French kiss (23 page)

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for?" He gently put a hand on Holly's back to guide her out of the ornate opera house and into the warm, starry night.

"Most definitely," Holly sighed as they drifted across the sweeping plaza. "This was worth everything."

The cobblestone streets were bursting with people -- amorous couples on the corners, giggling girls in platform flip-flops racing toward some unknown destination and Holly breathed it all in. After a solid year of domestic activities like playing on Tyler's Xbox, she was loving being out this late with a handsome boy at her side, the hazy crescent moon overhead, and the very air buzzing with possibility. Holly had decided to leave her cell phone back at the apartment, and without its weight in her new mint-green clutch, she felt as free and untethered as a balloon. "Or maybe I'm just a sucker for Romeo and Juliet," she added with a grin, glancing down at the glossy program in her hand.

"Ah,
me? I am different," Pierre said, brushing his dark curls out of his eyes -- a gesture that Holly had grown accustomed to, but that never failed to make her melt. "I enjoyed the ballet, yes, but I have never understood this Romeo and Juliet business," he explained as they started down the boulevard Haussman. "It is supposed to be the greatest story of

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l'amour
-- of love -- in the world,
nest-ce-pas?"
he offered with a thoughtful glance at Holly, who nodded. "But they are
teenagers.
Juliet -- she has, what? Fourteen years? And Romeo, he has seventeen? Tell me, what do teenagers know about great and true love? I find this ..." Pierre flicked his thumb and middle finger together. "Crazy."

"Do you mean that?" Holly asked, turning to Pierre in surprise. She'd initially pegged Alexa's soulful cousin as more of a romantic. "But it's
forbidden
love!" Holly argued, gesturing with her hands. The night's energy was loosening her normally more reserved tongue. "And, come on, Pierre," she added, shaking her head. "Of course teenagers can fall totally and completely in love. When you're a teenager, everything becomes so
intense
-- so important..." Holly let out a sigh, remembering herself at thirteen, when she'd first felt the cruel sting of a crush.

"You take love very seriously, 'Oily," Pierre observed, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Perhaps too seriously?"

"I do not --" Holly began defensively, but then her heartbeat increased at a dramatic rate.
Forbidden love. Teenagers.
She looked down at her boots, avoiding Pierre's gaze.
Oh, God,
she thought, in a mild panic.
Was I talking about... us?

Thankfully, Pierre chose that moment to suggest

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that they grab a late dinner on the He St-Louis. Flustered, Holly agreed with the one request that the meal not run
too
late, since she'd set her travel alarm clock for the ungodly hour of five in the morning. But by the time she and Pierre were splitting a steak frites and a bottle of wine on a terrace overflowing with flowers, Holly's alarm was the last thing on her mind. As she and Pierre ate and drank and continued to debate the ballet, eleven o'clock magically morphed into midnight, and soon they were making their tipsy way over to the nearby Café-Brasserie St. Regis, to pick up some
bière a I'emporter.

Sipping their cups of cold, bubbly beer, they wandered over to the illuminated Notre Dame cathedral, behind which they came upon a wild array of street performers, from fire-eaters to jugglers to bongo drummers. A DJ was spinning techno and trance, and packs of kids danced, waving glow sticks.

Watching the impromptu party from the periphery, Holly felt both uncomfortable and intrigued; she'd never been to a rave, but she figured the vibe at one would come close to this. She hung back, but an enthusiastic Pierre --"they call this 'the show,'" he explained -- talked her into staying. Holly soon felt all her reserve dissolving as she and Pierre finished their beers, danced in fits and starts, and chatted up some Australian backpackers who were still dirty from the

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Eurorail. The party was still raging when the two of them decided to cool off with a walk across the river.

"I should really get back to the apartment," Holly said unconvincingly as she and Pierre strolled along a quiet stone quay, their arms brushing against each other. She tossed a glance down at her wristwatch. It was well after two in the morning.

"Yes," Pierre said, with just as much conviction. "You should." Holly felt their elbows bump slightly.

"Mmm," Holly replied, closing her eyes. Her head was pleasantly heavy from the wine and beer, and she was enjoying how the river breeze playfully lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck.

"Look," Pierre whispered, squeezing Holly's bare arm to get her attention. Holly let her eyes flutter open, and saw that Pierre was motioning to a flight of stone steps that led down from the quay to a narrow little nook right on the water. "These secret places, they are perhaps my favorite in all of Paris," he added quietly.

"Let's check it out," Holly whispered back, feeling a spark of excitement. She wasn't usually one to explore hidden-away corners in cities, but the slim strip of gravel by the water seemed to call to her. She grabbed Pierre's hand and led him down the steep unlit steps until they reached the secluded spot. Wordlessly, Pierre took off his blazer and spread it on the ground,

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and he and Holly sat down, hugging their knees and gazing out at the water.

"Oh,
Pierre"
Holly sighed, admiring how the river shone glassy-black in the moonlight. Across the way, the lights of the Left Bank shimmered and winked at her, tantalizing and coy. "It's - it's amazing," she added dreamily, resting her chin on her knees. She'd never fully experienced Paris by night before.

"Oui"
Pierre murmured, and Holly felt his eyes on her profile. "Amazing. This is exactly what I am thinking."

At Pierre's words, Holly felt tingles rush through her limbs. She had grown deliciously accustomed to Pierre tossing off a flirtatious compliment every so often, but tonight, his voice seemed different deeper, more serious. Her pulse fluttering at her neck and wrists, Holly sat very still as Pierre moved closer to her, and she felt the undeniable energy pulse between them.

And then suddenly, it was no longer the river breeze that was lifting Holly's hair off her neck, but Pierre himself, his hands slipping carefully through her fine, honey-brown strands.
Is he really doing that?
Holly thought dazedly, wondering if she should tell Pierre to stop. But, in the next heartbeat, as Holly's skin flushed hotter and hotter, Pierre leaned in and kissed her neck, his lips soft and warm and slow. And he certainly didn't stop.

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"Oh,
Pierre"
Holly repeated, only this time her meaning was completely different -- and her words were faint with breathlessness. She had every intention of telling him how wrong this was, but her eyes were closing with pleasure and she was inclining her head to the left, giving Pierre more of her neck to kiss. And, really, Holly knew she was powerless to stop this moment -- this natural culmination of everything that had been building since the day Pierre had kissed her hello in the stairwell. What was happening between the two of them felt as certain, as inevitable as the current of the river as it lapped against the bank.

Pierre seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "I have wanted -- this -- for so long," he whispered into Holly's ear, his breath catching, his lips still brushing her neck. Gently, Pierre tilted Holly's head back up, and turned her face toward his. Holly thought she could see her reflection in Pierre's light blue eyes, and she felt, for the first time in a long time, as beautiful as Alexa. She gave Pierre a small smile, biting her bottom lip, and Pierre swallowed hard, his Adam's apple moving up and down.

As Pierre brought his face in even closer to hers, Holly closed her eyes again, welcoming the wave of desire that engulfed her. She wasn't sure who even started the kiss, but, in the next instant, their mouths were fitted together, and Holly found herself kissing

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Pierre with a passion she hadn't even known she was capable of. His tongue tasted like honey, and the feel of his full lips was so deliciously unfamiliar that Holly's whole body quivered. There, on the deserted river-bank, they turned toward each other completely, Holly's arms sliding tight around Pierre's neck, his claiming her waist. Their bodies pressed together and they continued to kiss hungrily as the crescent moon moved across the water.

Kissing while sitting up suddenly seemed like a silly idea; before she knew it, Holly was lying back against Pierre's jacket, and he was above her, his hands tracing the curves of her body, his touch careful but confident. As Pierre's fingers floated along the seam of her dress, Holly gave a small start, and Alexa's words from earlier sprung unbidden into her mind:
Pierre is
not
as innocent as he seems.

No kidding.

"Ça
ca?" Pierre murmured, drawing back a little to smile down at her. His hair was rumpled and his eyes were sparkling.

"Ça va"
Holly replied, surprised at how easily the French came to her. She knew the phrase more or less translated to "It's cool." And, even though Holly wasn't used to making out with foreign boys on hidden riverbanks, she
was
cool with this. She was ready.

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She'd
been
ready back in Oakridge -- perched on the brink, waiting to dive in.

And, from the looks of things, Pierre St. Laurent was there to catch her.

As their kissing and caressing picked up again, Pierre started to stretch out alongside her, but space on his blazer was limited. Holly shifted helpfully to one side, but felt something sharp poke her in the back. A pebble. "Ow," Holly mumbled, pulling back from Pierre to readjust herself on the blazer. As she did so, her palm dug into the scratchy gravel.
What am I doing?
Holly wondered. Clearly, a riverbank wasn't the most convenient place for a hookup, but before Holly could say anything about that, Pierre was kissing her again.

Then, suddenly, as if the cold, hard ground had awoken her, Holly was reminded of that night in the car with Tyler -- how, they, too, had tried in vain to get comfortable together. And once she had thought of Tyler, Holly was unable to
stop
thinking of him. Tyler, whose sweet, gentle kisses were as familiar to her as the back roads of her hometown. Tyler, who --- tonight, between the ballet and the beer and the walk along the water -- had receded in Holly's mind, but now returned, as vivid as if he were beside her on the moonlit bank. What
was
she doing here, lying on

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the gravel in the middle of Paris, ready to do who-knew-what with a boy she barely even knew?

And, in that instant, even as Pierre was kissing her, Holly realized that there was only one boy with whom she wanted to make out in inconvenient places. And with whom she wanted to go all the way.

So she whispered his name.

Pierre immediately broke off the kiss and pulled back, his brow furrowed, his breathing unsteady. "Tyler?" he repeated, his eyes searching hers. Holly wondered if Pierre remembered the name from the restaurant last night.

"Tyler," Holly affirmed, her voice wavery. Slowly, she struggled to sit up, warm tears gathering in her throat. She hadn't meant for this to happen -- none of it. She hadn't meant to blurt out Tyler's name like that, but she also hadn't intended to hook up with Pierre in the first place. Or had she? Everything was a giant, jumbled mess.

Pierre raised one eyebrow, sitting back on his heels and studying Holly. "He is your boyfriend?" he asked quietly. "From New Jersey?"

Holly's stomach lurched.
Right on the money.
Unsteadily, she got to her feet, trembling a little. "How did you -- did Alexa tell you?" she asked, preparing for another reason to hate her friend.

Pierre shook his head, smiling wryly as he also

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climbed to his feet. "'Oily, I am not a fool," he said, bending down to retrieve his wrinkled blazer. Brushing the gravel off his jacket, he met Holly's gaze and she saw the raw disappointment written on his face.

Holly felt the tears start at the corners of her eyes and she glanced down. Of course, smart, insightful Pierre would be able to guess the truth from her reaction. Holly felt terrible for keeping him in the dark all this time. As all of her various guilts -- over Pierre, over Tyler, over Wimbledon -- melded together in a blur, Holly was unable to put a stopper on her tumbling emotions. So she did what any normal girl would do in her position.

She burst into tears.

Pierre took a step toward her, and, since Holly had no other place to rest her head, she leaned it against his chest, weeping into his soft white T-shirt. She felt him hesitate for a second and then begin to stroke her tousled hair.

"Pierre,
I'm sorry"
Holly sobbed, her voice muffled. "There's so much I've kept from you. Yes, Tyler is my boyfriend, and we've been together a whole year but he doesn't even
know
I'm in Paris," she rambled, hiccuping. "And neither do my parents because I escaped from my track meet in England, and
that
was why I needed to leave tonight, and if Coach Graham catches me, I might get kicked out of school, and Meghan and