Frenched (7 page)

I opened my mouth, racking my brain for something clever or flirty to say, but the moment had dragged on too long, and Lucas just gave me a quick smile and started walking again.

Shit.

Next time, I’d be braver. What did I have to lose, anyway?

As we got closer to the river, the towers of Notre Dame came into view, and Lucas began telling me a little bit about the
Île de la Cité
, the small island in the middle of the Seine on which the cathedral stood. I listened with interest as he told me about narrow medieval streets, stone walls, and the construction of Notre-Dame, which took almost two hundred years.

“God, imagine dedicating all that time and labor to something you knew would never be finished in your lifetime,” I said. “Or even your children’s lifetime. You work your ass off for something and then you never even see it completed.”

Lucas shrugged. “I think it was less about the finished product for them and more about their faith. The
reason
they were building it.”

It may have been an offhand comment, but it made me think about the huge, ridiculous wedding I’d planned for myself, and how mad I’d been that it didn’t come off. I
should have been thinking more about the reason for the marriage, and less about the wedding.
But I’d never felt the kind of devotion to him I should have, nor had strong faith in the relationship.
Thank God we didn’t get married.

Lucas insisted the outside of the Gothic masterpiece was even more magnificent than the inside, so we spent quite a bit of time looking at its exterior—from the bridge we crossed over the Seine, from the square in front of the cathedral, from the garden behind it. I wanted to know the names of all these things but Lucas wouldn’t let me open my guidebook.

“What does it matter what the name of the bridge is? You don’t need to stick your nose in a book right now, Mia—look at the damn cathedral.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to call it a
damn
cathedral.” I handed him the book. “How about if you read to me while I look?”

Lucas nodded. “That is acceptable.”

We found an empty bench and sat down. Leaning back, I studied the church while Lucas read to me about buttresses, barrel vaults, and gargoyles. After a few minutes, though, I stopped being fascinated by characteristics of Gothic cathedrals and starting rhapsodizing about the low, fluid sound of Lucas’s voice, the expressive way he read, the charming hint of an accent that sometimes crept beneath his words when he wasn’t paying attention. Hiding a smile, I told myself to quit drifting and pay attention—I’d have a hard enough time remembering any of the information—but his reading was so sweet and soothing, I grew a little drowsy.

When he was done, he closed the book and said, “Want to go inside?”

Actually, I kind of just wanted to sit there with him on that bench, maybe lay my head in his lap. Kiss him. Take a nap or admire the scenery. But instead I got to my feet and stretched. “Yes.”

After we toured the crypts underneath Notre-Dame and admired the soaring ceilings and gorgeous stained glass windows inside, I asked Lucas to climb the tower with me.

“What? No, Mia. I already told you I don’t like heights.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

“No.” I have no idea what made me act so bold but I actually took his hands out of his pockets and held them between us. “Please, Lucas. We won’t stay up there long, and I promise I won’t make you go to the edge.”

“Why do you need me up there?” His expression was pained. “The view’s the same whether you’re alone or not.”

“I know. And it’s not that I won’t enjoy it alone. I just really want you to come up there with me.”

His shoulders sagged a little as he exhaled, closing his eyes.

“Please, Lucas, for me?” I shook his hands.

He opened his eyes and peered at me warily. “You’re gonna make me do this, aren’t you.”

I nodded. “Yep. So you might as well give in sooner rather than later.”

He grimaced. “All right. I’ll do it.”

Three hundred eighty-seven steep, narrow spiral steps later, we emerged at the top. Lucas was a bit pale and skittish, but I took his hand and tugged him forward. “Come on. Show me where you live.”

Reluctantly he moved closer to the edge but remained behind me, speaking into my hair to be heard above the wind. Over my left shoulder, he pointed in the direction of the river. “I have a studio apartment in the sixth, near Saint-Germain-des-Prés. It actually belongs to my mother but I’m the only one who stays there anymore.”

“And where is she? At the vineyard?” I was curious about his family, but mostly I was enjoying having him stand so close behind me.

“No, she’s visiting friends in Nice right now. Are you cold?”

I glanced back to see him looking down my arm, where gooseflesh had blanketed my skin. “A little. It’s breezy up here.”

“Want your sweater?” Before I could answer, he tugged the wrap loose from my waist and held it up for me to slip my arms into.

“Thanks. I’d like to see your apartment sometime.” He went silent and motionless for a moment, and I wondered if the statement been too suggestive. “I mean, if you have time. No big deal. I’m just curious about apartments. I have to find a new one when I get back, and—”

“Mia, would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

He wants to have dinner with me!
Even my toes tingled. And how cute was the anxious expression on his face, like he was scared I might say no? “Sounds great.”

Smiling, I looked out over the city again and thought how lucky it was that I’d chosen to walk into his bar last night instead of just going home. I turned back to him, an impish grin on my face. “I’m really glad I came in The Beaver last night.”

He burst out laughing. “You know how bad that sounds, right?”

I nodded happily, and my heartbeat quickened—I loved making him laugh. “That’s why I said it that way. But I really do mean it, Lucas. This day would have been a disaster without you. In fact, I probably would have just gone home.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Will you take a picture with me?”

“I’ll take a picture
of
you. You don’t need me in it.”

“I want you in it. Come on, please ask someone if they’ll take one for us. I want to remember this day with you.” His expression softened and he tapped the shoulder of a woman nearby. She nodded and smiled, and I handed her my camera.

It seemed sort of awkward and military to stand side by side, arms down, so I moved closer to Lucas, hoping he’d put an arm around me. He didn’t, so I moved in front of him.

“You have to stop moving so she can take the picture,” he said.

“Quiet. Just try to look happy, so I can lie and tell my friends I charmed a French man.”

“OK,” said the woman.
“Un, deux, trois.”

I smiled as Lucas whispered in my ear, “You won’t have to lie.”

Lucas wanted a chance to clean up before dinner, and jet lag was starting to catch up with me, so I figured I could use a rest. After we exited the tower, he pointed me in the direction of a less pricey shopping area that was between Notre Dame and the Plaza Athénée and gave me specific directions for getting back. Then he gave me a quick hug and said he’d come for me at eight. I crossed the Seine in the opposite direction from him and found the rue de Rivoli without a problem, but instead of shopping I spent the next hour and a half wandering down the street in a complete daze, unable to take my mind off Lucas and the night ahead.

By this time, my wine buzz had worn off and I was getting a little anxious. Was this a date or not? Were things going to get romantic—or at least a little sexy—between us? I was ready to admit that I wanted them to—he was the complete opposite of my usual type, but there was something about him that appealed to me. I wanted to know what it was like to
be
with him…that way. But was he attracted to me like I was to him? Maybe he still just felt sorry for me. Biting my thumbnail, I decided to skip shopping and just walk back to my hotel.

I also needed to give some consideration to my own motives. Yesterday I’d been heartbroken over my aborted nuptials. As recently as last night, I’d compared Tucker’s looks to Lucas’s, unfavorably. Was I on the rebound already? Just looking for a warm body to show me some proper attention?

Because Hook Up With Scruffy Half-French Musician/Bartender was
so
not on the Paris list.

But did I even have to care if it was just a rebound fling? Would Lucas? We were two consenting adults. We were allowed to have some fun, right?

Finally, I dropped my hand to my side and sighed.

Jesus, Mia, stop thinking so much. No need to overanalyze. If something happens tonight, let it happen, and if it doesn’t—no big deal. You met a new friend who gave you the courage to do something on your own you never would have done. Now stop trying to fucking plan everything. Just go with the flow.

When I got up to my room, the message light was blinking on my phone.

Dreading the sound of my mother’s nervous tittering, I played the message, but it turned out to be Coco. A smile took over my face at the sound of her low, smoky voice.

“Hi, honey! Just checking in with you to see how things are going. We’re thinking about you all the time and dying to know what you’re up to. How’s the wine? The food, the shopping, the men? We can’t wait to hear all about it and we hope you’re misbehaving just enough. Love you, babe.”

I thought about calling her back, but decided I’d wait one more day—perhaps I’d have something more exciting to tell her after my maybe-date with Lucas.

There was a second message, which was indeed my mother, fussing nonstop for three entire minutes about my physical and mental well-being. Holding the phone away from my ear, I rolled my eyes and hung it up before she even finished. No way was I calling her back. This day had turned out to be a lot of fun, with the promise of more to come. The last thing I wanted was to let my mother’s nerves bring me down.

Flopping facedown into the pillow, I fell sound asleep inside a minute.

#

I woke up in a little puddle of drool with my shoes still on, feet hanging off the bed, totally panicked. Had I overslept? Frantic, I checked the bedside clock, which assured me I had forty-five minutes before Lucas would be here to collect me, so I put on some music and danced around the spacious room, elated about the evening ahead.

After a quick bath, I wrapped myself in a towel and perused my clothing. Since this date wasn’t on my outfit calendar either, I had to wing it. Originally I’d planned on wearing a dress and heels tonight, but I wasn’t sure that would be right anymore.

After trying on five different outfits, I settled on dressy jeans, a flowy sleeveless blouse with a beaded neck in a soft shade of pink, and a fitted ivory jacket that was slightly cropped. I was tempted to wear my new shoes, strappy nude Jimmy Choos with skyscraper heels, which I’d bought for the trip and had never worn. But I stuck to flats in case we did a lot of walking—Tucker always got cabs when we traveled, but Lucas seemed to like walking or taking the Metro, and I did too. Giving the gorgeous sandals a longing look and a kiss on the sole, I put them back on the closet floor and slipped on my flats.

After I touched up my hair, I added a little smoky eye makeup, but I skipped the lipstick, filling in my lips with dusky pink liner and going over it with balm. Rubbing them together, I made sure they were neither sticky nor goopy, just soft with a hint of color.

Hell, with a little luck, maybe I could cross Kiss on a Train off the Paris list tonight.

See, Lucas? Lists are fun.

The final step was a little spritz of perfume, but when I held the bottle in my hand and sniffed it, the scent reminded me of Tucker. In fact, it had been a gift from him.

I set the bottle back on the marble vanity and decided on scented body lotion instead. It was sweet but not overpowering, and I even took off my clothes to rub it all over my body, ignoring the inner voice demanding to know why I felt it was necessary to have my inner thighs smell like roses and jasmine.

Since I’d taken so long to get ready, I was running about ten minutes behind. Racing down the hall and into the elevator, I hoped I wouldn’t cause us to miss a reservation or something. I tapped my foot as the car descended, fidgeting anxiously as I willed it to move faster.
Jesus, Mia. Calm down.

But when the elevator doors opened and I saw him across the lobby, I couldn’t keep the smile from my face nor the hot-air balloon feeling from swooshing up inside me.

His hair had been tamed, and his scruff trimmed—maybe not clean, but much closer to it. Without the shaggy curls and the whiskers, I could better appreciate the handsome planes of his face—the cut of his jaw, the prominent cheekbones, the curve of his mouth. He wore dark jeans, a clean white t-shirt and a blazer, and even though I’d always been a suit and tie kind of girl, the sight of him made my insides tighten. Best of all was the look of his face when he saw me—a cross between surprise and delight.

“I was beginning to think you’d left town after all.” He smiled before kissing both my cheeks.

“Sorry,” I said, slightly out of breath. “I fell asleep when I got back.”

“Good. Naps are amazing. And now I can keep you out late.”

Was it my imagination or did he squeeze my arm as he said that? Either way, my blood heated up about a thousand degrees, a hot pooling at my center.

We took the Metro to the Latin Quarter and walked to a small Italian restaurant called Marco Polo. We were seated at an outdoor table on the patio, but tall heat lamps and candles on the table made the crisp night air seem warm and cozy.

“Sorry, I didn’t even stop to think that maybe you’d like French food tonight?” Lucas leaned across the table with a worried expression on his face.

“No, not at all. This looks amazing. And I can actually kind of understand the menu.” It was in French, of course, but the names of familiar Italian dishes jumped out at me.

“Everything is good here. It’s my favorite restaurant in Paris.”

“Really? What should I have?”

He went over the menu with me, and when I couldn’t decide between two dishes, he ordered them both and promised me I could have as many tastes off his plate as I wanted. I chose a bottle of wine, an Italian red, and made him promise to let me pay for it.

“Let’s not worry about that,” he said. “Talk to me about what else you’d like to do while you’re here.”

I told him about wanting to visit the flea market, and we got into a lengthy discussion about our mutual love for old things and the stories behind them. As he talked about some of the vintage pieces in his mother’s Paris and his New York apartment, I propped my chin in my hand and thought how different he was from Tucker, who preferred modern to antique. Sometimes he didn’t mind if a piece
looked
old, as long as it was a pricey reproduction and not the genuine article, which might fall apart, and besides—someone else had used it. He thought that was weird.

“The flea market isn’t open tomorrow, but would you like to do something else?” asked Lucas. “I could take you to a few of my favorite vintage stores.”

My chin came off my hand.
He wants to see me again tomorrow!
“I’d love to! But are you sure you’re not busy? I don’t want to monopolize all your time.”

“No, I’m not busy tomorrow. I do have to go out of town the next day, but…” His voice trailed off. “Tomorrow is good.”

My happiness deflated.
He’s leaving in two days?
But I pasted what I hoped was a bright smile on my face. “OK. Tomorrow sounds great.”

Our wine and first course arrived, and I forced myself not to think about anything other than the present moment and just enjoy the meal. Lucas was right—the food was delicious. Each course was better than the last, and the service was leisurely, allowing us plenty of time to enjoy each other, too. When I finally tasted my veal Marsala, I could not contain the words of ecstasy bubbling from my lips. “Oh my God.
Oh my God
, it’s so good.”

Lucas grinned. “You say that a lot.”

“I can’t help it—it’s all the food and wine here. Good thing I don’t live in Paris, I’d be big as a house.”

“It’s nice to see you happy. I was worried last night that your first trip to Paris would be your last.”

I swallowed the divine bite in my mouth. “I think I’d come back for the veal alone.”

“It’s good, isn’t it? Here, try this.” He cut a piece of his steak and lifted it to my lips across the table.

I moaned at the velvet texture, the hint of rosemary and garlic, and especially at the intimate act of taking it off Lucas’s fork.
His mouth was on it right before mine
, I thought, chewing rapturously.
We practically kissed already.

Of course, it wasn’t true, but each time he offered me a bite—and I him—I couldn’t help but think we were one step closer. And I really wanted to kiss him. It shocked me how much I wanted to kiss him.
Quit staring at his mouth. You’re totally obvious!

Over coffee, we talked about music and his research and how his father had influenced him. We discovered a mutual love for old jazz standards—no surprise there—and he said he had quite a large collection of vintage records at his Paris and New York apartments.

“You can’t beat the sound of vinyl,” he said, setting his empty cup down. “It’s so much better than digital.”

“I’ve never noticed. Maybe you’ll show me the difference sometime.”
Like when we’re listening to records and making out.

Across the candle-lit table, he smiled at me, turning my insides into hot wax. “I’d like that.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, during which my desire for him went from Butterflies in the Belly to Wet in the Panties. I no longer cared what my motivation was for wanting him. I just knew that I did—and I wanted more than kissing too. My nipples grew stiff and tingly and I imagined his perfect mouth on them. Holy shit. My underwear was totally damp with desire, and the seam of my jeans was pressing against my clit in just the right way. When my mind strayed to his hands reaching under the table, I excused myself.

“I’ll be right back.” I smiled as he stood up too. Such a gentleman. What the hell was I going to do about that?

I used the bathroom inside the restaurant—yes, the panties were soaked. In fact, I nearly ditched them, they were so wet—and by the time I got out, Lucas had paid for dinner, including the wine.

“Don’t be mad.” He held up his hands. “I promise you can pay for the next one.”

I punched him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m totally mad. You promised before, too.”

“So what would you like to do?” We left the restaurant patio and began walking slowly down the street. “It’s pretty early, and there are a few clubs in this area we could check out, maybe see some live music.”

I took a deep breath.
You only live once.
“Actually, I thought maybe you could show me your apartment. We could listen to some of your records or something? I mean, if you want to.”

He stopped walking and turned to face me, and his expression was an interesting mix of
yes, please
and
holy shit, did she just say that?
“Um, sure. We could do that. Of course I want to. It’s just that…” He struggled to finish the thought. It was obvious he was nervous about taking me back to his place, and I understood why.

But at this point I could bear the wait no longer.

I took a step closer to him, angling my head so that my lips were just beneath his. All he had to do was lower his lips two inches, and they’d be on mine. Suspense had me rising on tiptoe.

Please, Lucas. Kiss me.

Finally he lowered his mouth onto mine, and the warmth of his lips sent bolts of lightning straight to my core.

Tentatively, I put a hand to the back of his neck and opened my lips further, and he began to move his mouth over mine in a way that was both tender and suggestive. He kissed each of my lips, taking them gently between his own. Then he slanted his mouth more fully over mine, tilting his head so that the fit out our lips was tighter, the intensity of the kiss deeper. His hand moved to my hip, and my entire body shivered from the powerful pull of longing within me. God, how long had it been since I’d felt that?