“I take it you like the dress?”
“I do. I really like what’s under the dress.” He nuzzled her cheek, getting closer to her lips.
She turned her face away. “Mm, I’m glad you like it. Go buy it for me while I fix my hair?” She was evil, but she loved this buildup. Knowing that he wanted her, that she wanted him, and how her body reacted.
“Fine.” He sighed and helped her out of the dress, his gaze lingering on her breasts and the barely there thong.
“Can you put these on the rack by the door?” She handed him the three rejected dresses and mustered her sweetest smile.
He took them, but the expression on his face said that wasn’t the only thing he wanted to take. She stood against the wall and pushed him out the door.
With him gone, she hurriedly attacked her hair, twisting it up and pinning it with clips she’d stuffed into her pack. The end result was passable, a little messy but it went with the overall look well. She grabbed the heels from the bag of items she’d already purchased and slipped them on. When she’d passed the pair of nude pumps on the sale rack she’d known she wanted them regardless of the rest of her outfit. Now she was excited they matched.
“B?” He tapped on the door.
She stepped back and examined herself. Not too shabby for a quick fixer-up trip. “Come in.”
Clay squeezed through the door. The dress hung in a clear plastic bag. His gaze jumped from her reflection down to her bare ass.
“Hang up the dress.”
He didn’t question her demand. He placed the dress on a hook and waited. His eyes had that hungry quality to them. She’d teased him and left him tied up all day, so she couldn’t blame him. She put her hands on either side of the chrome-framed mirror. Clay’s entire posture changed. His shoulders went back, his gaze focused on hers. He really did look like 007. Was she this secret agent’s latest girl? The tiny fantasy had her grinning at her husband, who merely quirked a brow. Where was his martini?
Maybe they should talk about adding role play and fantasy into their toy box. That was a conversation for later.
“Do you want to touch me?” She kept her voice low, conscious of the sounds of people passing the fitting rooms, though no one else had entered for a while.
“Yes.”
“Go ahead.”
Instead of grasping her roughly, he gently smoothed his hands over her hips and down her thighs. He always treated her with such care unless she told him otherwise. It had taken her a long time to understand and accept his reverent way of handling her. But dressed in pale-blue French lace and leather pumps, she was stirred by his light touch.
He bent forward and kissed her shoulders and the back of her neck, repeating the same pattern to her other shoulder.
“Can you be absolutely silent?” she whispered.
Clay paused with his lips against her shoulder. His “Yes Ma’am” was barely audible.
“Show me.”
“Now?” He smoothed a hand over her stomach and brought her back up against his chest. His erection fit against her ass, the heels giving her the perfect height.
“If you don’t want me all you have to do is say so.” She stuck out her bottom lip in a poor fake pout.
“Don’t even say that.” He scowled and straightened, pulling the buckle and button on his pants open.
She turned and waited for him to ease his underwear down. The ropes had slid a little but still wrapped him up quite nicely. She plucked the knot open and carefully unwound it from his shaft and testicles. She stroked his skin, up and over the growing erection, looking for any sign of chafing or harm. Clay’s breathing grew heavier, his grip on the clothing hooks turning his knuckles to white.
“Keep absolutely silent,” she whispered and withdrew her hands. She pivoted and assumed her earlier position, hands on either side of the mirror, back arched and hips thrust out.
He pulled her thong aside and notched the head of his penis against her folds. His hand returned to her stomach, both to steady and hold her against his chest. His gaze locked with hers in the mirror and he slowly pushed inside her channel. Her muscles spasmed around him, more aroused than she’d realized. She bit her lip to keep from moaning at the intrusion.
Clay leaned over her shoulder and rested his cheek against hers. He thrust, rocking her forward on her toes. His other hand covered hers, bracing them both on the wall. She tossed her head back against his shoulder and thrust against him.
Slowly he withdrew, sliding his hand up to cup her breast and squeeze the tip between his fingers. He knew her body so well. He didn’t need to see her nipples to find them.
His motions were controlled, in and out. Neither spoke or uttered a word. He gasped into her ear when her muscles constricted around him, and she groaned when the glide of his cock hit the perfect spot.
Clay’s hand left her aching breasts and coasted over her stomach. He pushed her thong down and cupped her mound. She bit her lip as he found her clit and gently rolled the swollen button between his fingers. His thrusts became more urgent, forcing her to lock her arms. His muted grunts were merely puffs of air against her neck. He applied more pressure to the bundle of nerves and she was done for.
She turned her face and buried it against his neck as pleasure rolled through her body and crashed into her. Her core rippled, hugging his cock as he continued to pump in and out of her in short, barely controlled thrusts. His breathing was jagged, his movements less gentle. He dug his fingers into her hand and thrust hard, sending off ripples of post-orgasmic bliss through her channel. Hot cum poured into her and Clay wrapped his arm tighter around her, gasping into her hair.
The other sounds began filtering through her lust-fogged brain. People walking past the doors, someone talking unnecessarily loud into a cell phone, the rustling of bags.
She flushed, wondering what had gotten into them. They were adventurous, but not typically in so many public places, yet all they’d done this trip was find one secluded corner after another.
Clay pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek and eased out of her. She stayed braced against the wall while he cleaned himself up, using the wipes she’d left out, and righted his clothing.
The cool, damp feel of cloth against her thighs startled a gasp out of her.
“Just me,” Clay said with a chuckle.
She stayed as she was and allowed him to wipe away the evidence of their lovemaking. When he was finished, he connected the straps on the garter belt she hadn’t bothered with yet to the stockings.
“Turn please.” His voice was a warm rumble.
She pivoted in place and gazed down at her husband on his knees. He attached one suspender then the other, pressing a kiss on each thigh as he went. He rose up on his knees, hugging her lower body to his chest and gazed up at her. She brushed his hair with her fingers. Damn, but she was a lucky woman.
“We should probably go,” she whispered.
“Yeah, probably.” He kissed her bellybutton through the lace and pushed to his feet.
When she reached for the gown, he batted her hands aside and removed the garment from the bag, unzipping it and removing the tags for her. He lifted it over her head and helped her into the chiffon and beaded creation, zipping it up and studying her reflection.
Side by side, they really did look like a pair of people with a secret.
Chapter Ten
Clay squeezed Bianca’s hand and gripped the door handle on the cab as the Eiffel Tower crept closer. He hadn’t figured out the driving rules in Paris, except that lanes were suggestions, red seemed to mean speed up, and pedestrians appeared to assign point values to how fast the driver could make them scramble out of the way. He hadn’t realized how much they’d toyed with their lives running across the lanes surrounding the Arch until he experienced a true French taxi.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Bianca muttered.
“We’re almost there.” He patted her thigh.
“You said that five minutes ago.”
“No
, I said it wouldn’t take us long to get there.”
“Same thing.”
He chuckled and lifted her palm to his lips, pressed a kiss to her wrist. She was beautiful. He wouldn’t have known she’d been running around and sweating all day, grass stains on her knees and dirt in her hair, if he hadn’t been right there with her.
“Should we figure out what we’re supposed to do when we get to the Tower?” He grunted as the cab took a hard right and the momentum threw him against the door. “Shit.”
Bianca nearly tumbled into his lap. She wound up putting her shoulder into his arm. “Good grief, I’m never complaining about your driving again.”
“My driving? You’re the one who got a ticket two months ago.”
“Just because I got caught and you haven’t doesn’t mean anything.” She settled back on her side of the bench seat and slanted him a mock glare.
“Fine, okay. So the Tower?”
“We go to the south side, I think it is. Jules Verne has a private elevator that goes straight up to the restaurant.” She peered out of her window at their destination.
The Eiffel Tower was highlighted by the fading sunlight with pinks and yellows. Lights from the restaurants and viewing levels glowed weakly. Her grip tightened a second before she whirled to face him, beaming.
“We’re going to get there right about the time they light the Tower.”
“Light the Tower?”
“Yeah, you saw it the other night with all the lights, right?”
“Well yeah. It’s hard to miss.”
“They light it up at sunset with a light show.”
“Huh, neat.”
“I’d wanted us to go see it, maybe take a bottle of wine and make a picnic of it or something, but this might be better.”
That sounded like a wonderfully relaxing way to enjoy the Tower. Right now all he could think about was whether they were going to get there first or not. “I don’t know, that sounds a lot less stressful than this.”
Her smile dimmed. “Are you not having fun?”
He kicked himself for his choice of words. “Of course I am, but you have to admit, this would be a lot more leisurely without the race.”
She nodded. “You’re right.”
“Are you still glad we did this?”
She tilted her head to the side and thought about it. “Yeah, I am. I guess I’ve been really bitter about these races and didn’t realize it. I’m just as competitive as my brothers, but they never wanted to take me seriously or let me do stuff. It wasn’t fun with them. Thanks for making me do it, even if I didn’t want to.”
The cab came to an abrupt halt, an expanse of green lawn to their left, and rising up on the banks of the Seine, the Eiffel Tower.
Clay dug out the fare while Bianca slipped out of the car, then he handed the cash to the driver, glad to escape with his life at this point.
“Good grief, couldn’t he get us closer?” Bianca shouldered her pack and the plastic shopping bags.
Too late, the cab was already speeding off when he realized that they had at least a quarter of a mile trek to the base of the tower, where there was a street along the other end of the tower.
“Shit.” He scowled at the cab, already lost in the evening traffic.
“Forget it. Come on.”
Bianca grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the gravel path leading to the tower. People were sprawled out on the lawns, in chairs and on blankets. Many had packed dinners, snacks and wine, all waiting for something. The lighting of the Tower, if he had to guess.
His athletic socks slid inside the dress shoes, too bulky for the fine Italian leather, but for now they had to work.
It was hard to imagine at the beginning of this trip that he would be here now, with his wife, dressed to the nines and about to dine in one of the most iconic landmarks. It felt surreal, as if this shouldn’t be his life, but then he looked at Bianca, her face beaming and her eyes fluttering wide as light blossomed on her face.
She stopped in her tracks and gripped his arm. “Clay, look!”
Ahead of them the Tower seemed to shatter into a million pieces of light. It flickered, growing brighter as the sun continued to set. A million sparkling lights chased one another up and around the beams. The crowed oohed and aahed at the amazing spectacle.
Bianca laughed and tugged on his hand. “Come on!”
Despite wearing heels, she urged him into a jog, the backpack bouncing on his lower spine. They jogged all the way to the street bordering the Tower, the lighting ceremony drawing them forward.
Lines of people spiraled under the steel beams, waiting for their turn to the top to take in the view. Street hawkers offered miniature re-creations of sites around Paris and key chains. Food stands still operated, doling out their brand of truck food in the form of pastries and hard bread sandwiches.
“There!” Bianca pointed at a bright yellow awning with the words Jules Verne in dark script across the canopy. A smart-looking attendant stood by the door, probably vetting the patrons and guarding it from those who wanted a free ride up the Tower.
They strode toward the private elevator, a spring in their step. Bianca glanced at him every few steps, a grin on her face that he returned. She giggled and he laughed, giddy on the excitement coursing through his veins. She could be some starlet, like Audrey Hepburn in A Roman Holiday, dressed as she was. How could this be his life now? He didn’t deserve this, but he’d take it and hold on with both hands. They skidded to a halt in front of the doorman, grinning and laughing like idiots and looking just as guilty.
The stuffy, straitlaced man looked them over, gaze snagging on their less-than-classy bags.
“This is the elevator to the Jules Verne?” he asked.
“Yes sir. Would you and the lady have a reservation?”
“Yes, we do,” Bianca replied coolly, turning her nose up and giving the doorman the same once-over.
That seemed to be enough for the man. He nodded and pressed the button, finally. The lights above the doors slowly ticked down, showing the descent of the lift. He glanced behind them, curious now that they were almost at the finish line to know where they stood.
Had Michael and Jennifer beat them? What about Kevin and Heather? They stood the best chance of catching up, just because they were both so physically fit. Of course he’d like nothing better than to walk to the finish line with Jason and Amy.
“Come on.” Bianca pulled him into the car. There wasn’t anyone else in line, which struck him as odd, but maybe they were hitting the restaurant at an odd time.
“Hold the elevator!” someone called.
He and Bianca groaned in chorus.
“Close the door,” she hissed, but the doorman ignored her.
Kevin and Heather thundered up the stairs, appearing a little disheveled but outfitted well enough to pass muster. Kevin wore slacks and a sport coat, while his wife looked awkward in a simple black dress and carried pumps instead of wearing them.
“You were going to leave us behind,” Kevin gasped.
Bianca rolled her eyes as the lift began its ascent. “Do you blame me? You would have done the same thing.” She leaned against Clay’s side, subtly shoving him closer to the door.
“That’s just not fair,” her brother honest-to-god whined.
“Have you seen the others?” he asked before the siblings broke out into a fight.
“We saw Mike and Jen leaving Versailles, and Jason and Amy when we left. You?” Heather stepped into her pumps, clearly awkward in the dressier clothing. She was more accustomed to wearing workout clothing and sunscreen instead of dresses and pearls. As a professional volleyball player, she spent most of her time in bikinis and sportswear.
“Saw Mike and Jen at both Versailles and Notre Dame,” Clay offered.
“Hey, don’t help them.” Kevin elbowed his wife and scowled at him.
Help them do what? He gaped at Bianca, who merely shrugged and edged closer to the doors.
Kevin
stepped between Bianca and the exit, bracing an arm in front of her. “No cutting in line.”
“Uh, if I recall, you’re hitching a ride in our elevator.” She jabbed a finger in Kevin’s ribs and glared up at him.
“Guys, chill,” Clay interjected. The siblings continued to glare at one another.
The doors chimed, signaling they had reached the Jules Verne. The doors opened on a very cultured, modern and chic décor of dark colors, crisp linens and ambient lighting over the common small French tables.
Kevin grabbed Heather’s arm and pulled her out before he and Bianca could squeeze around his bulk. The maitre d’ stepped forward, but Kevin pushed past him.
“We’re meeting someone,” Kevin snapped.
Clay scowled at his brother-in-law. The game wasn’t a reason to be rude to the waitstaff.
“Sorry, we’re meeting family. Please excuse my brother,” Bianca said with a smooth smile for the maitre d’.
Bianca tugged him into following her down a parallel aisle to the one her brother had taken. Smart choice since Kevin and Heather were forced to wait behind a server carrying a loaded tray. She scanned the restaurant, and he did likewise, searching for her family or something obviously marking the end of their race.
“B, there.”
“I see them.”
Her mother and father sat at a long, empty table up against the windows, all of Paris spread out behind them in its evening glory.
And they were alone.
He glanced at Kevin and saw the moment his brother-in-law registered that no one had won the race yet.
“Come on, Heather.” He jerked his wife forward.
Bianca quickened her step and he crowded her from behind.
Five feet away.
Kevin dove, grabbing hold of the end chair, just as something crashed and people exclaimed.
Bianca and he each grasped the end of the table together, breathing hard from excitement and exhaustion of the day.
“Heather, we won!”
Bianca’s face transformed from giddy joy to shock. “Heather, are you okay?”
He followed her gaze to where Heather was picking herself up off the floor. She staggered to her husband’s side, a little dazed.
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