French kiss (21 page)

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paparazzo staggered backwards, almost dropping his camera. His partner in crime advanced toward Xavier, but Xavier shoved him as well, and the two men, clearly cowed, promptly scampered away into the night.

Xavier spun around to face Alexa, breathing hard, his smoke-colored eyes fiery and his mouth twisted in triumph.

To Alexa, he'd never looked hotter.

They rushed toward each other, and Alexa threw her arms around him in a "my
hero!"
gesture even though, come to think of it, Xavier hadn't really rescued her from anything. But when the guy in question was this sexy, who
cared?

Xavier scooped Alexa up, cupping her butt in his hands as she wrapped her legs around his hips, and there, in the middle of rue Oberkampf, they kissed -- long and hungry and deep. Everything,
everything --
from the blur of the city lights to the roughness of Xavier's stubble to the memory of that scandalous near-fight turned Alexa on like crazy.

She wrapped herself tighter around Xavier, aching for even more of him, but he ended the kiss and glanced over Alexa's shoulder, his brow furrowing. "Did my friends leave?" he murmured, sounding only vaguely concerned.

"I think so," Alexa replied, as Xavier slowly released

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her and she dropped back to the ground. "They must have gone on to Le Scherkhan." Suddenly, the last thing Alexa wanted to do was follow them; the world seemed to have boiled down to two bare essentials -- her and Xavier.

Xavier was right on her wavelength. He fixed his eyes back on Alexa's face, his lips tilting up once again in a half-smile. "Good," he whispered. "Let them go." Then he reached down and grabbed both of Alexa's hands, his expression suddenly serious. "Alexa, come with me. I want you to see my studio," he declared. "It's not far from here." He nodded toward where he'd parked his moped.

"Your studio?" Alexa echoed in giddy disbelief. Her cheeks were still flushed from the kiss, but they now burned even deeper. Though Alexa considered herself rather artistic, she'd never been in a real painter's studio. And now she was being invited to Xavier
Pascal's.
It was almost too much to absorb.

"Yes," Xavier exclaimed, his eyes searching hers. "A girl like you should not have had to witness such violence tonight --"

"Well, it wasn't
too
terrible," Alexa cut in, with a grin.

"No. Your beautiful eyes should only feast on beautiful things," Xavier continued, running his hands

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up her arms. "So come see my paintings. Please. Let me show you my greatest passion."

And really, all it took was Xavier saying the word
passion
to get Alexa back on his Vespa.

This time, she unpinned her hair and let it fly freely behind her like a golden banner as she and Xavier tore through the nighttime streets. They rode to the nearby Bastille district, which was full of dim, narrow alleyways, all lined with different bars and clubs. Xavier's studio was on one such street the rue de Lapp and located right above a humming Cuban salsa club. As Alexa passed the club, she thought briefly of Diego. Her ex-boyfriend hadn't crossed her mind all night, and now she forcefully shook him out of her head as Xavier unlocked the street door and led Alexa up a crooked flight of stairs.

But when Alexa arrived in Xavier's spacious loft, with its floor-to-ceiling windows that showed all of Paris by night, any thoughts of Diego disappeared on their own. "Oh, wow," she murmured, and began to walk in a slow circle, mesmerized by the bright canvases that were everywhere -- hanging on the white walls, propped up against the columns, and drying on the floor. Most of the paintings were of stark geometric shapes -- indigo circles and citrus squares but Alexa's eye also fell on a few charcoal sketches of

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people a young boy playing in the street, an old woman knitting as well as an abstract painting of a girl with flowing black hair. Everything was as exquisite as the guy who had created them.

"You like it?" Xavier asked, grinning. He shed his leather jacket and draped it on a crate of paintbrushes, clearly enjoying Alexa's reaction.

"Oh, yes," Alexa sighed, appreciatively eyeing Xavier in his tight black T-shirt. Then she gave a small start when she heard his cell phone ring from the pocket of his jacket.

"Merde,"
Xavier hissed, pulling out the phone. As he had last time, he flipped it open with a brusque greeting, spat out a few monosyllabic words, and then flung the phone shut again, tossing it onto a low table strewn with unlit candles, cigarette butts, and empty wineglasses.

"Do you need to go?" Alexa asked, worried that their time at the studio was over already.

"Non,"
Xavier replied, rolling his eyes. "Just some bullshit." Then he smiled at Alexa, turned, and headed for a small refrigerator in the corner. "Do you want a glass of wine?"

"Um, sure," Alexa replied, studying a painting of a shattered octagon. She didn't need a drink; Xavier's astonishing artwork was enough to make her feel

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buzzed. And for a second, as Xavier returned with a bottle of white wine, two glasses, and a cigarette for himself, Alexa wondered if she might be in over her head.
I'm still in high school,
she thought, randomly flashing on an image of herself striding down the Oakridge High hallways. How had she ended up here, tonight, with a famous twenty-one-year-old artist?

Not that she was complaining.

Xavier poured them each a glass of wine, and they sat on the long black couch that was flush against the wall. Other than the couch and the table, the refrigerator, a standing lamp, and an artist's stool set up across from the sofa, the studio was devoid of anything but art. And right then, Alexa didn't think anything else was necessary in life.

"Do you live here, too?" she asked Xavier, taking a sip of wine and running her fingers along the couch's soft material; it would be comfortable enough to sleep on, certainly.

Xavier shook his head, glancing away from Alexa and into his wineglass, as if he found some inspiration there. "I have a flat on the Left Bank," he replied distractedly, taking a drag off his cigarette. "And a small country house in Provence."

Provence.
Alexa set her wineglass on the floor and collapsed back against the pillows and patterned silk throw. She closed her eyes and thought about the

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southern French countryside -- the vineyards and fields of sunflowers and gentle caress of the sunlight. Suddenly, almost without her own volition, she pictured herself and Xavier in that setting. They lived in a yellow house on a hilltop, surrounded by olive trees. Xavier had a studio in the shed, and she had her own darkroom in the basement. All day, he would paint her, and she would photograph him, and then, at sunset, they would lie in a lazy hammock, kissing. They'd be married in a garden bursting with wildflowers, and they'd have lots of talented babies....

"Alexa? Would you open your eyes?"

Alexa let her eyes flutter open, and she gave Xavier a sheepish smile. She knew it was foolish almost in a Holly Jacobson way -- to actually think she was going to spend the rest of her life with Xavier Pascal. Though, on the other hand, why not? She could withdraw her enrollment from Columbia and move to France over the summer -- her dad would definitely be cool with that plan. Alexa studied Xavier to see if he had somehow guessed at her heady thoughts, but instead he was studying
her.
He put his cigarette out in his wineglass and leaned in close, rubbing a hand across his chin, clearly deep in thought.

"Stay just like that," he told her, holding his hands out to indicate she shouldn't move from her reclining position. "Perfect." Xavier's face lit up, as if he'd

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discovered some secret treasure. "Alexa," he whispered.
"You
are perfect. I must capture your beauty."

"You -- you want to draw me?" Alexa asked, going breathless. And to think she'd just been imagining pretty much that exact scenario -- well, except with marriage and children thrown in.

"It is not a matter of wanting," Xavier murmured, holding her gaze as he stood up slowly. "I
have
to draw you. Here. Now."

Alexa nodded, trying to remain still on the sofa, but her pulse was racing, and it was all she could do not to start leaping up and down in elation. This night kept unfolding in ways that were ever more thrilling. She watched as Xavier darted, catlike, across the studio to retrieve a sketchpad and a wedge of charcoal from a box of art supplies in the corner. When he returned, he went into professional artist mode: depositing his supplies under the stool, turning off the standing lamp, and lighting the candles on the low table, which filled the studio with a soft, flickering glow that made Alexa feel incredibly alluring. Then, before Xavier began the actual sketching, he came over to the sofa to reposition Alexa a little.

It was divine torture; slowly, Xavier ran his smooth, deft hands all over Alexa's body uncrossing her legs, moving one of her arms above her head, raking his fingers through her hair, and tugging her top

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farther down her shoulders. Alexa could feel her skin reaching dangerous temperatures, and her limbs trembled with desire. And although Xavier's expression was all seriousness, his gray eyes blazed with lust, and she saw him quickly lick his bottom lip again reminding her of a cat -- as if Alexa were a tasty dish he was preparing to consume.

"It's warm in here, isn't it?" Xavier suddenly asked, straightening up and stepping back from the sofa, a devilish smile on his lips. As Alexa felt herself melting into the sofa, Xavier reached down and tugged his black T-shirt up over his head, revealing his ripped torso and a dark star tattoo on his left shoulder. Tossing the T-shirt on the floor, he finally returned to his stool, sat down, and took up his sketchpad and charcoal.

Ooh,
Alexa thought, her gaze lingering on Xavier's tattoo as he began sketching. She'd never dated a guy with a tattoo before, and the mere sight of it sent shivers through her body. She continued to watch Xavier, rapt, as he scratched the charcoal across the paper in fast, sure strokes, his eyes flicking from Alexa on the sofa and back down to the sketchpad with lightning rapidity.

I feel like I'm in
Titanic, Alexa thought wryly, as she reclined there.
Only not naked.
She giggled out loud.
Yet.

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"Shhh." Xavier held a finger to his lips, but his eyes were laughing. When he resumed sketching, Alexa studied the tilt of Xavier's head, the way he bit down on his lower lip in concentration, and how the soft candlelight cast mysterious shadows on his face. Her stomach gave a leap, as if she were suddenly plummeting from a great height. And then Alexa realized that she was, in fact, falling, despite the fact that she was perfectly still on the sofa.

She was falling in love with Xavier.

It felt different from how she'd fallen for Diego this love felt more definite, more certain, but also, at the same time, scarier. Bottomless. Alexa was reminded of the dizzy, exhilarating sensation she'd had while riding on Xavier's moped -- the sensation of losing control.

Alexa heard herself sigh, and Xavier glanced up at her, chuckling.

"Impatient?" he asked, and then, to Alexa's surprise, tore the sheet off the pad and held the finished sketch up for Alexa to admire. She hadn't thought so much time had passed, but clearly she'd been too deep into her lovesickness to notice.

Alexa felt her mouth drop open as she examined the sketch of herself. How had he done it? With a few quick brushes of charcoal, Xavier had managed to harness her spirit: the lively glint in her big eyes, the

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princessy poutiness of her bow-shaped lips, the lush abandon of her long hair. But there was also something surprisingly vulnerable about the girl in the picture an unexpected sensitivity that softened her confident expression. Alexa felt as if she were staring into a true, secret mirror, seeing the self only
she
knew existed.
Xavier gets me,
she thought, awestruck. All her life Alexa had felt woefully misunderstood; now, as she stared across the studio at Xavier, she realized she'd finally met someone who could read her soul.

"Do I -- I really look like that?" Alexa murmured, her voice catching.

Xavier glanced from the sketch over to Alexa, and then nodded, his lips curving up in a grin. "Yes. You are " He paused, as if suddenly overcome, and then pushed the stool back, standing up. "Alexa, you are the purest essence of what is beautiful. And your eyes -- they contain vast oceans of fire and truth."

Alexa wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she didn't care. And then Xavier was approaching her, the sketch left forgotten on the floor, and he was beside her on the couch, plunging his hands into her hair and pulling her in for kiss after kiss, his mouth hot and urgent on hers. His kisses trailed down to her neck, and he slid his hands along her body only this time, it was definitely not for the sake of art.