French Kiss

by Susan Johnson

Yes, Lisa Jordan had been here. Obviously, this manager knew her celebrities. But the men who had come in with Miss Jordan, she said, had offended her. She referred to them with a vulgarity, then added with a shrug, “But what can you do. They’re regular customers.”

  In better humor, however, she went on to describe Miss Jordan’s exquisite coral-colored Chanel ensemble as well as her friend’s and not wishing to offend, Nicky listened at some length to the runway-type descriptions. It was true. Haute couture was in every French person’s genes.

  When the description finally wound down, Nicky thanked the manager for the information and returned to Johnny. “Your ex was here,” she explained. “They all were—just a short time ago. The women walked out first while the men made some purchases. The men were crude, but good customers, so they’re tolerated, it seems.”

  Johnny grunted.

  Whether in affirmation or dissent was unclear.

  “Back to the Ritz, then?” Cole’s brows rose in query. “I don’t suppose it would be wise to call your ex’s cell phone?”

  “Probably not. She sounded frightened.” Johnny shrugged. “Whether it was true or not, who the hell knows.” He turned to Nicky. “Buy something if you want.” He pulled some large bills out of his pants pocket and held them out. “We’ll wait a few minutes.”

  He didn’t smile. His voice was without expression. Should she or shouldn’t she?

  It was a short-lived debate, surrounded as she was by beautiful, succulent delicacies beyond the imagination. Or at least the imagination of anyone from Black Duck.

  “Thanks, but I have money.” Then understanding she was on sufferance, she rushed through the store making her selections. She couldn’t eat them right now, what with their crisis and the fact that she’d just eaten lunch and some chocolates, but clearly she wasn’t going to be back here anytime soon. One had to take advantage of a rare opportunity like this.

  Literally five minutes later, carrying three little boxes, she joined Johnny, who was waiting at the door.

  Gentleman that he was, he took the boxes from her and even managed to open the door with his hands full. But his mouth was set in a firm line, his brows drawn together in a scowl.

  She felt a twinge of guilt for her selfishness.

  Until she reminded herself that she’d asked. He could have said no.

  She was really excellent at rationalizing.

  “I’d say the Ritz is our best bet,” Cole noted as they walked toward the car.

  “No doubt,” Johnny muttered. “And I’m in the mood to pistol whip someone about now.”

  Jeez. Was it her? Nicky shot him a look.

  “If Lisa is at the Ritz with those guys, I’m pissed off enough to set them straight. They’re fucking wusses anyway.”

  No pistol whipping for her, thank you, Nicky noted, although she would prefer being somewhere distant if any serious disputes took place.

  “Sounds like a plan, boss.”

  “Where do you want these?” Johnny asked as they reached the car, half lifting the boxes in Nicky’s direction.

  Close enough to inhale the sumptuous aromas, Nicky wished to say, but not with that scowl on his face. “I don’t care. Wherever.”

  “Hey, Vinnie, open the trunk!”

  Some people apparently didn’t appreciate the gustatory pleasures of life as much as other people, she thought, but didn’t dare protest as her little savories were placed in the trunk.

  The mood in the car was dark as they pulled out of the no parking zone in front of Dalloyau. Even without a word being spoken, an inhospitable air of ruthless purpose permeated the car. Or maybe it was because no one spoke.

  Scrunching into a corner of the backseat, Nicky tried not to breathe too loudly. It was that quiet.

  They hadn’t traveled very far when Vinnie rapped out, “There they are. By the Elysees Palace. Beside that guard with the Uzi.”

  “Yesss.” Johnny breathed, victory and satisfaction in that sibilant utterance. “Pull over at the corner. Slowly. I don’t want any sort of scene.”

  The residence of the president of France was on the posh Rue de Faubourg St. Honore where all the fine shops were located. When Paris had been smaller, the palace had once been home to notable women—Mme. Pompadour, Napoleon’s sister, Empress Josephine. Just as Dalloyau had been their little local market of choice.

  And now another notable woman was in the neighborhood, standing only yards away from the soldiers on guard before the Elysees Palace. The stunning Lisa Jordan in her dazzling Chanel ensemble and a dark-haired woman of equal beauty were admiring the facade like tourists.

  “She’s with Chantel.”

  “Who else?” Cole affirmed. “Sisters in addiction.”

  “Do you see any punks in the vicinity?”

  “That limo down the block might be theirs.”

  Johnny smiled. “You have to give the ladies credit. They picked a pretty unassailable position.”

  At which precise moment, Johnny’s cell phone rang.

  He glanced at the number and grinned as he flipped open the phone. “I’m looking at you, babe.” There was a smile in his voice. “Stay put. We’re coming to get you.”

  Johnny and Cole were out of the car in a flash, striding toward the women like heroes in a movie, Nicky thought, finding the scene mildly disturbing. There he was, being gracious and obliging to his ex, going to her rescue her like some selfless defender of the weak and oppressed. Maybe Johnny didn’t really know if he liked his ex or not. Maybe he was still enamored of her after all. Although, it was none of her business whether Johnny Patrick was happy to see his ex or not. She had absolutely no right to feel an ounce of possessiveness after sleeping with him once. Probably half the women in the world had as much right as she, according to the tabloids.

  Cautioning herself to act like a mature adult, Nicky warned herself against feeling the littlest smidgen of jealousy. She’d be crazy to even consider the notion. A one-night stand did not a relationship make. Period. End of story. Really. Do not go there, she sternly admonished her wavering psyche.

  Chantel joined Cole in the front seat, while Johnny offered a helping hand to Lisa as she stepped into the back. Nicky moved over as far as she could on the broad seat, shifted her purse closer to her feet, picked up the box of chocolates from the floor, put it in her lap, and took pains to put a smile on her face as Lisa sat down beside her. Nicky even kept her smile in place when Lisa sharply elbowed her in the ribs and shoved her even closer to the window.

  As Johnny shut the door behind him and the car pulled away from the curb, Lisa fidgeted with her purse on the floor. Sitting up a moment later, she held a cigarette and lighter in her hand. With the detached air of a female grandee speaking to a servant, she pointed the cigarette at Nicky. “I see you’re still around. You must be very, very special.”

  In an apparent attempt to shift the conversation to one less fraught with contention, Johnny stepped in and explained that in addition to serving as his translator, Nicky had designed a fantastic tree house for Jordi. “It’s going to be a real beauty.”

  “You’re kidding.” A silvery little movie-star laugh rang through the car. “Tree houses? Is that like building birdhouses?”

  “They’re a littie bigger,” Nicky replied, feeling totally mature as she ignored Lisa’s pettiness with a completely Zen-like generosity of spirit. There was no way building tree houses was inferior to playing make-believe on the silver screen anyway. But a second later, it took every ounce of discipline she possessed to keep from snapping something uncivil when Lisa Jordan cast her violet gaze on Nicky and purred, “Just because Johnny sleeps with you doesn’t mean a thing. He sleeps with everyone, don’t you, darling,” the goddess of Hollywood added. The smile she turned on her ex-husband was sweetly understanding.

  “Christ, Lisa, can it. Sorry,” Johnny muttered, leaning forward to glance past his ex and offer Nicky a rueful smile.

  “You can make it up to her tonight. He’ll make it up to you
tonight, Mickey,” Lisa Jordan said, her voice soft with malice, the glance she turned on Nicky ice cold. “He’s very good at making up.”

  “Just a reminder, Lisa, we saved your ass. So kindly shut the fuck up,” Johnny growled. “And don’t smoke in the car.”

  “My, my aren’t we touchy.” She leaned over and dropped the cigarette and lighter back into her purse. “I meant it as a compliment, darling,” she went on, sitting up once again. “You’re excellent in bed.”

  “Jeez, Lisa, take it easy,” Chantel murmured over her shoulder. “Johnny’s right about saving us, and I for one am grateful. Although, if you hadn’t taken those black pearls we wouldn’t be in trouble. I told you not to take them, but no, you could handle Yuri, you said.”

  “What black pearls?” Johnny demanded, his gaze laser sharp.

  Lisa glared at the back of her friend’s head, then shrugged dismissively. “Yuri had so many pearls, I never thought he’d notice,” she airily replied. “They weren’t even in the safe. But thanks to Chantel here who caves at the smallest pressure, he found out I took them.”

  “Excuse me,” Chantel drawled. “I call a threat to dump us in the middle of the Mediterranean more than a little pressure.”

  Lisa snorted. “They wouldn’t have.”

  “Is that why you called me? Because you thought they wouldn’t?” Johnny observed with delicate sarcasm.

  “No. That’s not why I called you,” Lisa replied, huffily. “I just wanted to get out of town.”

  “Wise choice,” Chantel shot back.

  “Screw you.”

  “Okay, ladies, cut the useless recriminations. Let’s talk about something more productive,” Johnny interposed, not about to listen to an endless blame game. “I’ll send you home in my jet so you don’t have to deal with any possible problems with your friends. But I’d suggest in the future you steer dear of men who operate outside the law. That way you can both live long and productive lives.”

  “I don’t need any lectures from you,” Lisa said. “Not when you’ve always done whatever you’ve pleased.”

  “You need something from me right now, or you’d still be standing in front of the Elysees cooling your heels,” Johnny said, curtly. “So don’t give me any shit. I’m sending you home before you get into any more trouble.” He leaned toward the front seat. “We’re going to the airport, Vinnie.”

  “I need my clothes from the Ritz first,” Lisa snapped.

  If looks could kill, everyone in the limo would be wasted, Nicky thought. With the exception of one blond, fuming movie star. Although every little exchange that had transpired since Lisa Jordan had entered the car allowed Nicky to better understand Johnny’s feelings for his ex. He might be willing to rescue her— out of some sense of duty or for old-time’s sake, or maybe because he was a nice guy. But it wasn’t for love.

  “I’ll have your clothes sent to you,” Johnny said, brusquely. “Cole, call the Ritz and tell them to pack up the ladies’ clothes ASAP and send them to Lisa’s place in the States. Yuri was in that limo across the street, right?” He gave Lisa a hard, searching look.

  “Yes,” Chantel quickly answered, sensible of their perilous position, even if her friend was in denial.

  “Okay. That means there’s time to get your things out of the hotel, even if they drive there directly. Which I doubt.” Yuri was a spoiled brat. He’d go somewhere to sulk—preferably where he could get high and find women to console him.

  Even if Nicky was irritated about Miss High and Mighty’s nastiness to her, the scenario unfolding in the limo was fascinating to watch. It was like being in the front row at a play. Only this time the performance was for real. One sullen little movie star who apparently lived in a fantasy world made possible by her looks and celebrity, rescued from the big, bad villains by her ex-husband.

  And she doesn’t even thank him.

  What the hell had he ever seen in Lisa Jordan? Why had he married her? Was she missing something? Or was Johnny Patrick like every other man in the world—dazzled by a sexy, gorgeous goddess of the silver screen?

  It gave Nicky food for thought on the largely silent drive to the airport. It presented various possibilities to consider about who, what, when, where, and why these two very different people had married. Mostly, it made her wonder how stupid she was to be infatuated with a man who could actually marry a bitch like Lisa Jordan.

  Crap.

  Did that make her a bitch, too?

  Twenty-four

  En route, Johnny cryptically said to Cole, “Tell Barry to meet us out there.”

  Cole nodded, and that was that.

  Male ESP, Nicky decided.

  Once Lisa and Chantel left the car and were being escorted to the plane by Vinnie and Cole, Johnny moved closer to Nicky. Leaning back, he exhaled a sigh of relief and turning his head enough to see her, grinned. “Problem solved. She’s out of my hair.”

  “And solved without a shot being fired, I’m happy to say.” Nicky gave him the thumbs-up.

  He laughed. “That was only a remote possibility.”

  “You coulda fooled me.”

  “Sorry to put you through this, but I didn’t know where we’d end up.” He blew out a small breath. “And if I needed someone who spoke French—you were it.”

  “Happy to be of service—now, after the fact.” She smiled. “There were times I wasn’t so sure.”

  His answering smile was free and easy. “Don’t worry— everything’s good. Once Lisa’s back in the States, someone else can pick up the slack if she needs protection. Hollywood is teeming with security.” His expression took on a sudden earnestness. “I do have a favor to ask of you, though.”

  “What kind of favor?” she asked, her tone marginally wary after the recent events.

  “If you don’t mind too much, I’d like to go to Nice for a couple of days. Just until my pilots can get back. I know it’s a huge imposition with your tight construction schedule, but I’d be willing to make it worth your while. Seriously. Anything you want.”

  A large engagement ring? A wedding in Capri? Lifelong fidelity? Jeez, where the hell did that come from? It just went to show how great sex, movie star looks, and tons of money could turn a girl’s head. More realistically, she asked the question that could be the deal breaker. “A couple of days as in two? Or are you thinking more?”

  “No, two days should be enough. My pilots will just need some sleep time before they make the run back to Nice.”

  Cole suddenly appeared at the car window, and Johnny hit the button to roll it down.

  “They’re here, and the charter’s ready.”

  “That was fast. We’ll be right out.” Johnny turned back to Nicky. “Jordi and Vernie are here with Barry.”

  Nicky gave him an accusing look. “So your questions were rhetorical?”

  “No. Look, if you can’t come, I’ll send you home. I just thought you might like to see Nice,” he said, a promise of pleasure in every soft syllable.

  He must know no woman could turn him down.

  She could be the first.

  She could give up seeing his villa and the beach life of the rich and famous.

  She could be a complete idiot.

  “Okay. Two days. Then I have to get home,” she said, because she would be a complete idiot if she let herself be talked into staying any longer just because God’s gift to women was beaucoup talented in bed. A way distant echo of concern, though, was what to tell Buddy. Even two extra days was gonna make him scream big-time. In the interest of adding two days of world-class sexual memories to her souvenir album, she’d have to promise Buddy something good. Like maybe time off for that fishing trip he’d been wanting to take.

  “That’s great. Thanks. I mean it.”

  Hearing Johnny Patrick say thanks he really meant it, went a long way toward making it easier for her to say what she was about to say. “There’s one little iffy thing though. I do have to check with Buddy—you know… see if he can deal with the wo
rk for a few more days. I have a feeling he’s gonna go ballistic.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

  “Give me your phone. I’ll call him.” As she punched in the numbers she asked, “What time is it back home?”

  “Five in the morning.”

  “Good. He’s up.” Then she waited for the ring, telling herself she was the boss, she owned the company, and if she wanted to have phenomenal sex for a few more days, she deserved it. “Hey, Buddy, it’s me, and you’re gonna go ape, but I’m staying for two more days.” She held the phone away from her ear for a few seconds, before saying, “What do you think about going on that fishing trip when I get back? Take off a week. I’ll cover for you.”

  “Tell him to use my place in Tahoe if he wants,” Johnny interjected.

  “Johnny says you can use his place in Tahoe. Okay, that won’t work then. Yes, yes… absolutely. I won’t ask for any more favors. Right after I get home, you take off. Make your reservations, Yeah, yeah, it’s written in stone. Make your reservations.” Nicky nodded her head and said yes or no to a number of questions, offered slightly longer answers to a few more, and after promising once again that two days wouldn’t be extended any further, she hung up. “Buddy’s going deep sea fishing, but he said, thanks for the offer.”

  “So we’re good now? Buddy’s not too pissed?”

  She smiled. “Not too much. I’ll be paying penance for a while. But I’m figuring it’ll be worth it.”

  “I can promise you it will be. You name it, it’s yours.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Anything.”

  “Anything sexual you mean?”

  “Anything, anything—if it exists, you can have it.”

  “Jeez, you’re kinda freaking me out with your blanket largesse policy. You’re not crazy, are you?”

  “No. I’m just really intrigued by your dewy fresh sweetness.”

  “Hey!” She wasn’t sure about dew fresh with that teasing light in his eyes.

  “It’s a compliment, babe. You’re sweet as hell.” He studied the toes of his shoes for a moment before hitting her again with that cool gray gaze. “Look, you remind me of my life a couple hundred years ago—before I began living in this fabricated, plastic world.”