Frenched (6 page)

Rapt, I imagined it all as he talked—the late night tutoring sessions that ended in passionate kisses when their desire for one another became too much to bear. The secret trysts—I pictured them lying on some kind of bearskin rug in front of a fireplace, the flames casting golden light on their glistening bodies. The secret wedding ceremony, hurriedly conducted in hushed voices in a tiny chapel. “Go on,” I urged, feeling more than a little aroused myself. “Then what happened?”

“Well, it gets a bit gruesome at this point. Abelard fears for their safety because the uncle’s kind of a dick and not too happy about the marriage. So he hides Heloise in a convent and goes back to Paris alone, where he’s attacked and, uh, castrated.” Lucas shivered and adjusted the crotch of his pants.

I gasped. “No!”

“Yes. He’s so ashamed he decides he can’t face Heloise, and he becomes a monk. She’s so devastated she gives up her child, joins a convent, and becomes a nun.”

My mouth fell open. “What? They never saw each other again?”

“I don’t think so. But they wrote to each other for twenty years. And the love letters survived.”

“Love letters, really? Are they romantic?”

“I’ve never read them, actually. But I think they are. And lovesick crazies from all over the world come and leave letters here, hoping it will bring them good luck, although if you think about it, that makes no sense at all. These two weren’t reunited until death.”

I sighed again, exasperated. “You were right. You shouldn’t have told me that story. Now I’m all…” I fidgeted uncomfortably.
Turned on.
“Discombobulated.”

“I think I know what will fix that.”

My stomach cartwheeled, and I licked my lips. “What?”

“Wine. And maybe some food.”

“Oh. Right.”

Wait a minute. Was I actually disappointed that he meant wine instead of something more suggestive? What the hell was wrong with me? It was
wine
, for fuck’s sake. My favorite thing.

Tucking my sweater more snugly around me, I smiled at him. “Yes, that sounds perfect. Let’s go.”

Lucas chose a table by the window in the brasserie we’d picked, and I took a seat across from him. “I’m famished. What time is it anyway?”

“It’s just after two.”

“Is it? Wow, time flies when you’re having fun.” I thanked the waiter who handed me the menu and opened it up.

“
Are
you having fun?”

I looked up and saw Lucas studying me curiously. “Of course I am. Aren’t you?”

“Yes. But I don’t need to be convinced to stay in Paris. Have you made a decision yet?”

“I’m this close.” I held up one hand with my thumb and finger just an inch apart and continued in a whisper. “After some wine, it might be official.”

“OK, then, this bottle better be good.” He considered the list and looked up at me through thick, dark lashes. “What would you like?”

“Hmmmm. I really loved what you poured for me last night. The one from the Rhône Valley.”

“Want to try another Rhône or something different?”

“You pick. I’ll just enjoy. Oh, could you order me a salad like the one that’s on that lady’s plate over there?” I tried to point without being obvious.

Twisting in his chair, Lucas looked behind him. “It’s a Salad Niçoise,” he said. “Now you can order it.”

“But your French is so much better.” Lacing my fingers together under my chin, I attempted a winning smile. “Really, I don’t speak it well at all. Could you order it, please?”

He shook his head. “What are you going to do when I’m not around to order for you? You should do it. Don’t be scared.”

The thought of uttering French words in front of Lucas made me sweat a little, but when the waiter came around, I managed to order the salad and even ask for some water. Lucas ordered the wine—at least that’s what I assumed all the rapid-fire French was about—and a Salad Niçoise also.

“See? Was that so hard?” he asked when we were alone again.

“I guess not,” I admitted, smoothing my napkin onto my lap. I knew he was right about learning to speak for myself, because even if I did stay, I couldn’t expect Lucas to spend all his time with me. This was probably just a one-day deal. A hollow pit formed in my stomach, and I realized how sad I would be if I didn’t see him again after today. When I looked up, I saw him watching me with a serious expression on his face.

“Mia, would—”

But he was interrupted by the waiter approaching with a pitcher of water and two glasses. Lucas poured water for us, and I waited for him to say whatever it was he’d been about to say, but he didn’t.

“You were going to ask me something?” I prompted.

He shook his head and took a drink of water. “No.”

“Yes, you were. Right before the water arrived. You said my name.”

His brow furrowed, and either he had a good poker face or he really hadn’t had anything of importance to say. “I don’t remember, I guess.”

My chest caved a little, and I picked up my water.
What is this? Why am I getting weird and mopey about Lucas?
Last night I hadn’t even liked him that much. So my first impression of him had been off, so what? I found him attractive in spite of the scruff, big deal. So beyond the smartass mouth was a curious mind and a romantic soul, whatever. I hadn’t come here to meet a man; I’d come here to forget one. Straightening up in my seat, I vowed to quit allowing serious thoughts to get in the way of a good time.

Our wine arrived, and I watched as the waiter poured the ruby-colored liquid into glasses. My insides got quivery with excitement the way they always do when I’m anticipating a really good glass of wine. I must have bounced a little in my chair or something because Lucas laughed. “Excited?”

“Totally. Can I drink it now or do I have to let it sit for a while so oxygen wafts around above it or something?” I waved a hand in the air over my glass.

“No, you can drink it now.”

“Good.” I picked up my glass and breathed in the aroma as if I knew what I was doing. “So you know about wine?”

“A little. My family has a small vineyard in Provence.”

I lowered the glass. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. In fact, this wine is very similar to one we make. Try it.”

“Say no more.” The wine was cool on my lips, and I let it linger in my mouth a few seconds before swallowing. “Mmm. Delicious. I wish I knew better how to describe it. Soft? Silky?” I took another sip. “God, it’s just
so good
. Sorry I don’t have better words.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you like it.”

The waiter brought our salads and Lucas set down his glass in favor of his fork, but I wasn’t quite ready to part with mine yet.

“So tell me something about this wine.”

“Well, I don’t know nearly as much as my brothers, and I’m not much into rules about wine, but the first thing any expert would tell you is that this is the wrong wine to have with these salads.”

“Who cares about that? I’m with you—no rules.” After one more sip, I swirled it around in the glass. “But what’s something about it you can teach me?”

“Well, this wine is a Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which can have up to thirteen different varietals—but don’t ask me to name them all.”

“How about just one?”

He thought for a second. “Grenache.”

I nodded. “Good enough.”

As we ate our salads and polished off the bottle of wine, Lucas and I chatted easily about wine, our families, and our childhoods. His mother had been a film actress.

“But she only acted for maybe five, six years before quitting to marry a Count,” he said.

“A Count? Really?”

“Really. Old name, old money. That’s where the vineyard comes from. She had two sons with him before he admitted he preferred men.”

I paused with a bite halfway to my mouth. “No way.”

He nodded. “They stayed good friends, though. He’s a great guy. He and his partner run the vineyard and my mom is a constant guest there in the summertime.” He paused before adding, “With her new husband.”

“What? God, that’s so French. Is the current husband your dad?”

“Nope. My dad was an American musician on a European tour. He met my mom here, fell in love, and left the band to stay and marry her. When I was about six we moved to the U.S. When I was twelve, she decided their affair had run its course and moved back to France. Now she’s married to the tennis pro at her club, who’s ten years younger than she is.”

“Oh. Well, good for her.”

“And for the pro too. He spends his summers sunning himself at the Count’s pool and practicing his serve on the Count’s court.”

“And everyone gets along?”

He shrugged. “Well enough.”

“Where’s your dad now?”

“He works as a studio musician in New York, but he also teaches college classes on music theory.”

I nodded slowly. “Wow. You had quite a childhood. Mine’s boring by comparison.”

“Try me.”

“Well, Mom was a legal secretary, Dad was a lawyer, I was an oopsie. They married but it didn’t work out, and I did the back and forth thing until I graduated from high school. Now my dad is married to another attorney and they have three little girls, and my mom is married to a cardiac surgeon. They live in Chicago, which is a good place for her.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s three hundred miles from me.”

He smiled. “You don’t get along?”

“Well enough, I suppose. But you know what?” I drained the last drop of wine in my glass. “Let’s not talk about her. She stresses me out, and I am feeling
amazingly
good about life right now.”

He poured the remains of the bottle into our glasses. “Good wine will do that for you.”

“It’s not just the wine.”

Shit, did I say that out loud?

Lucas froze for a moment, eyes locked on mine, the wine bottle still suspended above the table. Finally he set it down. “Oh?”

Heat rushed my face, but I didn’t look away. “Yes. Lucas, this is the best day I’ve had in a long time. In fact, I’d forgotten what it was like to feel this way.”

“What way?”

I lifted my shoulders. “Happy. Carefree. Just…excited about what might come next, even though I have no idea what it will be.”

“In life or in Paris?”

I smiled. “Both.”

Triumph danced in his eyes. “So you’re staying.”

“I’m staying. But!” I held up one finger. “I still want the rest of my day with you as tour guide.”

“I’m all yours.”

Are you?

I watched him bring the rim of the glass to his lips and drink, and I imagined the wine slipping into his mouth, between his teeth, sliding over his tongue. The image was so erotic I squeezed my thighs together against the gush of arousal between my legs.

Whoa, Nelly.

Picking up my own glass, I looked out the window and sipped, trying to recall the last time I’d been really good and hot before even being touched. I used to get excited thinking about Tucker’s good looks and hard body, but I’d learned pretty quickly he wasn’t quite the sexual dynamo his reputation made him out to be. My gut feeling was that he’d had a lot of one-nighters with girls who didn’t come back for seconds, and that suited him just fine. It meant he never had to get to know anyone sexually, really spend time learning what they wanted, what they needed, what they liked.

Not that he’d done that with me either.

Frowning, I watched a couple kiss before parting on the sidewalk outside. I’d tried—I’d really tried—to be the kind of woman a man desired in bed. I made it perfectly clear I was willing to try different things—not only willing but interested—and I offered myself in every way, but he just wasn’t interested in changing his routine. Because it worked for him, every time.

What an asshole. Why did I ever think he was good enough?

“Hey, you. No frowning.”

I looked over at Lucas. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“What about?”

I finished my wine and set the glass down with a clank. “Sex.”

Lucas’s eyebrows shot up. “Should I get the check?”

Dissolving into giggles, I dug into my bag for my wallet and took out my credit card. “Yes, but not for that reason. I want to see more Paris today. And I want to pay for lunch.”

“No.” Lucas pushed my hand away when I tried to lay down the card. “My treat. I chose an expensive bottle of wine.”

“So what? I loved it! Please let me pay for lunch. You’ve been so nice to spend this entire day showing me around.”

“I wanted to do that. It was my idea, remember?”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. Put your card away. You can buy our next bottle of wine, OK?”

I dropped my hand to my lap, nodding once. “I like the way you think, Lucas Fournier.”

#

Outside the restaurant, Lucas asked what I wanted to do next.

Make out with you.

The thought slammed into my head with astonishing speed, and I tried to banish it just as quickly. What if he wasn’t feeling any chemistry between us?

“Hmmm. Let’s see—we’ve done a monument and a cemetery, so I’ll vote for a museum or a cathedral.”

Lucas looked skyward, where the sun was trying hard to peek through heavy clouds. “Well, the light’s not awesome for stained glass windows but I think it might be even worse tomorrow, so let’s do a cathedral.”

“Notre-Dame?”

“You got it.”

We took the Metro to a stop a few blocks from the Seine, and rather than switch to another line to get closer, we decided to walk. The day had warmed up and gotten a little humid, so I shrugged out of my sweater and tied it around my waist.

“So I have to ask,” said Lucas, who’d been pretty quiet since the restaurant. “Why were you thinking about sex before?”

Because watching you drink wine made me hot in the pants.
I glanced over at him and decided to go with a different reason. “Because Tucker was boring in bed.”

“What?”

I held up my hands. “Truth. I used to offer, in an effort to improve what was
not
a very interesting or mutually satisfying part of our relationship, to do more fun things than we were doing, but he had a routine that worked for him and didn’t really feel it was necessary to deviate from it.”

Lucas stopped walking and stuck a hand out in front of me to halt my steps. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

I laughed. “I’m serious. He didn’t even like blowjobs. Maybe he heard that story about the French President and got scared.”

Lucas stared at me for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Nah. I’m pretty sure he was just an asshole who didn’t know what he had. You deserve a lot better.”

Was it the compliment or the alcohol that gave me the fleeting urge to reach over, grab him by the cardigan and smash my lips to his? What would he do? He said flirty things to me sometimes, but other times he acted totally platonic and casual, even a little aloof. Was he waiting for me to make the first move?

We stood there in silence for a full ten seconds, during which I couldn’t help wondering what he’d be like in bed.

I’ll bet he’s a million times more generous than Tucker. I’ll bet he’s fun and hot and willing to take it slow sometimes.
Just talking about sex with him felt so easy…and damn if I wasn’t turned on again thinking about him that way. My stupid nipples were hard, poking right through the thin material of my bra and cotton tank. I don’t have huge breasts or anything, barely a C cup, but my nipples get incredibly hard and they’re ultra-sensitive. Naturally, Lucas’s eyes were drawn right to them, but then it was obvious what he was looking at and he dropped his gaze to the ground, his cheeks coloring.