Falling in Paris (Encounters #3)

by Fifi Flowers

  “Then my answer would be yes.” I looked into his eyes, waiting for him to say more. Waiting… wanting him to kiss me.

  He stared at me for several moments. I wondered what he must think of me, then he spoke, “Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you in a few days. Give me your phone.” Pulling it out of my bag, I handed it to him. He typed on the screen before handing it back to me. His phone rang. “Perfect. Thank you for accompanying me today.” Then after kissing me on both cheeks, he was on his way down the stairs. I wanted to shout, “What the fuck is wrong with me?—you?”

  Chapter Nine

  Émile

  Sitting at my desk, I thought about calling Avril to apologize. I imagined I was, officially, an asshole in her eyes… her beautiful eyes. I hadn’t even kissed her. I fucked her, dropped her at home, and I still haven’t called her in a week. I’ve done that to other women on many occasions, but she didn’t deserve that; she deserved more than I was willing to give her. I needed to make it up to her. I rubbed my hand over my unusual chin stubble thinking about how to fulfill her fantasy in style, but I had to be careful. It had to be perfect, it had to be all about her. Hanging my head, I closed my eyes, running my fingers through my hair.

  “What happened to you? You look like shit!” I always counted on Nique to set me straight—to tell it to me how it was.

  “I haven’t slept well in almost a week.” I reached for the large coffee mug she pushed my way.

  “What did you do? You look guilty? Who is she?” There was absolutely no point in avoiding her questioning, she would eventually draw it out of me. So, I filled her in on all—almost all—of the details.

  “So, let me get this straight.” Nique pushed a few papers and a couple books aside, then sat on the corner of my desk. “You thought she was a religious woman so you ran away. Then, you decided to give her a chance, then decided you couldn’t, and you ran away again. Then you stalked her, finding out she is not a religious woman, but that she has a somewhat similar sexual appetite as you, and you ran away, yet again. Is that all of it?”

  “Basically,” I answered, watching an animated Nique shake her head and tsk at me. Scrubbing a hand over my scruff, I added, “I know I fucked up, merde!”

  “All is not lost. Time for a little damage control.” Picking up my cellphone from my desk, she handed it to me. “Text her, invite her to meet you here, feed her, and take her shopping. Having clothing delivered will not have the same effect this time. Trust me. Give her what she wants. In return, you get what you need. Win-win!”

  “I don’t need her.”

  “Oh, I think you do. Stop dwelling on the family curse crap! We are in the same family, Émile. It cannot just affect your branch of the family.”

  “You have female heirs.”

  “I don’t buy into that shit. So what if men are dominant on your side of the family?!” Her voice took on an authoritative tone. “And face it; your father married a bitchy, spoiled princess. Sorry to speak of your mother that way, but facts are facts.”

  “He wasn’t the only one. Uncle Edouard could never keep a woman, and died young. My grandfather lost my grandmother at a young age.”

  “They were both happy men and they both had plenty of fun with women—I’ve heard as many stories as you have. Your father is finally happy with a new woman, living the life he always dreamt about for years. You, Émile Zola Capet, need to live your own life in the present.” Nique slipped off my desk and walked to the door opening, stopped, then turned around. “Call now, text now, just contact her—now!” Then, she was gone.

  Damn it! Nique was right… about some things. I didn’t know if I could stop running; I’d been doing it for so long, but I did need to set things right with Avril. There was no need to tell all, just enough, as she would be gone soon. In the meantime, I could fulfill her desires, benefiting from them as well. I texted her, asking if she was available for lunch and an outing. If so, could she come to the bookshop? To my delight, she texted back within a half hour, saying she would be happy to meet me. “Perfect,” I replied.

  When Avril arrived, Nique buzzed me with an instant message to my computer, and I shut down my system. Standing, I walked into my private bathroom, splashed some water on my face, and ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to hide the crazed look I was sporting earlier. Pulling my jacket off of the back of my chair, I slipped it on, strolled out of my office, and stopped abruptly when I saw her standing in the middle of my store. Her beauty struck me, yet again, and I grasped the railing tightly, steadying myself. She looked so right, so perfect standing amongst the sea of dark, wooden bookshelves filled with literary treasures. A vision struck me instantly; I could clearly see the two women, before me, partaking in their daily coffee and pastry as I came strolling in through the front door of the bookshop every morning.

  I was shaken from my daydream when Nique called out to me, “Émile, I think Avril, here, needs a tour of the store.”

  I continued down the stairs towards the two, greeting Avril with a kiss to each cheek. “A tour? You’ve been in the shop before, what did you miss on your last visit?”

  At that moment, looking into her mesmerizing lavender eyes, my heart beat rapidly as she softly uttered, “You.” The look between us was so intense, I was happy for Nique’s interruption.

  To capture my full attention, poking me in the shoulder was necessary; I could’ve stood there, drowning in her dazzling eyes forever. “Show her the new collection of signed first editions that just came in. Also, she didn’t have time for me to show her the limited editions on the landing on her last visit.” Then she turned to my pet, enticing her with words, “Avril, being a book collector, you will be amazed what the Capet men have acquired over the years.”

  Finally able to speak, I greeted Avril. Then I lightly grasped her arm and walked her around the store. How I managed to keep control to form actual words about the books and how they were attained, I had no idea. Being so close to her was divine and she smelled heavenly—my cock twitched, longing to fill her. However possible, I maintained the necessary composure to tantalize her delicate ears that begged to be nibbled. My mouth was on autopilot as we moved through the lower part of the shop, then upstairs to the grand and rare masterpieces. I went into a trance as I showed her book after book; it was a saving grace. It was faint noises that finally broke my unwavering concentration.

  Showing Avril yet another signed first addition by Hemingway, her stomach made a grumbling sound. “Hungry?” She nodded yes. “Let’s go eat American style.” I received a raised eyebrow and laughed. “Sandwich on a park bench.” Removing a book from her hands, I placed it back in its allotted slot, then grabbed her hand, leading her down the staircase and out onto the boulevard.

  We made a few stops, collecting items for our al fresco picnic dining experience. Starting with the charcuterie where I ordered a few different hard sausages that the butcher insisted we sample. Next, we popped into a fromagerie. The cheeses smelled stinky, as usual, but they were sure to taste divine. Next door to the cheese shop, we picked up a nice bottle of red wine and a couple disposable, clear, plastic wine tumblers. Of course, our last stop was a boulangerie to ensure our bread was warm, crusty, and wonderful.

  Situated on a green painted, multi-slated wood bench, I uncorked the wine and filled our glasses while Avril pulled out all of our selections from various paper bags. “I must tell you, Émile, this is nothing like what you call American style lunch. In the states, we pop into a deli for a one-stop sandwich, assembled for us. Also, drinking alcohol like this, on a public park bench, requires a brown paper sack to be wrapped around the bottle. This Parisian picnic is chic and fabulous.”

  Raising my glass, she lifted hers, as well, and we clinked them together. “À votre santé. I am so happy you are pleased so easily, my pet.” My pants tightened as Avril took a sip of her wine, looking over the rim of her glass directly into my eyes. As she licked her lips, I nearly attacked her right there for all to see.
Smiling to myself, I thought, she would probably like that. I was looking forward to her reaction when we entered the vintage clothing shop. More so, I couldn’t wait until she was adorned with an exquisite dress that I would rid her of publicly. I had to stop thinking of our future meeting or I was going to come in my pants sitting so close to her on the park bench.

  “Émile, may I ask what has you grinning?”

  “Just happy to be enjoying this day with you. Eat up. I’m taking you shopping.”

  “Shopping? Books?”

  “No. I believe you call it a thrift store.”

  Finished with our lunch, we strolled down a few boulevards and rues until we stepped into the past. I watched as Avril beamed, surrounded by vintage clothing displayed elegantly for both men and women. Her lavender eyes sparkled as she twisted her body around, taking it all in. “This place is fantastic, so dreamy.”

  “You approve?” I was wearing a grin. I knew she would be enchanted.

  Her eyes continued to dance around. “This is not like any thrift stores back home. This is posh, I could go broke here,” she said as a young woman sporting crayon-red hair, crowned with a sequined, feathered headband, dressed in a fringed flapper dress, teamed with her signature red cowboy boots, welcomed us to the shop.

  I laughed, informing the shop girl that we had an appointment with Marionette. “Oui, Mr. Capet, please look around the jewelry cases while I get her.”

  While waiting, I spied an ornate lavender jeweled necklace with matching earrings, and pointed them out to the shop assistant before we were escorted to a viewing area. I couldn’t wait to present the dazzling gems to her. They would go perfectly with her eyes, along with some other pieces I had already imagined purchasing for her later in the week.

  Reaching the seating area, we were greeted by Marionette who was equally adorned with vintage clothing. The stunning woman had her ebony hair in an up-do straight out of the 1880s that matched a bustled skirt, paired with a blouse with puffy sleeves. I loved this place with its vast selection of period clothing. I had purchased many items from them over the years. The owner knew me well, as I had a running account, so she could set aside special finds for me.

  With one look at Avril, Marionette rushed out of the area and returned with a deep purple dress with pale lavender lace. “Try it on; it is the one for you. Jade will assist you.”

  Avril followed the assistant to the back of the store, disappearing into a dressing room. When she reappeared, I knew Marionette was right immediately. Though the dress needed to be altered to her body, it made her eyes sparkle even more, if that was possible. The ankle-length dress was cut low in the front and cupped her ample breasts. She looked like a princess. Marionette suggested modern apparel for shoes and undergarments, telling Avril where to purchase them. Then, she maneuvered her to a waiting seamstress. I followed behind. Thinking about what would be under the dress, I nearly moaned as I envisioned how I would savor the very moment I stripped them from her.

  While sitting off to the side on a velvet chair, I noticed my family friend, Francesca, emerging from the back of the shop. Looking directly into a three-sided mirror, she smiled at my beautiful Avril poised on a raised pedestal being pinned by the seamstress clothed in blue jeans, a pirate blouse tied at the waist, and genie-in-the-bottle turquoise shoes.

  I watched as Avril smiled brightly at Francesca and said, “Hello.”

  “Bonjour, Avril. Gorgeous gown; you look stunning.”

  “Merci.”

  “How are you enjoying Romancing the Cobblestone?”

  Before she could answer, I stepped into view.

  “Bonjour, Francesca. Is she the one who you gave the book to?”

  I looked between the two of them as Francesca answered me, “Yes,” and then turned to Avril, “How do you two know each other?”

  “I met him the day I met you. He rescued me when I tripped on a cobblestone sidewalk, making my way home, and dropped the armful of books.”

  I noticed the way that Avril tilted her head down as if in shame when Francesca began to speak to her in a caring tone. “I told you to let me help you, my dear, but…” her words trailed off as she silently gazed at us with her perfectly manicured, polished red fingernail tapping against her matching red lipstick. “Interesting. Is Émile helping you with the journal translation?”

  “No,” her answer was simple, brief. I wondered what she was thinking. I was stunned. Why had I not mentioned this book to her? Why had she not told me about it in all of our conversations about books?

  “I can’t believe you are the one… you have Romancing the Cobblestone. I’ve been searching for that book.”

  Francesca interrupted me, “Yes, she is the one. I told you she was beautiful.”

  “What?” Avril asked, but was ignored.

  “She has the journal and letters, as well.”

  “What journal? Letters?” I asked. I had never heard of a journal or letters, only the infamous book.

  Avril was the one that answered. “The book was in a clear sealed bag along with a journal and five letters tucked inside,” she said in my direction before she turned to Francesca. “I’ve only read the book by Simon. The letters need to be handled correctly—they are very fragile. I’m waiting for special archival sleeves to arrive before I open them. The journal is filled with French and is a bit of a problem—it contains words I’ve not learned in my basic French classes.”

  “Hmmm… perhaps Émile can help you with the journal,” she said looking at me with a gleam in her eyes.

  Staring at Francesca, I could see she obviously had many thoughts swirling around in her pretty, meddlesome head. “I would be happy to,” I said, then changed the subject, “Would you care to join us for afternoon wine at the shop?”

  “Non, merci, I need to get back to my own shop,” she answered, exchanging cheek kisses with everyone. “You two enjoy each other.” I saw a wicked grin on her lips as she said something to me in French that equaled her expression before she exited the shop.

  Once the fitting was complete, they informed us that the dress would be ready for delivery or pick up by the middle of the next week. Avril thanked them and said she would be happy to return to pick it up. Then, we returned to my bookstore for our daily cheese and wine event.

  Standing on either side of the front counter, sipping wine, I made a suggestion about her upcoming book club meeting. “Move your naughty book gathering to my shop. We will close the shop early, if you wish to use the front area of the store. We will move the other sofa and chairs into the center, or we have a private room—let me show you.”

  Entering a hallway at the back of the shop, there were two sets of double doors visible, one pair on the left and another on the right. Moving to the left doors, I opened them to reveal a dark lounge area. Inside, there were plush dark-green velvet sofas, similar to the ones in the main part of the store, and low tables that decorated the room. To the far right, there was a bar with a few wooden stools, a fractured-glass antique mirror, framed in the deepest, darkest mahogany that filled the wall behind the bar.

  “This is gorgeous, Émile. I think the girls would love this room; dark and mysterious. Sexy! Perfect for the book we’re all reading.”

  “Then, it’s settled. Give me the date and time, and invite your friends. Give me an estimate of how many women, along with your approximate budget. We can provide catering for your evening of sinful laughing and drinking.”

  Closing up the room, standing in the hallway, Avril motioned to the other set of doors. “Is that another room that might work better for my group?”

  Not missing a beat, I quickly steered her back into the main area of the store, and nonchalantly answered her, “That room is not available.” She did not question me, seemingly satisfied with my answer, for the time being. I knew it was time to get her out of the shop, to put her in a taxi that would deposit her onto her doorstep. Showing her around the shop’s private area had not been a smart move on my part. Standing s
o close to her, I could smell her, I could tell she wanted me as much as I wanted her, but it was too close to elements that would cloud my judgment.

  No one—no woman, that is—ever went to my apartment. That was my rule. And, I refused to break my own rules, not even for her. God, how I wanted to! I wanted to use everything within my powers… within my reach to bring her to the greatest heights of pleasure. With a bit of strong willpower, I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind and escorted Avril out the front door to a waiting taxi. I told myself that my desires would have to wait until the next week, when I would make one of her fantasies a reality.

  Chapter Ten

  Avril

  Again, I was pushed away by Émile. That time, literally out the door and to the curb. Another woman may have made a scene; I chose to chalk it up as typical behavior for him. We were not a long-term item, so I simply went with the flow. I had no right to question him. In so many ways, we were so much alike. How many times had I quickly slipped out of a man’s arms… his bed? I was a great escape artist myself.

  Had I met my match? A connection—a connection that felt so right, I wanted it to be more? I wanted him for more? How silly of me—I would be back to my gypsy-book-hunting-life within a matter of weeks. I had no time to wonder about us as there would never be an us. No, we were only destined to be friends, colleagues, lovers… No, lovers did not fit—one orgasmic boat ride moment was not enough to label us as lovers.

  One thing that did baffle me, I was a bit curious about what lie beyond the doors in the private hallway of his shop, which seemed to frazzle him. Would he ever show me or would our time run out before? It didn’t really matter; I would delight in whatever he did share with me. I enjoyed being with him. While he wasn’t physically stimulating my body, per se, he was exciting me with book details when we met for coffee during the following week. With each encounter, I realized just how similar our passion for books was. Based on that fact, alone, we were definitely literary soulmates.