in love with Sarah Burton.

Grimacing as she shrugged into her coat, Marian informed
Hillary, “That was
not
Alexander McQueen. Do you think we’ll ever see
the likes of him again?”

Charlotte assured her that, somewhere in the world, there
was someone as great as Alexander McQueen, about to take the fashion world by
storm. “God, I hope so,” I muttered. It seemed ridiculous, but I felt sad. I
missed Alexander McQueen. I never thought of him without feeling sad about his
death. Poor Sarah. What a tough act to follow.

Wanting to change the subject and shrug off my mood, I
focused on food. “What are the plans for dinner?” Everyone shrugged their
shoulders. There were no dinner plans. Our last night in Paris together, and
there were no dinner plans. We looked one to the other, disbelieving, and then
laughed.

“Options! We need options, Kathleen.” Marian clapped her
hands together, chop-chop. Sébastien and I were brainstorming when a huge smile
spread across Hillary’s face. Aksel Pedersen was making his way over, clearly
the man behind the sparkle in her eye, bounce in her walk, and all that
business.

While I watched them talk, I felt Sébastien grow tense.
Whatever had happened between the two men must have been big. Earlier, while he
and I had strolled around the gardens, I had tried to think of a way to broach
the subject and hadn’t succeeded. Most of our time together had been with other
people, or our libidos had been in control. In the two days since Bethany’s
show and my meeting Aksel, our relationship had taken giant leaps forward. But
I was uncertain how he’d feel about me bringing it up. He had kept the matter
to himself. If the girls hadn’t seen his reaction to Aksel and me talking, I
might have never known. He had clamped down on his feelings for Aksel Pedersen,
and I’d been left thinking I needed to respect his privacy.

I went back to casting my mental net over the immediate
surrounds, to see if I could think of somewhere we could go without a
reservation. It being Sunday night at 10:00 pm made this tricky. My whirling
brain came to a screeching halt when Hillary happily offered a solution. “Aksel
and some friends are having a party on the private rooftop terrace you were
talking about earlier, Kathleen. He’s invited all of us to join them. What do
you say?”

I darted a glance at Sébastien. He kept his expression
neutral while thinking it over. He must have decided he could handle the
situation, because he said, “We have a solution.”

***

The last time I stood inside the
rooftop garden, it had been midsummer, for a work event, and there had been
absolutely no romance in the air. Tonight, everything was different. Well, not
the view. The Tuileries and the Louvre still felt like they were within
touching distance. The Eiffel Tower beamed to the southwest of us, and, much
closer, the Arc de Triumph was ablaze with lights. As for romance, it felt
romantic. The mood was set by quiet music; lowlights cast the potted topiary
trees and dense railing hedge into deep shadow, perfectly framing the distant
views. Elegantly dressed people, most of whom I didn’t know, milled around,
holding glasses of wine and quietly murmuring; occasionally, there was a cackle
of laughter.

Behind me, Sébastien rested his hands on my shoulders and
discreetly nuzzled my ear. I was warmly wrapped in a knee-length, silver-fox
coat, but his body encircling me added delicious intimacy. We stood quietly and
absorbed our amazing surroundings.

He turned me so that I stood within his embrace. “Chérie, I
have a favor to ask.”

The timber of his voice was low and melodic. The faint
rumble made my knees weak. I steadied myself, wrapping my arms around his neck.
“Yes. Anything.”

“The next time we are alone, would you wear just the coat? I
have a feeling, a very erotic one, that it would be quite… satisfying.” His lips
hovered teasingly just above mine, the flint on the tip of a match just a
whisper away. Softly and fleetingly, he pressed his lips against mine in
between each word, “If only we were alone.”

I nodded vaguely, as I imagined me, naked in the fur, with
him pulling me against him. My breath hitched in my throat, and the apex of my
thighs ached. I stood lost in my fantasy, until I felt his heat, his physical
reaction, move against me. Knowing we were surrounded by people, I endeavored
to slow my breathing, while I pretended to mull over his request. When I
thought I had myself under control, I attempted to answer. With my limited
skill at sensual banter, I replied, “The coat and I have to talk about it.”

He lowered his head, nudging aside the fur so that his lips
brushed my collarbone, buried deep within the coat. The cold air hitting his
moist kiss sent ripples across my skin. He must have felt me shiver, because he
lifted his lips just enough to ask, “Have I convinced the coat?”

I gyrated a little. “The coat is in. I, however, wonder what
I will get out of this.”

Sébastien raised his head further. Riveted on his full lips,
I watched his perfect mouth say, “Always the negotiator.”

I raised my brow and leaned further into him, giving up
appearing unaffected. “But of course.”

Not caring who was nearby, he lowered his lips to mine and
gave me a long and deeply arousing kiss that left me gasping for breath and
aching in all the most wonderful places.

“And now?” he eventually asked.

“Still thinking,” I answered.

He tossed his head back and chuckled, while holding me
tightly in his arms. Always happy to see him laugh, I felt charged. I swayed,
brushing intimately against him, and felt his body shudder. I trembled in
response.

“How about we split the dry cleaning bill?”

“Ah, chérie, you drive a hard bargain, but we have an
arrangement.” He chuckled in my ear.

“I believe we do.” My voice was muffled as I nipped gently
on his neck.

Marian made her way to us. “Join the party, you two. I need
a translator.”

“Ah, so quickly to the heart of the matter,” Sébastien
observed drily.

“Okay, who’s the guy? That is always at the heart of the
matter,” I asked her while keeping my eyes focused on Sébastien.

Marian inclined her head in the direction of the bar, where
a group of elegantly dressed men stood talking. “The blond guy in the navy
suit.”

We strolled to the bar and introduced ourselves in French then
explained Marian didn’t speak French. The group of men were a warm and friendly
group. They happily switched to English. To their credit, their English was
terrible, but, with one sultry bat of Marian’s eyelashes, the blond in the blue
suit appeared willing to do whatever it took to keep her attention.

The mood changed when Hillary and Aksel made their way over.
When Sébastien and Aksel shook hands, I noted they were cordial enough but
Sébastien was still not his easygoing self. I gave him a questioning glance,
which he answered by smiling at me.

I collected myself and thanked Aksel for letting us crash
his party.

“It is my pleasure. Now we have many more distinguished and
beautiful guests in our party. We are the fortunate ones. I will leave Ms.
Cavendish with you while I see to things. I was dreading leaving her alone—someone
else would have swept in and tried to woo her.” His kind response added to my
confusion about what could be going on between him and Sébastien.

Extracting a promise from Hillary that she would save a seat
beside her, he disappeared into the crowd. Hillary announced demurely, “He is
interested in discussing some ideas I have, particularly one I am having
trouble getting off the ground. With his backing…” She continued on while I
puzzled over Sébastien’s response to Aksel.

When we entered the dining area, I saw Ted and Tiziana
entrenched in conversation with a power couple, so I steered clear of them.
Liam hovered around Charlotte, who was sitting in a corner, looking miserable.
Marian and Gérard, the blond in the blue suit, were lost in their own little
world, which was about to be intruded upon by a couple I hadn’t met. I spotted
four seats at the nearest end of the table and went to claim them for
Charlotte, Liam, Sébastien, and me. “Want to grab these and I will go get
Charlotte and Liam?”

“Grab them?” Sébastien teased.

Sometimes I literally translated slang into French, and it
often didn’t work. “Take them, claim them, or lay yourself across them—whatever!”
I teased back, happy he was himself again.

As I approached, I asked Charlotte, “All right? Want to eat?”

Before she could answer, Liam responded, “No, she’s not. I
want to take her back to the apartment, but she doesn’t want to be a bother.
Tell her it’s okay to leave, Kathleen.”

The week had clearly been too much for her, for them. I sat
down next to her and held her hand, looking into her watery eyes with
compassion, “Charlotte, you should be looking after yourself and that baby. Get
some sleep while you can. I promise, we’ll all be together again soon,
celebrating your baby!” Her smile of acquiescence was soggy.

She wiped away a few escaped tears. “Okay.” She stole a
glance toward the dining room.

“Go. I’ll say goodbye for you. Everyone understands,” I said
before worry could set in again.

When I made it back to the table, I found Hillary and Aksel
sitting with Sébastien. She wore a quizzical expression. I explained Charlotte
and Liam’s departure then took in the ambiance. “Beautiful.”

As I shrugged out of my coat, Sébastien seized the
opportunity to help me. We shared a playful glance over the silky fur before I
asked quietly, “Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Everything is fine. How about you?” Clearly
referring to Charlotte and Liam’s departure, I nodded.

Dinner. Five courses divinely prepared and carefully paired
with wine. A pianist, somewhere out of view, serenaded us with tasteful grace,
moving effortlessly between Gershwin, Duke Ellington, and even a little
Puccini, while waiters with impeccable skills tirelessly toiled. Hillary and
Aksel talked about everything under the sun. Conversation flowed around Marian
and Gérard, who were focused solely on each other, and Tiziana and Ted were in
the middle of what could only be described as a very animated conversation.

Sébastien and me? I wouldn’t say you could hear a pin drop,
but just about. The piano was a little too loud for that. I left him to
cogitate while I plotted. Talking didn’t appear to be on his agenda, but maybe
I could get his attention another way.

I cast a glance around the room, and, seeing that things
were relatively dark and discreet and that Hillary and Aksel had quite
forgotten us, I slipped my foot out of my shoe and scooted it up his pant leg.
I watched as he first looked startled and then took delight as an aroused gaze
warmed his expression.

His eyes locked onto mine. I bit my lip as his eyelids
fluttered shut and he lifted my foot to his lap. I slid down in my chair a bit.
A groan escaped me when he trailed his fingers along my leg. He gently circled
my ankle before a single finger ran from my heel, across the arch of my foot,
to the end of my toe.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a waiter approach, and
when I went to pull my foot away, his eyes snapped open as he clamped down on
it. While he and the waiter talked wine, I circled my ankle, curious to see how
far he would let my seduction go. He moved my foot to rest between his legs. Quite
far, I decided, as I contemplated my next move.

One little flick of my foot, and I had his full attention. I
ignored the waiter and met Sébastien’s lust filled gaze. He turned back to the
waiter and told him to bring more wine. He hadn’t stilled my foot. Instead, he
eased forward, allowing my foot to fit more snugly against him.

Lost in the sensation of the most sexually abandoned
situation I’d ever found myself in, a ping of electricity ricocheted from one
delicate spot to another and another, as we played our game. He held my gaze,
and it was only after the waiter refilled our glasses that he held my foot
still against his throbbing groin.

He lifted his glass to mine. “You are very good at ‘this,’
chère. You have my absolute attention.”

God knows, he had mine. When I raised my glass to him, I
felt a gentle nudge against my foot, a voluntary or involuntary response on his
part. I felt his chuckle as well as heard it when I gulped down some ice-cold
water and stared into the distance. I tried to collect myself, all the while
very aware that he had control of my foot.

“Would you care to dance?”

“What?” His question surprised and confused me. Hillary and
Aksel were rising from the table, furthering my confusion.

“Since your feet, or should I say foot, moves so
beautifully, I thought you might like to dance.”