“Ah, the benefits of a good education.”
“I mean, French, CPR . . . what else do you have to surprise me?”
“My father was posted to Belgium for a year. I was sent to a school where nobody spoke English. As for CPR, my mother was hoping I’d become a doctor. She insisted I take courses in first aid. As far as other surprises, you’ll have to wait and see.” He was flirting again.
Elizabeth ordered six oysters. They arrived on a bed of crushed ice adorned with slices of lemon, grated horseradish and shot glasses of vinaigrette.
“Would you care for one?” she asked?
Declan shook his head.
The oysters glistened, looking soft and vulnerable in their crusted shells. Elizabeth squirted lemon on one and added a shaving of horseradish. She tipped it to her lips. She wondered what it would feel like to be an oyster slipping past Declan’s perfect lips into the warm pink interior of his mouth. She chewed briefly, then swallowed and wiped her mouth on a napkin.
“Mmm. They’re delicious. So fresh. Are you sure you don’t want one?”
“No, I’ve never had much interest in oysters.”
“You’ve never tried an oyster? You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“It’s the look of them. I’ve never been able to get past it.”
“Your eyes are getting in the way of a treat. Close them.”
“No. It’s okay. You go ahead.”
“Close your eyes,” insisted Elizabeth. “Let me talk you through it.”
Elizabeth made sure the oyster was completely free from its shell. Eyes closed, Declan leaned across the table towards her. Elizabeth rested the rough shell of the oyster against Declan’s perfect lips, parted in expectation.
“Think of the sea, Declan. Now tilt your head back slightly. Let the oyster slip into your mouth and imagine you are diving head first into a salty wave. Move your tongue over it, gently tasting the brine, chew without using your teeth, then let it slide.”
Declan followed her instructions before flashing a grin. “Oh wow. I thought it would be slimy, but it isn’t at all. It has kind of a soft, meaty feel.”
Elizabeth laughed, delighted to have introduced him to a seafood she loved. “It’s important to try new things, don’t you think? I mean, how will you know something works for you if you don’t give it a chance?”
Declan cocked an amused eyebrow at her. “I’ll remember those words. It wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. In fact, I’d say I quite enjoyed it.”
“Here. Have another.”
Elizabeth prepared another oyster for herself and one for him. This time Declan tipped the shell confidently into his mouth. Elizabeth did the same. The cool saltiness of the oyster was truly delicious. She offered Declan a third.
“You have it. But thanks for turning me on to them. I’ll never eat an oyster again without remembering this.”
It was her turn to engage Declan’s gorgeous blue eyes in a flirty stare. He grinned disarmingly back at her as the last oyster slipped down her throat.
The rest of the dinner—lamb for Elizabeth, rare duck for Declan—was perfectly prepared and sumptuous. A rich Burgundy accompanied their meal.
“I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often,” said Elizabeth between mouthfuls. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.
“What doesn’t happen more often?”
“People collapsing like that man did today.”
“Why do you say that?”
“If you consider the number of people, probably hundreds of thousands, dying every second, it’s strange that it’s not more common for it to happen in public.”
“You mean like you’re walking down the street and someone keels over, then a few minutes later you’re in a restaurant and another one goes down, and everyone is very nonchalant, as in, ‘How many did you see today?’ ‘Oh, I saw five.’ That sort of thing?”
“Yes. I guess people mostly die in hospital or at home.”
Declan suddenly rolled his eyes. “Aaagh!” He clutched his chest, then fell forward onto the table.
The waiter came rushing over. “Is monsieur all right?”
“He’s fine,” said Elizabeth, laughing. “He’s just illustrating a point.” She kicked Declan gently under the table. “Behave yourself.”
Declan grinned. “Misbehaving is more fun.”
Declan was wearing a beautiful striped shirt that they’d purchased at Renard’s. It fit his lean torso and broad shoulders perfectly. Tendrils of dark hair curled around the nape of his neck in a most appealing way. She would love to run her fingers through those tendrils. Elizabeth thought of Effie’s comment about Declan looking good enough to eat. No, no, no, she told herself. It’s just the wine leading my thoughts this way. He’s my client. I must remain professional.
Elizabeth ordered coffee. It was time to sober up.
After dinner, they took a taxi back to the hotel. This time, Elizabeth let Declan do the talking. He chatted away to the taxi driver in French while Elizabeth leaned back in the seat and let the night lights of Paris bewitch her. It was such a beautiful city. She hated to leave. Just one night remained. No matter how much she might wish otherwise, Declan was going to his room and she to hers. That was all there was to it.
The elevator at the Westin was empty when they stepped inside. Elizabeth inserted her security card and pressed two buttons. Third floor for Declan. Fourth for her.
Declan reached out and cupped her chin. “Thanks, Elizabeth, for a wonderful evening.”
“You’re welcome, Declan.”
He leaned forward to kiss her goodnight. Elizabeth told herself it was a polite kiss that meant nothing, no more intimate or meaningful than a handshake. But when Declan’s firm lips pressed against hers, time stopped. The moment when their lips should have parted never arrived. The elevator stopped at the third floor with a ding. The door slid open. A middle-aged American couple stood agape at the electric scene unfolding in front of them. Declan’s arms were firmly around Elizabeth’s waist, pulling her towards him. She felt his hardness press against her. His mouth was searching hers, needing her, pleading with her to take him. She responded with a passion she hadn’t known she could feel. She slipped one hand behind his neck. She ran the other hand over his shoulders, as hard as the rest of him. She could scarcely breathe. Her heart was racing wildly, thumping so hard against her chest she felt it might explode. Declan’s tongue explored her mouth feverishly, recklessly. It was a kiss to rival Rodin’s. She couldn’t imagine Declan’s lips would ever separate from hers. Her lips felt bruised by passion. Let them bruise. Let them swell. Let them bleed, if need be. She wanted to cover Declan’s entire body with her mouth. Now that she had given him permission, had given herself permission, she was going to take him as she wanted. He was surely too young to know much of the ways of lovemaking. Tonight she would be his teacher. Tonight she would be his muse. Tonight she would be in control. She couldn’t know how wrong she was.
The elevator door slid closed and they continued up to the fourth floor. The American couple hadn’t dared to enter.
“See, Harry? That’s the French for you,” said the woman, in an envious tone.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth ran her hands over Declan’s lean stomach, feeling the faintest brush of hair against her fingers. “Take off your shirt,” she whispered. His long, tapered musician fingers did as she said. “Now unzip yourself, slowly.” The sound of the zipper being slowly released inflamed her blood. She pushed his jeans and underwear down, felt his feet kick them off. She was a woman who’d been starving. She was not about to rush. “I want to see you touch yourself, as you do when you’re alone. I want to see you get as hard as you can, and then you must . . .” She leaned in to whisper the last word of the sentence in his ear. His head was turned to one side, his eyes were closed, his hands obeyed her commands. “Stop.” De
clan moaned but did as she said. His penis was even longer and thicker than she’d expected. She leaned down and teased it with her tongue. She felt him shudder.
He said, “I want to fuck you so bad.”
“That’s good, Declan,” she murmured, “but tonight I will fuck you.”
Elizabeth felt a flood of moisture fill her opening. She wanted Declan more than she’d ever wanted anything or anybody in her life. She straddled his body and placed herself above him, lowering herself inch by inch until she met his penis and pushed down onto him. She contracted her muscles and heard his sharp intake of breath. The slow primeval dance of fucking took over. She increased her rhythm, then leaned over him to drink in his mouth. His tongue pushed back against hers, circling and needing. She broke away to let her hair stroke his chest. She ran her nails down his body. Declan thrust upwards, his hips rising to meet hers. She ground herself faster and faster on him, then, sensing that he was about to come, slowed her rhythm. She reached back and firmly stroked his balls. Declan gave a low moan. She reached forward, clutching his shoulder in one hand, gently tugging his hair with the other. Declan’s eyes locked with Elizabeth’s in a fierce gaze of longing. She saw him lose himself in ecstasy as he came in one long shudder. She lay upon him for some time, feeling him subside inside her. Elizabeth hadn’t come, but that was normal.
Declan looked at her in concern. “We didn’t use anything.”
She placed her finger over his lips, tracing their outline. “It’s okay. There’s no problem.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Declan lay back and sighed deeply. “A beautiful room, a beautiful city, a beautiful woman. What could be better?’
Elizabeth agreed. “And a view of the Eiffel Tower. Do you know that every night, on the hour, it sparkles for five minutes?”
Declan turned on his side, facing towards her. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“It’s spectacular. Like a giant firework.”
“I love fireworks.”
“Mmm. Me too.”
Declan traced a finger down Elizabeth’s cheek. His eyes, half-closed, seemed dreamy. “I especially like the kind that two people make.” His fingers were making their way down to the dampness between her thighs.
“So soon? Surely not.”
“Well, Ms. Harding, you appear to have the same effect on me as Chinese food. Can’t get enough, and as soon as I’m full, I want a little more.”
Declan pushed her legs apart.
Elizabeth laughed. “Can’t say I’ve been compared to Chinese food before.”
“What could be better than dining in?” Declan circled his tongue around her thighs. “Except eating out.”
From her vantage point, spread-eagled on the bed, Elizabeth could make out Declan’s blue eyes, staring into her sex, into her soul.
“You are very, very sexy.”
Elizabeth was thankful she had trimmed her pubes before coming to Paris. His appreciation of her made her pulse unexpectedly with fresh desire.
Declan’s eyes glanced up wickedly and met hers. “Besides, if I’m not mistaken, it’s your turn to come.”
His tongue began a slow circle around her clitoris. First with a full licking motion, then with the tip flicking back and forth. He alternated these movements for the longest time. Elizabeth knew that if her clitoris had been a penis, it would have been massively erect. But she worried it was taking her too long. Old feelings of guilt crept in, as they had with Sampson. Suddenly, she arched her back in the air, letting out a series of moans that pitched higher and higher. Her thighs were trembling. Her stomach was trembling. Her whole body was trembling. She was faking it. “Oh, oh, oh!” Elizabeth cried, then pulled Declan up towards her.
He was silent for a few minutes, staring intently at her face.
“What?” she said. “What is it?”
Declan pushed away from her. For a long while he didn’t say anything.
“What’s wrong, Declan?”
“Not good enough.”
“What’s not good enough?”
“You.”
Elizabeth was confused. “What do you mean, I’m not good enough?”
“I mean, Elizabeth, that you faked it. You fucking faked it.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. How could he tell? “No, Declan . . . I . . .”
Declan’s eyes flashed darkly. The sinews on his neck stood out. His voice was low and faintly menacing. “I’m not a fool and I don’t allow anyone to take me for a fool. If you think you can lie to me, you are mistaken. Not only that, but now that you have lied, you are going to pay the price.”
“What price? What do you—?”
Declan ushered her from the bed. He pulled her towards the open balcony doors and gestured at the city. “See that? All across Paris people are making love and fucking. No, they are not the same thing. It’s all about intention. I just tried making love to you, and you pretended—pretended! So now, Elizabeth, I am going to fuck you.”
Declan took both of Elizabeth’s wrists in the grip of one hand. With his free hand, he scooped up a cushion and placed it on a narrow iron railing separating the bathroom balcony from the bedroom balcony. “Lean over the cushion,” he commanded.
“I need to put something on,” Elizabeth whispered. “People will see us.”
“Do as I say,” Declan ordered.
Elizabeth hesitated. She was naked on a narrow balcony. Thankfully, the windows in the opposite building were dark.
“Now,” growled Declan. She could see he was fully erect again. The benefit of his youth was apparent.
Elizabeth did as he said, positioning herself away from him, grateful for the cushion protecting her ribs from the cold iron railing. Two long fingers probed her, making sure she was ready. Oh yes, she was ready. Declan held her thighs apart and thrust himself deep inside her. He pulled out suddenly, making her gasp. Then another thrust and another. Elizabeth couldn’t believe this was happening. She was being fucked on a balcony in Paris by a twenty-four-year-old. She closed her eyes as his rhythm intensified. Deep and deeper. Fast and faster. He didn’t care what she was thinking or feeling. He was satisfying his own need. He was still angry with her for having lied to him. She felt this was what she deserved. His rhythm slowed, then, with a final massive thrust inside her, she felt him release.
It must have been exactly midnight. Elizabeth lifted her head to see the Eiffel Tower sparkling across the Paris night.
Standing unseen in the shadows of their apartment terrace across the street, the elderly couple Elizabeth had spied on witnessed Elizabeth and Declan fucking. As they turned to go back inside, the elderly gentleman put his hand delicately across his wife’s ass. Declan and Elizabeth neither saw nor cared.
* * *
Elizabeth slept soundly. The next morning Declan was gone from her bed. She ran her hands across luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets where he had lain with her as she drifted off to sleep. Her fingers remembered the length of his limbs, the hard swell of his buttocks, the lean and muscular feel of his slim torso. Her tongue remembered the suck of his mouth, the bruising bite of his teeth, the long indent of his earlobe. Her whole body and soul remembered the way he had taken command of her on the balcony, not caring who saw or heard them. He was feckless and impulsive. Was he still angry with her?
Declan was waiting in the lobby when she checked out. He was wearing a pair of pants they’d bought from François Renard, with a form-fitting long-sleeve T-shirt.
Elizabeth felt suddenly shy when she greeted him. “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour, cherie.” He smiled, a warm smile full of the memory of last night. It told her all was forgiven.
Declan kissed her neck with a small nip at her ear. Elizabeth could have ripped his clothes off there and then. Instead, she asked the concierge to keep their luggag
e. They had a few hours before the flight. She wanted to savour the time remaining before their return to reality, which she was not looking forward to. She felt guilty and conflicted. She definitely wanted more of Declan, but it would be a mistake. She had allowed herself an indulgence, but that was what Paris was all about. Once they returned home, the madness would have to stop.
“So,” she said to Declan when they were luggage-free and out on the street. “What would you like to do with the time we have left?”
He stroked her neck, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know what I’d like to do, but I don’t think it would be allowed on the street, even in Paris.”
Elizabeth blushed a deep crimson. “Let’s just be tourists.”
“Right you are. Notre Dame?”
Elizabeth nodded. She never tired of the grand old cathedral, with its gothic spires and majesty. A walk around it and back along the Seine, past the boat where they’d had dinner, would be perfect.
Declan took her hand in his. Where she ended, he began. They could stroll like lovers because they were lovers, at least for this moment. No one looked twice at an older woman with a younger man. If they received any looks at all, they were filled with approval or envy. Romantic couples strolled hand in hand everywhere she looked.
As they crossed a bridge over the Seine, Declan suddenly stopped and kissed her with a gentleness she found surprising.
“I think, perhaps, you are stealing my heart, Elizabeth.”
“I never want to steal.”
“In that case, I must give it to you gladly.”
Elizabeth stopped walking. “No. Please don’t.”
“Why?”
“Declan, this has been fun.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. It’s been fun, but it can’t be more than that.”
“So you get to decide?”
“We both know it can’t be more than that. It’s not realistic.”
“Hmm. Wait here.”
Declan sprinted away to a small souvenir shop. What on earth was he doing? Had he chosen this moment to pick up some last-minute gift?
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