The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (56 page)

The widow had worn a hat with a black veil over her blonde hair.  And her low-cut black suit had exposed some serious cleavage.  I wonder if Pierre had paid for that pair?  I hadn't attempted to speak with her.  It had felt weird.  Not right, or even necessary.

So now, to put this all behind me.  The focus of Hollie would help me with that.

"What about Chateau d'If?" I offered.

"Oh, that's right!"  She strolled over with a wrapped package in hand.  "It's close, isn't it?"

"Five miles out?  Want to check it out tomorrow?"

"Yes!"

"I was hoping you'd say that.  What is that?  It is not a Christmas present, is it?  You had rules."

"Those rule did not indicate I couldn't get you something."  She handed me the heavy object, which I guessed might be a book from the size and shape.  "It's something I wanted you to have.  I didn't give it to you on Christmas Eve because it was so lovely simply being the two of us that night, quiet and making love.  But now, well, it feels like you need something to pick you up."

I sat on the chair beside the table and tore away the gold mylar wrapping.  I did enjoy presents, so I wouldn't argue the gift.  And when I saw what it was, I gasped.  Running my fingers over the fading gold lettering on the maroon spine, I could but gasp again.

"
The Three Musketeers
," Hollie provided eagerly.  "This edition was published in 1898.  It's filled with gorgeous illustrations."

The copy was exquisite.  A shield with crossed swords on the front bore the title in more fading gold ink.  I had not seen an old version of the book in such good condition.  It was over a hundred years old!  And indeed, the illustrations were gorgeous.  It was printed in English, but that mattered little.  I paused on an illustrated page that featured Cardinal Richelieu kneeling before the imperious Milady de Winter.

"Hollie," I whispered.  My heart swelled and tears wobbled in my eyes.  It had been rare to receive a meaningful gift from my parents.  Necessities such as school supplies and shirts had been the norm.

"Do you like it?"

I grasped her and pulled her into hug.  Words were impossible.  This moment was perfect.  She knew me well.  I would cherish this book endlessly.  It felt more valuable to me than any figure in my bank account.  This woman knew my heart.

"Can we read it together?" she asked.

I nodded and sniffed back silly tears.  She'd made me cry, damn it.  But the emotional display felt okay.  "We will read it together.  Thank you, mon abeille.  It means much to me."

"You mean much to me, Jean-Louis.  Now, let's eat.  I'm starving!  Lamb?  I haven't ever tried it," she said, sitting down and starting right in. 

I wrapped the book back in the mylar paper and set it in my open suitcase.  I didn't want to get food on it.  Wiping away another tear, I sat before the table.  Wow.  Talk about a surprise attack of emotion.

"This is good," Hollie said.  "Not as good as what you might make, but I'm hungry."

"As am I."  Whew!  I could handle this.  Wasn't going to think about any other reason to let the tears come.  Hollie was cheery and so pretty.  I would use her as distraction from the insistent tug within my heart.

We ate quickly, chatting about the things we'd seen in town that we might check out tomorrow.  Small talk.  It felt odd, and yet I was comfortable with it.  I didn't sense that Hollie was going to dive at me with questions about Pierre.  Did I miss him?  Was I sad? 

Of course I did and was.  But right now even if I had wanted to wither into grief, I couldn't.  I actually felt the same.  And if I thought about that too much, that way lie madness.

It was the gift that had brought up the emotion, that was all.

"It would please me to bring you into town tomorrow and buy you some pretty things," I said.  "You've only ever allowed me to buy you the dress.  Maybe some shoes?"

"I do love insensible shoes.  Are you in a shopping mood?"

"I believe so."

"If it makes you happy.  But here I thought you'd take me to a nude beach."

"Your tits would freeze."  She laughed, and I joined her.  "But if you are determined?"

"No, I think the weather helped me dodge a bullet because I sense you would take pleasure in watching me navigate a nude beach.  You do like to watch me struggle with my comfort zone."

I'd never thought of it like that before, but she was right.  "I like to watch you no matter the situation."

"Voyeur."

"Exhibitionist."

"Only for you.  I would never flash a complete stranger."

"You did once.  Through our bedroom windows."  I winked at her while sipping the wine.  "It pleased me."

"I like to please you, Jean-Louis l'Etoile.  You know, that's the first time I learned your surname.  When I read the telegram." 

"Huh."  It hadn't occurred to me that we'd not done the official introductions.  I offered her my hand across the table.  "Monsieur Jean-Louis l'Etoile, ever ready to please you, Mademoiselle."

She slid her hand into mine.  "Hollie Peterson.  And I am more than ready to please you, Monsieur."

Twisting on her chair, she slipped off and onto her knees, and crawled around to kneel before me.  Gliding her hand up from my bare feet, along my calves (I was wearing a towel) and up along my thighs, she leaned in and asked, "Tell me how to please you, Monsieur l'Etoile?"

Mmm...  There were so many answers to that loaded question.  I glanced to the book lying on top of my things in the suitcase.  Need I ask more?  The most interested party perked up at attention in my lap.  I did like Hollie on her knees before me.

And then, I did not.

"For starters, get off your knees."

"But...?"

"
S'il vous plâit
," I insisted.

She stood and leaned forward, putting her lips close to mine but not quite touching.  She had seduction in mind.  And while I couldn't argue a preference for contact, I wanted something different from her right now.  I gently pushed her back so she hovered over me expectantly.

"It pleases me," I said, "when you know what you want, and do not balk to take it.  Whether it be sex or the truth in a conversation.  The thing that pleases me most about you, Hollie..." 

I stood and took her hands in mine.  "Is your strength.  You know who you are.  You don't make excuses for that.  Promise to never make excuses to me?"

She nodded.  Those bright blue eyes dazzled.

"And promise to always ask me for what you want, need, or desire?"

She nodded again. 

"Don't ever feel as if you can't talk to me.  Because what pleases me is this connection we share.  I can be quiet with you and feel safe.  And I can be silly with you and know you are not judging me.  And...I can be sad with you and know that you understand me."

"I do.  Jean-Louis, I do understand you.  You are my sexy Frenchman, who is stoic and proud, yet also kind and soft.  You feel, just as I do.  And you ache and hurt.  Thank you for being open with me."

"I'm probably not so open as I should be."

Her grin warmed my soul.  "You're learning."

I kissed her then because there was nothing else to be done but to communicate with our bodies.  To enter one another and share those unspoken things that might never come to voice, but could be interpreted through skin, scent, and heartbeats.

Pushing Hollie's robe from her shoulders to drop onto the floor, I led her to the bed and climbed onto the plush temperpedic island frosted with fluffy duvet and crisp cotton sheets.  We nestled within the cloud, our bodies spooning together as if the magnetic attraction between our electrons demanded it.  Her thigh nudged my erection but I was content to simply lay with her in my arms, wandering into the teasing pleasure that rubbing my cock against her skin would produce, but then not needing that kind of satisfaction from her right now.

It was her heartbeats against mine that focused me and lured my head against her chest to listen.  To close my eyes and embrace the life beside me, and to know I was safe.

And loved.

***

I woke to the nipple-tightening sensation of a man's tongue venturing up the inside of my thigh.  I had a flash of Jean-Louis and I falling into bed together naked last night, but then not having sex.  Holding one another, we'd fallen asleep.  I don't think I'd stirred once during the night.

But now, with the sun teasing my closed eyelids, and an expert tongue landing on my clitoris, I was thankful for the arousal.  I spread my legs and my lover hummed his approval. 

Mm, yes, right there.  I arched my back, and pressed my fingers into his thick, curly hair.  The heat and wetness slicking my clit brought me to instant horny.  I bent a knee, drawing my legs wide, hoping he'd dive in completely and never surface. 

What a way to wake up.

"Drink me," I murmured, sleep husking my voice.  Biting my lip, I moaned and tilted my hips upward, silently insisting he go deep.

He concentrated on my clit, dancing his tongue down each side of it where the firm pressure radiated tendrils of effervescence within my pussy.  A thumb pressed the head of it, rubbing it softly, then a testing squeeze as if to keep it from slipping away.  That is what did it.  That exacting pressure lured the coils of orgasm to focus there at the power point.  Was it the place of my superpowers? 

The thought of it made me giggle prematurely, and my lover glanced up to see what was the deal.

"Don't stop," I gasped. 

And with but a lash of his tongue down the seam of my labia, and yet another firm press to my clitoris, he launched the orgasm and I blasted off into the stratosphere.  Head thrusting back into the pillow, I cried out to the morning, a cock announcing the day. 

And thinking that word made me reach down and grasp for his steely cock.  But he lay between my legs, his tongue still working the landscape of my pussy, as I bucked and spilled wet upon him.  I couldn't reach the goal. 

"
Bon matin
," he murmured and nuzzled his mouth over my shivering labia.  "I love you."

***

Bags in hand, we headed down the hallway toward the elevator, Hollie in the lead.  She passed the lift and went straight for the stairway door.

"Why do you never take
un ascenseur
?" I asked.  "Are you claustrophobic?"

"We've discussed this."  She held the door for me, and I stepped through.  "I have a fear of getting stuck in a tiny Parisian elevator and being trapped like a corpse in a coffin."

"I don't think the corpse minds the small space," I offered. 

"Bad analogy.  I don't want to risk it.  And maybe it's to do with cramped spaces.  Can you tell me you trust the elevators of Paris?"

"Most of them.  I have been stuck once, but it was only three hours, and the woman stranded with me was very pleasant."

"Really?"  She paused at the lobby door and I stepped right up to her, pressing my chest against hers.  "Was she pretty?"

"I'm sure fifty years earlier she attracted the men in hoards.  She was eighty.  Not my type, either.  A redhead.  She shared with me adventures of her son's journeys through Africa.  It was an interesting three hours."

My hands occupied with two heavy bags, I leaned in to kiss her.  I wanted another taste of her.  And another.  And another. 

This morning, I'd bought her two pairs of Jimmy Choos because she had squealed with such delight over the purple velvet pair that I knew the red patent leather ones were a necessity.  And the visit to Chateau d'If had been awesome, mixing fiction and history and our shared love for Dumas.  We'd skipped breakfast (though I had dined on pussy;
exquis
) and planned to eat a late lunch on the train. 

"I'd like to get stuck in an elevator with you," I said.  "It would be okay for you if I was with you,
oui
?"

"Let's hope we never find out."

I followed her out through the lobby to the car I'd called for earlier.  "You can't avoid them all your life."

Hollie paused before getting into the back of the limo.  "Watch me." 

Her wink was too cute to be dangerous, and I followed her inside the car and pushed her down on the seat to kiss her silly.  She protested with whimpers about the driver.  "He knows where to go," I reassured.  And we didn't come up for air until the driver cleared his throat and repeated for the third time that we'd arrived at our destination.

After a light meal on the train, I begged off from chattering with my enthusiastic partner by closing my eyes and telling her to give me half an hour to relax.  She stuffed earbuds into her ears, and the song she dialed her iPod to was some heavy rocker tune from the 80s.  I did love her eclectic music taste.  It matched mine.

I was thankful for the quiet, the gentle rocking of the train on the tracks as we zoomed north toward Paris.  The man seated across the aisle from us and facing our direction had gray hair past his ears and wild eyebrows.  Trim, and dressed in a light-colored suit, he resembled Pierre.