One Christmas in Paris

by Mandy Baggot

  He was still holding her hands, his eyes so expressive, projecting a million different things she didn’t even know how to start to translate. And then he let her go.

  ‘You really want this?’ he checked again.

  ‘I really do,’ Ava answered.

  ‘OK,’ he agreed.

  ‘OK?’

  ‘But it is a professional shoot,’ he stated.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied a little uneasy about the truth of her reply.

  ‘Let me move some of the furniture.’

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  56

  Julien hadn’t been able to watch as Ava undressed. But he knew she was doing it because he heard almost every button unfasten, the sliding down of her trousers, the taking off of the boots, even the unclasping of her bra. He just carried on setting up his equipment, choosing the right lens, ensuring the batteries were charged, anything to keep his mind on the job and not on the fact the woman he loved was about to be completely naked in front of him.

  Ava let out a breath that put every part of him on high alert. He dropped a memory card and quickly bent down to retrieve it, eyes focussing on the floorboards.

  ‘I’m ready,’ Ava said, her voice thick.

  He swallowed. She might be ready but he wasn’t sure he was. He had to dig deep, be professional. She wanted photos of herself she had never had before. It was important to her. And it had never been more important to him.

  He turned then, his vision drawn to his sofa, the corduroy cushions plumped at one end and Ava’s beautiful form resting there, completely nude.

  He cleared his throat, trying to beat down the rising heat that was taking a stranglehold on him. This was both exquisite and unbearable. ‘OK.’

  ‘Is this OK?’ Ava asked, propping her head up with one hand, legs together but elongated along the length of the settee.

  Julien moved behind the camera, hoping that looking at her through the viewfinder would dampen his arousal a little. He took a breath, allowing the camera to focus. No, he was definitely still very much aroused.

  ‘Just hold very still,’ he directed softly. ‘Nothing more.’

  ‘I am holding very still, Monsieur Fitoussi,’ she answered. ‘And your cushions are a little itchy. I can guess you probably haven’t had many naked girls on this sofa before.’

  ‘Really?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps your skin is just more sensitive.’ He pressed the button on the camera.

  ‘And I asked for that,’ Ava responded, smiling.

  He looked up from behind the camera, a serious expression on his face. ‘Being honest, you are the first naked woman I have had on my sofa, Madonna,’ he assured.

  ‘I knew,’ Ava whispered.

  He went back behind the camera, changing the focus a little. She was undeniably beautiful and what made it even more endearing was the fact she didn’t even truly know that. She had been a model, someone who was held up as the look to aspire to, yet he saw her self-consciousness and susceptibility. Despite being brave enough to strip herself bare in front of him, he could see it hadn’t been without a lot of consideration. And there was that tattoo, a circle and two triangles making a ten-pointed star on her right side, just above her hip bone.

  ‘I can’t hear the camera, Monsieur Fitoussi,’ she called. ‘This isn’t the Moulin Rouge you know.’

  He smiled and took another shot, then watched her adjust her stance, her eyes coming back from looking out the window and resting on him. He snapped another shot.

  ‘Did you design your tattoo?’ he asked her.

  ‘Does it show?’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘It isn’t just a drawing. Each point means something,’ Ava spoke. ‘Courage, power, destiny...’

  ‘Beauty?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Although I never quite believed in that one. Is this position OK?’ she asked.

  He could barely breathe as it was. Professionalism had never felt so hard to maintain. ‘For the moment,’ he answered. ‘Ava...’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  ‘I would like you to pretend you are wearing the most expensive perfume you can imagine.’

  She sighed. ‘My mum spent most of her money on perfume... and jewellery... and a boob job.’

  ‘No,’ he stated. ‘This is... something different. Not expensive... more like rare. This perfume has never been worn before, it is delicate... it is yours alone... an individual fragrance just for you.’

  He watched her, instinctively knowing what was going to happen to her body. He had used this technique once before when his subject was particularly unrelaxed. That time he had suggested they were wearing a dress made of the finest silk.

  The tension seeped from Ava’s body and every part of her was now alert and completely connected in the moment. She thought she was modelling the fragrance as if she could show that to the world, but really she was baring her inner beauty to the lens of his camera.

  ‘That’s good,’ he spoke, knowing his tone was giving away how much this was affecting him.

  ‘Maybe,’ Ava said, moving her body a little. ‘Maybe, it would work even better if you came a little closer.’

  He watched her through the viewfinder and closed his eyes. What did he do? His body was singing with arousal and his heart had been lost long ago. But getting close in the way she was referring meant letting her truly in. Baring himself, literally. And the very last time he had done that everything had fallen apart.

  * * *

  Ava was starting to shiver. Not from the cold, because the room was warm, but from all the delicious feelings that were rolling over her. She had never felt so alive or as comfortable in her own skin as she did right now. But taking off her clothes had been so much more than giving permission for Julien to photograph her, it had been wanting to let him know how she felt about him. It was crazy that it had happened so fast but the truth was, it had happened. The unthinkable, the very thing she had sworn to avoid in Paris – a man in her life.

  ‘Julien,’ she called.

  His face was behind his camera so she couldn’t see his eyes.

  ‘Julien, look at me,’ she begged.

  He raised his head then, his eyes going to her and she quaked.

  ‘Ava,’ he began. ‘There is something you should know.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, there isn’t.’

  ‘Ava...’

  ‘I know, Julien,’ she replied. ‘I know what you’re afraid of and you don’t need to be.’

  ‘You do not understand,’ he insisted.

  ‘I do,’ she said, putting her feet to the floor and standing up. ‘Vivienne told me tonight. When you were in the kitchen.’ She took steps to close the gap between them.

  She watched him drop his head. ‘What did she tell you?’ he whispered.

  Ava reached him and palmed his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. ‘She told me you were injured the night Lauren died. She told me she thinks you never took time to get over that because you were too focussed on mourning your sister.’

  He looked down at her. ‘Did she tell you I have a ten-inch scar on my left side that will never heal?’

  ‘Only ten inches, Monsieur Fitoussi? I was really hoping for fifteen.’

  ‘Look at you,’ he breathed. ‘Perfect in every way.’

  ‘No,’ she stated. ‘I’m not. But for the first time in forever I am happy with that.’ She moved her hands to the buttons of his shirt. ‘And a lot of that is down to you.’

  She unfastened the first button and moved on to the second, watching him watching her.

  ‘Before you came here, Ava, I was not good to be around.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It is true,’ he whispered. ‘I was sad and I was angry and sometimes I wished to not even be here any more.’

  ‘And now?’ she asked, as she made light work of the other buttons.

  ‘Now,’ he began. ‘Life is beginning to feel different.’

  She pulled
the shirt from his body and smoothed her hands over his shoulders. ‘This week, you’ve shown me so much, Julien... the real, uncovered Paris. With the best food, the best wine, the best museums, the best tower, the most annoying pigeons...’

  ‘Camembert,’ he whispered.

  ‘Falafels,’ she breathed, tracing a fingertip across his chest.

  His mouth met hers then and she rocked back on her bare feet as the force of his desire came at her. His hands holding her close, he moved her back, towards the sofa, his mouth hot with hers.

  She fell against the cushions, coming apart from him and he stood in front of her, his eyes appraising. Her breath tight in her chest, her eyes roved down his torso, acknowledging his taut physique, until they reached the scar on his side. She swallowed, following the mark to its end, just above the waistband of his jeans.

  Reaching out gingerly, she made contact with the mark, her fingers softly tracing the dips and lines in the flesh.

  ‘Madonna,’ he whispered, his hand finding hers as if to shield her from it.

  ‘No,’ Ava said, dismissing his touch.

  ‘Please,’ he said.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with it, Julien,’ she insisted firmly. ‘All it says to me is that you’re here. That you are in one piece.’ She brought her lips to the tender skin and kissed him gently. ‘That you survived.’

  She felt him flinch a little then relax as she drew away, her hands at his hips, tugging him towards her.

  * * *

  She was looking up at him, her cheeks a little flushed, her eyes wide, her hands at the button of his fly. He had never wanted to connect with anyone as much as he wanted to connect with her... on every level.

  He unfastened the buttons of his jeans, dragging the denim away, all the while keeping his gaze on her. He wanted to see her regard him, all of him, and to know that she was not going to look away.

  His hands dealt with his underwear too until there was nothing left between them but a little floor space in front of the couch.

  ‘If you touch me now, Julien, I feel like I might—’ She couldn’t seem to finish the sentence and the sentiment hit him low.

  ‘I know I might,’ he whispered, dropping his body a little lower, inching a little nearer. ‘But I also know that if I do not, then I will regret it for the rest of my life.’

  He moved over her, his torso perfectly aligned with hers, keeping them apart by just inches, eyes locked together. His composure was weakening as every second passed by, longing to touch, to taste, to lose himself in her completely. And then she moved, just a fraction, arching her back and ensuring her breasts touched his chest. In that instant everything else was forgotten.

  Julien slipped his hands behind her, scooping her up in his arms and drawing her form close until nothing separated them.

  ‘Julien,’ she breathed.

  ‘Ava, I want to honour you every single moment we are together.’

  Tears started to leak from her eyes as she gazed back at him.

  He spoke again. ‘You have become the most special person in my life and I do not know what I have done to deserve this.’ He dropped a kiss on her throat as her head momentarily tilted back.

  She breathed hard, then looked back at him, kissing his mouth and pressing her body hard against his. Taking his hand she placed it between her legs.

  ‘Ava,’ he moaned.

  ‘Madonna,’ she corrected.

  ‘Madonna,’ he whispered.

  ‘Make love to me, Monsieur Fitoussi.’

  57

  Ava nuzzled her head into the space between Julien’s shoulder and neck, breathing in the scent of his slightly damp, dark hair. Every tiny particle of her was still exploding like a fireworks display. He had slowly skimmed every inch of her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue and made her feel things she never even knew existed. She blinked into the dark, holding onto him, the flashes of snow on the windowpane outside reminding her that there was a world going on away from this room but that right now there was nowhere she would rather be. She was happy to be cocooned here, possibly forever.

  ‘Madonna?’ he said, shifting slightly and drawing her tighter into him.

  ‘I’m still here,’ she answered.

  ‘I know this.’

  She turned then, a tricky manoeuvre on the edge of a sofa people should really only be sitting on, until she was facing him.

  ‘I never want to get up,’ she stated.

  He smiled, brushing her hair with his hand. ‘I think this will be difficult.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘For many reasons.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Like how would we get falafel?’

  ‘They must have a delivery service.’

  ‘I would never take another photograph.’

  Ava leaned back a little, stretching her arm as far as she could manage. ‘I think,’ she said, her voice under strain, ‘if I just move a little bit more... I could reach your camera...’ She dropped her arm and stilled. ‘No. Can’t reach it.’

  He smiled at her, latently brushing her skin with his fingers. ‘It is late,’ he whispered.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s early. A brand-new day. And in a few hours the sun is going to start coming up and cafés are going to start serving coffee and all those pastries stuffed with chocolate and Paris is going to come alive again and...’

  ‘Then we should get some sleep,’ Julien offered.

  ‘I can’t sleep,’ Ava answered. ‘I hate to tell you this, Monsieur Fitoussi, but what we just did... it was like drinking six espressos.’

  ‘You have had six espressos at one time?’ he queried.

  ‘I had four once and spent the rest of the day feeling like Batman.’

  ‘You know Batman personally, Madonna?’

  She punched his arm. ‘I meant the crazy take-on-the-world-with-funky-gadgets kind of vibe.’

  ‘Batman,’ he repeated, smiling.

  ‘And you can be my Robin.’

  ‘I do not think the tights would be my thing.’

  He pressed his mouth against hers, delivering another soft, sensual kiss that warmed every part of her. Their lips still together, she drew herself closer to him, feeling him wrap his arms around her.

  ‘We should get some sleep,’ he said again.

  ‘We should talk about the exhibition,’ she countered.

  ‘I have taken on too much, do you think? To try and do something like this before Christmas? Before my parents’ wedding?’

  ‘No! I think quite the opposite. And believe me, with my mum on the case, if anyone can plan an event within a tight deadline it’s her.’

  ‘I need more photographs,’ he told her. ‘I need to get in touch with the other families, ask for their help.’

  ‘And I can help you,’ she said, connecting their hands.

  ‘Madonna,’ he spoke. ‘You are the most amazing person. I hope you know this.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m getting used to that idea but,’ she said, circling her arms around his neck, ‘I think I need a tiny little bit more convincing.’

  ‘Really?’ he asked, moving his face nearer to hers.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And I’m not talking about your long-range lens.’

  ‘No?’ He kissed her.

  ‘I’m talking extreme close-up.’ She squealed as his fingers found a ticklish spot.

  ‘How about 4D?’ he inquired.

  ‘Oh, Mr Fitoussi, ooh la la!’

  58

  Hotel Agincourt

  Ava could hear her mother’s voice the moment she stepped through the front doors of the hotel. She had left Julien at the brasserie after crepes and two espressos. He was going to try and contact the other relatives who had lost loved ones in the fire and endeavour to get their support for the exhibition. She had other things to organise, like the invitations and the guest list. She didn’t have the first clue about event planning but it was all for Julien. Gorgeous, hot Julien, the mould of his fit body still ing
rained on her fingertips.

  ‘I got a text message that said eleven o’ clock,’ Rhoda said.

  ‘Yes, me too,’ Debs answered.

  ‘She did not text me,’ Didier responded.

  ‘I don’t think she has your number yet, sweetie,’ Debs said. ‘Oh, Gary’s just texted me. He’s at the airport, heading home.’ She sighed. ‘I hope he doesn’t feel he has to tell me his exact location all the time. I don’t want him to feel like I’m an electronic tag or anything.’

  ‘I want to know why Ava isn’t in her room,’ Rhoda continued.

  Ava watched Debs look at Didier and Didier look back at Debs and no one dared looked at Rhoda.

  ‘I’m here!’ Ava announced, striding closer. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ Rhoda asked. ‘It’s all very well sending messages asking us to be down here but—’

  ‘I popped out... for croissants,’ Ava stated.

  Rhoda looked at her with suspicion. ‘The breakfast here is superb... even for those with special dietary requirements.’

  ‘I know but... when in France.’ Ava shot a look at Debs.

  ‘So, where are they?’ Rhoda asked.

  ‘Where are what?’

  ‘The croissants,’ Rhoda said, her eyes on Ava’s empty hands.

  ‘Ah!’ Ava exclaimed. ‘I must have left them in the boulangerie! Never mind, we’ll order some with coffee, yes?’ She smiled at the three of them and headed off towards the bar-cum-snug area where the roaring fire awaited.

  * * *

  ‘We really need some proper art work,’ Rhoda stated. ‘It’s all very well me sending out emails but we need to follow them up with professional invitations, it’s how things are done.’

  Ava’s brain was bursting. Despite telling Julien this was definitely something they could achieve in double-quick time, she was starting to realise just what was ahead of them – very closely ahead of them.

  ‘I can do the artwork,’ Ava said before she had thought about it.