Three Weeks in Paris

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “It has the feeling of an old house, a private home,” she murmured, leaning across the table toward Tom.

  “And that’s what it was, of course. There are several rooms for dining, and it’s very hard to get a table unless you’re famous or a politician. Or a noted lawyer.” He winked at her. “And its undeniable charm is matched only by its delicious food. The chocolate dessert is sublime, and they have one of the best caves in Paris.”

  “You know I’m not a big drinker.”

  “But you’ll have a glass of champagne, won’t you?”

  “That’ll be nice. Thanks, Tom.”

  After he had ordered their drinks, Alexa said, “You know what I’ve been doing lately, because of my name being in the trade papers occasionally. But you haven’t told me anything about yourself. How have you spent these last few years?”

  He leaned back in the chair, eyeing her thoughtfully, pondering.

  She thought his eyes had never looked more blue; he was very handsome, debonair in his demeanor, and irresistible. No, lethal. At least to her. She corrected herself. He would be lethal to any woman.

  He said, “I still represent a number of people in the film industry. In fact, I’m now the head of the show business division of the law firm. The firm’s become rather prestigious in the last two years because we’ve had several big, nonshow-business cases, which we’ve won. The clients are coming in a steady stream these days. And my own work has been going well.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “But nothing special has been happening; in fact, I do lead a rather humdrum sort of life, Alexa.”

  “I wouldn’t call it that, Tom.”

  The waiter arrived with two extra-tall crystal flutes of champagne, pale blond in color and sparkling, and he was saved the trouble of answering her. He wondered why they were here; he wanted her at home in his bed.

  Suddenly the maître d’ was standing next to the table, talking to Tom about the menu. It was obvious Tom was a favored client.

  Alexa sat back, half listening, her eyes riveted on Tom, mesmerized by him. Humdrum life, she thought at one moment, wished she could live it with him. And then she thought of Jack and was sad.

  The only man she wanted was Tom Conners.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND, BUT I’VE ORDERED FOR BOTH of us,” Tom said, smiling at her. He took a swallow of his champagne before adding, “White asparagus, a taste of the langoustine in pastry leaves, which is their specialty, to be followed by—”

  “Lamb,” Alexa interrupted peremptorily. “I think you must have forgotten I speak French.”

  “No, I haven’t.” He sat back in his chair, his gaze level and steady as he studied her. If only she knew what he remembered. Images of her and their time together were indelibly printed on his brain, and she existed inside him, in his heart.

  Alexa said, “And you’ve ordered your favorite wine, a Petrus, which you once told me should be drunk only on special occasions. Is tonight special, Tom?” She gazed at him, the expression in her light-green eyes as serious as her face.

  “Absolutely. We are celebrating your return to Paris.”

  “I’m just visiting. And not for long.”

  He threw her an odd look, frowning, and murmured, “Don’t talk about leaving, Alex, you’ve only just arrived.

  And you’re coming back for the film.” His blue eyes quickened. “How long will you be here on the movie?”

  “I don’t know. Nicky hasn’t said. But quite a few months, I’m fairly certain of that. There’s a lot of preproduction on a film like this, because of the sets and locations, and the costumes as well. Once I get the script I’ll know how many scenes are to be shot in Paris. Nicky and I hope to make a schedule next week.” She lifted her glass, took a sip of champagne, and asked curiously, “You’ve never been to New York in the past three years?”

  “No. I was in Los Angeles two years ago to meet with a client.” He shook his head. “I should have phoned you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He reached out, put his hand over hers. “I didn’t feel I had the right, I was the one who brought our relationship to an end. I was positive you had met someone else by then, fallen in love, made a new life. Moved on.”

  Alexa gaped at him, her eyes opening wider, and she thought: Fallen in love, moved on. How can he possibly think that? Doesn’t he know how much I loved him, with all my heart and soul, with every fiber of my being? She held herself very still in the chair. Her eyes welled with tears all of a sudden, and she wanted to look away but discovered that she couldn’t. She blinked back her tears.

  “I’ve upset you. What is it? What’s wrong?” His fingers tightened on hers and he leaned closer over the table, his eyes troubled.

  “I guess I’m surprised, that’s all … that you think I could move on … so quickly …”

  “It’s been a long time … three years.”

  “You haven’t moved on. Or have you?”

  He did not answer at first, and then he admitted, “No, Alex, I haven’t.” He hesitated slightly, and then asked, “But what about your friend? The Englishman? You must have a relationship with him, since you said he wants to make it permanent.”

  “Yes, I do, but I have always been … uncertain, nervous about the situation. Before I came to Paris, I had a long talk with my mother about him, you, and—” Alexa broke off, gave a strange little laugh. “Some people would think I’m crazy for telling you this … feeding your ego, in a way, I guess.” She paused, took a deep breath, and finished softly. “I love you, Tom. I always have, from the first moment we met, and I suppose I always will.”

  He nodded, continuing to hold her hand very tightly in his. His gaze fastened on hers. “I’ve spent the last few years having meaningless sex with women who meant nothing at all to me. They’re a blur. You see, Alex, I didn’t want anyone else but you.”

  She stared hard at him, her eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t you call me? Weren’t you ever tempted?”

  “Of course I was! I must have picked up the phone a hundred times. But I felt I did not have the right, as I just told you. I had ended it, and it was not for me to attempt to start a relationship with you again. I also knew I had so many problems to work out in my own head.”

  “You said at the time that you had nothing to offer, and therefore you were setting me free. But you didn’t do that … I’ve been forever bound to you, Tom.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  He sat looking at her, his eyes searching her face, that face he loved. Finally, he said slowly in a low voice, “I’ve waited a long time for the call you made last night. I could hardly believe it was you. And ever since, I’ve been anxious, anxiety ridden, really on tenterhooks until I saw you standing there in the lobby.”

  “Yes, I know exactly what you mean.”

  He smiled; his eyes sparkled. “Suddenly, there you were, looking so chic and beautiful and not a day older than when I last saw you.”

  “I’ll soon be thirty-one. And you’ll soon be forty-three.”

  “At the end of the month. And don’t remind me!”

  “It was Anya, you know. She made me call you.”

  “Oh.” He sat back and gave her a long, contemplative look. “Weren’t you planning to phone me?”

  “I knew I would ultimately. It was all a question of getting up my nerve.”

  The waiter arrived with the white asparagus; he took a few moments serving it and drizzling the vinaigrette dressing before finally stepping away from the table.

  Alexa ate several spears and then sat back in the chair; she drank some of her water.

  Tom looked up from his plate, and frowned. “Is something wrong? You’re not eating.”

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “I know … neither am I.”

  They stared at each other, exchanging an intimate look full of yearning, fully aware of what they really wanted.

  Tom said, “We cannot leave now … not until the entir
e meal has been served. If we do go, I won’t ever be able to come here again.” He sighed, reached for her hand. “I’ll be persona non grata.”

  “I understand. And after all this time, what’s another hour? I’ll try and eat a little of each course, and you should, if you can.”

  “You are right.… ” He picked up a spear of asparagus. “And this is delicious, you know.”

  Following suit, Alexa also ate a few more spears, and by the time the langoustine was served, they had both adopted a more relaxed demeanor, were less tense with each other, at least on the surface.

  At one moment, picking up his goblet of red wine, Tom toasted her. “Here’s to you, Alexa. Welcome back.”

  “I’m glad to be back,” she said, touching her glass to his. She wondered if he was welcoming her back to Paris or back into his life, and she was not sure. She took a sip of wine, said, “Smooth as silk, this Petrus of yours.”

  He laughed, looked pleased.

  Alexa toyed with the lamb on her plate, took a forkful, ate a bite, then put the fork down. Looking across at him, she said, “You mentioned your problems just now. Do you think … I mean, well, have you worked them out finally?”

  “I believe I have, Alexa, yes,” he replied, took a long swallow of the wine, and leaned back in the chair. His face had changed slightly in that brief moment, and the laughter of a second ago had vanished. “It’s taken me a long time to settle things in my mind,” he said in a sober tone, “to come to terms with everything, but I now have.”

  “I’m glad. It must make you feel better.”

  “It does. I do have my moments, when I’m … sad, but for the most part I’m much better than I ever was. I slayed the demons.”

  “How did you manage to do that?” she asked, and then cringed inside when she saw his face. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “I don’t want to pry. I’m just glad you feel better.”

  “If I can’t talk to you about it, then I don’t know who I can. I did it on my own, no psychiatrists, no tranquilizers to get me through. I just faced up to what had happened, and most important, I managed to stop feeling guilty.”

  “That must have been very difficult, Tom.”

  “It was, but I had enormous incentive. I wanted to be the Tom Conners I was before Juliette and Marie-Laure died. When I told you there was no future for you with me, and you left Paris, I sort of fell apart. I began drinking. A lot.” He glanced at the glass of wine on the table. “And not that mother’s milk either. Hard liquor. Vodka mostly, because it tastes of nothing. That’s all I did in my free time, I sat at home and drank. For six months. But suddenly one day I hated what I had become and I stopped. I also did something else.”

  “What was that?”

  “I decided to do some research.”

  “Research? About what?”

  “Terrorism. My wife and child were murdered by terrorists on a warm, sunny day in Athens. Like everyone else in that square that day, they were innocent. I wanted to know who and why, and so I spent a whole year reading, talking to experts, learning about Muslim fundamentalism, the meaning of Islamic jihad, Hezbollah and how it worked, Abu Nidal, Carlos the Jackal, and other terrorists. I was very conscientious, Alexa. Actually, I filled seven notebooks with information. And about four months ago I suddenly realized I was finally free of guilt … it had simply fled. I hadn’t killed my wife and child by being late that day. They had been blown to smithereens by those brutal cowards who fight a guerrilla war in the name of Islam.”

  Alexa was very quiet for a moment or two, and then she reached out, touched his hand. “Did you ever find out which group blew up the bus of Americans that day?”

  “I have a good idea, and so do various governments. But what good does that do?” He sighed. “The main thing is, I managed to rid myself of guilt, and I’ve felt so much more like a normal person ever since.”

  “I really am so happy for you, Tom, happy that you have been able to ease your pain. There were times when I didn’t know how to help you, when you were in such … anguish—” Alexa broke off as the waiter came to the table and began to clear away their plates.

  Once they were alone, Tom leaned forward and said quietly, “I’m afraid their chocolate dessert will arrive at any moment. Can you handle more food?”

  She laughed. “I’ll cut it up and push it around my plate. That should do the trick.”

  “You may find yourself eating it.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “There you go again, doubting what I say. Just like the bees.”

  “The bees?” She wrinkled her nose, looking perplexed, and then she began to laugh. “Oh, my God, yes. The bees.”

  He chuckled with her.

  “Listen to me, Tom Conners! No one else would have believed you either! What person in their right mind would believe that bees were kept on the roof of the Paris Opera House, and that their honey was put in jars and sold. No one, that’s who!”

  “True.”

  “But you were so dear when you bought me the jars of honey just to prove it.”

  He looked into her eyes, squeezed her hand, and asked, “Do you want coffee? Or anything else, Alex?”

  “No, thanks, Tom.”

  “Will you come home with me?”

  “You know I will. Where else could I possibly want to go?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THEY STOOD IN THE FOYER OF TOM’S APARTMENT, ALONE at last as they had longed to be for the last few hours, but curiously silent now as they stared at each other intently.

  Although they had laughed in the restaurant, been more at ease with each other, the tension between them had returned once they were sitting on the backseat of the Mercedes in their separate corners.

  Acutely conscious of each other, they had hardly spoken a word as Hubert had driven the car through the evening traffic, heading in the direction of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where Tom lived.

  Now the electricity between them was a palpable thing once more, and they both moved forward at precisely the same moment, coming together in the middle of the floor, almost stumbling into each other’s arms.

  Tom gathered Alexa close, and she held on to him tightly, her body instantly welded to his. He bent down, began to kiss her fervently, and she matched his ardor, responded with equal intensity and passion.

  Alexa was shaking internally, her long-pent-up desire for Tom flooding her entire body, and her heart clattered in unison with his. Tom slid his hand down her back and onto her buttocks, pressed her even closer, molded her body to his, and she felt the hardness of his growing passion through her thin linen dress. Suddenly she was suffused with warmth. Her bag and her shawl fell from her hands, but she ignored them as he led her away from the foyer and into the bedroom, his arms still wrapped around her.

  It was obvious he did not want to let go of her, and he pulled her down onto the bed with him, began to kiss her once more. His hand went to her breast and he stroked it, played with her nipple, which began to harden under the fabric. A small groan escaped her throat; her hands went up into his thick, dark hair and she felt his scalp with her fingertips. They were lost in their raging desire for each other, wanting only to possess and be possessed.

  Tom’s kisses stopped abruptly, and he pushed himself up on one elbow, looked down into her face, his own congested with raw emotion. He started to say something, and then stopped, not wanting to break the spell or cool the heat of their rampant feelings.

  Gazing back at him, Alexa recognized the longing and desire in his eyes, was swamped by that vivid blue gaze, and she was as overwhelmed by him, and her feelings for him, as she had been from the first moment they met. Her throat tightened. Nothing had changed, she knew that now. She felt undone, helpless, and so in love with him, nothing else, no one else, mattered. Very simply, there was no other man for her. Only he made her feel like this.

  Tom touched her mouth with one finger, leaned into her, said softly, “Take your clothes off, darling.”

 
She slid off the bed, did as he asked, quickly shedding everything, and then moved back onto the bed again.

  Tom did the same, undressed with swiftness, and she watched him in the dim light of the bedroom, shivering slightly as he came back to her. He was so tall, long-legged, broad-shouldered, the most handsome and masculine man she had ever known, and his desire for her was now very apparent. She longed for Tom to take her to him.

  Tom lay down next to her, covered her body with his own, held her in his arms. Against her hair, he said, “I’ve never stopped wanting you, and only you, Alex.”

  “Oh, Tom darling, Tom,” she whispered, and touched his cheek with one hand. “And it’s only you I want—”

  He stopped her words with his kisses, his mouth firm yet gentle on hers. He parted her lips, let his tongue graze hers, and then rest still. As one of his hands moved down to smooth and fondle her round breast, he brought his mouth to it, smothered it with kisses.

  Wanting to touch and kiss every inch of her, his mouth moved on, fluttered across her stomach, her inner thigh, and all of those erotic, secret parts of her. Slowly his kisses became more languorous until finally his lips settled on the feminine core of her, and lingered there.

  Alexa stiffened and gasped, and went on gasping as he made love to her in this most sensual and intimate way, as he had done from the outset of their relationship. Loving her like this gave him as much pleasure as it did her; he was pleased and gratified when he brought her to climax and she spasmed, called his name, and told him how much she loved him.

  Her excitement fed his own arousal. Tom knew only too well that he had never felt like this with any other woman, not before her, or during her recent absence from his life. Suddenly, he thought he was going to explode, and unable to hold back any longer, he moved on top of her. He needed to be inside her, to possess her totally, to make her his own.

  Tom pushed himself up, braced his arms on each side of her, and looked down into Alexa’s light-green eyes. Her emotions were explicit on her face, and as his gaze lingered for a moment longer, his heart clenched. He knew all of a sudden what she truly meant to him. He also knew what a fool he had been to ever let her go.