by Dara Girard
“I’m Yvette Coulier.”
“I’m Bernard Leroy.”
“Really?”
His brows shot up. “You’ve heard of me?”
She shook her head in regret. “No, but maybe I will one day.”
“Perhaps.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
He tapped the side of his head. “The gray hair reminds me of the years passing.”
“You’re not that old. About forty-five?”
His eyes twinkled. “I’m thirty-five.”
She tried not to show too much surprise. “Oh.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I do,” she said quickly, embarrassed that her guess was off by ten years.
“Years of indulgence. But I’m not here to tell you my life story. I want to ask you a favor.”
Yvette leaned forward, intrigued. “What?”
“I want to paint you.”
“Really?”
“You doubt my sincerity?”
“No,” Yvette said, afraid she might have insulted him. “I’ve just never been asked.”
“Well, now you have. I’m asking. May I paint you?”
A voice, clearly not Yvette’s, responded to his request with a quick, firm “No.”
They both glanced up and saw Nate. Yvette smiled; Bernard froze. Nate pulled out a chair, sat and rested his arms on the table. He looked at Yvette. “Is that clear?”
Her smile grew.
He frowned, then looked at Bernard who seemed to have recovered from his shock. “She’s not doing nudity.”
“I didn’t say anything about nudity.”
Nate measured him with a look. “I’m sure you would like to see her without her clothes on.”
“I’m certain I’m not the only one,” he softly replied.
Yvette waved her hand between them. “Excuse me gentlemen, but I’m still here.” This time she spoke in English.
Nate ignored her and responded in French. “When a woman is naked in my room she isn’t sitting still. I—”
Bernard winced and lifted his hands. “Enough! Your French is awful. Let us speak in English.”
“No, I want to practice,” Nate said, continuing to speak in French.
“Must you practice so badly?” Bernard said in English.
“Only until I improve.”
Bernard covered his ears. “I am in pain. You speak and your words are like daggers.”
“Good.”
Yvette saw Bernard’s face and glanced around, not wanting to draw any more attention. “Nate, I really think you’re hurting him. Please stop.”
He turned to her. “Do you think my French is bad?”
“Yes.”
The two men looked at each other then burst into laughter.
“Beautiful and honest,” Bernard said. He patted Nate on the back, but was soon on his feet giving Nate a warm greeting, as if they were long lost friends. There were more hugs and kisses on the cheek and a quick conversation that Yvette couldn’t follow, then they were back in their seats again.
She stared at the pair, confused. “You two know each other? What’s so funny?”
Bernard looked at Yvette. “You cannot trust this man. He is not what he seems.”
“Yvette knows most of my tricks,” Nate said in perfect French.
“But not all of them,” she said, cautious. He was a master of disguise. One moment he was the rich playboy, then the valet, and now a bohemian traveler fluent in French.
“So what are you two doing here?” Bernard asked.
“Holiday.” Nate glanced at his watch.
Yvette noticed the motion. “Do we have to be somewhere?”
Bernard shook his head. “You Americans are always chasing what you already have—time. Sit awhile.”
They did and Bernard entertained them with stories. Three hours passed before they finally decided to leave.
“I would really like to paint you both,” Bernard said. “I see you two and the picture is now complete.”
Nate began to shake his head, but Yvette responded before he could say anything, “We’d be delighted. But we’re getting ready to go back to the U.S. in a couple of days.”
Bernard handed Yvette his card. “Tomorrow.” He nodded to Nate. “You know where it is,” he said, then left.
“He’s wonderful,” Yvette said.
“And very smart.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know it’s a clever ploy.”
“Ploy?”
“He frequents expensive hotels, charms rich women and offers to paint their portrait. Naturally they pay him for the privilege.”
She thought of Ellen’s idea of men as playthings. “I wonder if that’s the only privilege.”
“He’s not your type.”
“I don’t have a type.” She stroked her chin, pretending to be thoughtful. “A woman could get bored.”
Nate sent her a stern look. “I’ll make sure you’re not bored.”
“Yes, but it’s not every day that a woman has a chance to have an affair in Paris.”
Nate stood. “Are you ready to go?”
Yvette slowly rose to her feet then froze as a realization struck her. “You speak French,” she said, her cheeks burning as she remembered the daring words she had said that night.
He grinned, amusement in his eyes. “Yes.”
She could feel her skin grow hot. “Fluently.”
“Yes,” he said again, then leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “And I remember a few words you taught me. Would you like me to repeat them?”
She swallowed and stared him, wary. “No.”
He ignored her and traced his finger along the top of her blouse. “Chemisier.” He lowered his finger to reveal the top of her bra. “Brassière.” He touched the curve of her breast. “Sein.” He winked. “Am I right?”
She pushed his hand away, feeling as if her entire body was on fire, her heart hammering in her chest. She wanted him to look at her like this, but not out in public. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?”
“I’m ready for something.” She bent down, lightly touching her bottom to the front of his trousers. She swayed back and forth as she pretended to adjust the strap of her shoe. When she finally felt the affect she wanted, she stood and smiled, pleased that her teasing had worked. “I’m just curious how long I have to wait.” She glanced down, resisting the urge to grab him in her hand. She spun away. “Shouldn’t be too long.”
“So how much does she know?” Bernard asked as he and Nate sat in a small hidden café the next morning. He loved the sounds of people going back and forth, and the smells coming out of the shops.
Nate sighed. “Nothing.”
“Why not? She’s bound to find out.”
Nate lifted his mug. “Not if no one tells her.”
Bernard sat back in his chair and muttered something.
“That didn’t sound like French.”
“That’s because I like to swear in English. You’re making a mistake.”
Nate shook his head. “It’s not what you think. We’re playing a little game. It will end soon and then we’ll go our separate ways.”
“But you like her.”
“I’ve liked plenty of women.”
“But not like this. I see how you look at her, but more important, I see how she looks at you.”
Nate picked up his croissant. “I can’t help that.”
“Why do you hesitate? A man should not heat up an oven and not put a cake in it.”
“You just made that up.”
“One day I’ll be old. I want to start sounding wise.”
“You’re not there yet.”
“But you get my meaning. She is a beautiful, desirable woman who obviously wants you. Do not deny yourself this tasty treat.”
Nate held up his hand as though fending off the idea. “No more relationships for me.”
“Why?”
“How do you f—”
He shot him a cold look. “I’ve told you never to ask me that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So now you understand.”
“But it still doesn’t make the reason clear.”
Nate shrugged.
“So you’ve given up? That’s your decision?”
He shrugged again.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Bernard sighed fiercely, but not one to stay annoyed long, he winked at a passing waitress, smiled at an old man walking by, then changed the subject. “How is the little leaf?”
Nate couldn’t help a smile. Bernard had given Cathleen that nickname because she always trembled when her mother was around. “She’s fine.”
“Is her mother—” He made a helpless gesture with his hand searching for words.
“Yes.”
“Poor thing.”
“Perhaps not. She’s finally caught the interest of someone.”
Bernard nearly choked on his coffee. “She’s seeing a man?”
“Yes.”
Bernard nodded. “Perhaps there’s hope in the world after all. I’ll see you later.”
“This portrait better be quick.”
“Of course.”
“Are you almost finished?” Nate demanded, his booming voice startling the pigeons that had decided to rest on the windowsill.
“Keep still,” Bernard ordered.
“You’ve taken our picture a million times and sketched us for over an hour.”
“Less.”
“Don’t rush him,” Yvette said.
Nate sighed. He stood behind her holding a tray of red grapes and a glass of wine while wearing a valet uniform. Yvette lay on a velvet red couch, directly in front of him, adorned in a sensuous sky-blue evening gown. “You say that because you’re more comfortable.”
“Don’t ruin this for me,” Yvette said. “Only a few weeks ago I was preparing a dog for a moment like this and now I’m the focus of the attention. I want to enjoy it.”
“You’re doing an excellent job.”
“Feed her a grape,” Bernard said.
Nate stiffened. “What?”
“Sit on the couch with her and feed her a grape.”
Nate ripped a grape from the bunch.
“Be careful,” Bernard cried. “I don’t want them bruised.”
Nate softly swore, then bent toward Yvette and pressed the cool grape against her bottom lip.
“Put it in a little farther. Yes. Stop. That’s perfect.”
Her lips touched his fingers. Yvette looked into his eyes, her heart constricting at the dark compelling pools that watched her. What thoughts did he have? Did he think that with one small gesture his fingers would be in her mouth? Did he remember their kiss? Did he ever wonder what it would feel like to kiss her again? She dropped her gaze, desperate to focus on something else and noticed how wide his shoulders were and how his fitted white shirt emphasized the muscles beneath it.
“I’m finished.”
They didn’t move. Nate’s gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. “Do you want to eat it?”
She nodded.
He released the grape and she closed her mouth, but not before closing her lips over his fingers. He slowly pulled them away. “Was it good?”
She nodded again.
He flashed an enigmatic smile and stood.
Yvette allowed herself to breathe.
Nate walked over to Bernard, who stood behind his canvas.
“Stay where you are,” Bernard said.
Nate stopped. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Drama makes life more interesting. No one sees my work until it is finished.”
“When will that be?”
Bernard looked at Yvette then Nate. “In three weeks.”
“That’s too long,” Yvette said. “We won’t—” She stopped before she said be together.
Nate folded his arms. “And we can’t spend any more time in Paris.” Cathleen had called to let him know that she had gone out two more times with Lewis and felt she was falling in love. When he told Yvette she was concerned, but he told her not to be.
Bernard put his pencil down. “It will be worth the wait. Don’t worry, I’ll ship it to you. At your expense of course.” He smiled. “You can afford it.”
Chapter 10
Yvette wasn’t sure what woke her that night, but the sound of movement outside her door got her out of bed. She grabbed her satin robe, pulled it over her pink boudoir set and left the bedroom.
The apartment was dark and for a moment she thought the sound had been in her dream, but then she heard the sounds of the city and saw the balcony door open. She walked over to it and found Nate sitting at the table, sketching. In the distance the Eiffel Tower shone and the scents of Paris—the wet streets, the diesel fumes, the shops and flowers that laced the balcony—surrounded them. She walked up behind him and saw a charcoal sketch of the street below.
“That’s very good,” she said.
He leaped up and spun around. She backed away. She no longer had to imagine what his chest looked like. He only wore a pair of jeans. She’d seen him in a suit, she’d seen him in a chauffeur’s uniform, and even in a shirt and tie, but never like this. Was this the real Nate? “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I didn’t know you were up.” His gaze dropped to her robe then quickly moved to her face. “Did you need something?”
“I heard movement. Can’t sleep?”
He picked up the pencils he’d scattered on the ground.
“Nightmare again?”
He rested the pencils on the table, then sat.
“Still don’t want to talk about it?”
He gathered the sketches he’d left on the table.
She muttered something rude in French.
“I heard that.”
“Good.”
She grabbed a sketch before he could reach it. “Who are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re good at everything you do. You’re successful in business, you speak French, you’re a great valet, and now this. You’re a true artist. Have you ever failed at anything?”
“Not yet,” he said in a grave tone.
“Do you expect to?”
He turned away.
She jumped in front of him. “Nate, why won’t you talk to me?”
“Have you ever been married?”
She paused, surprised by the change in subject. “No.”
“Why not?”
“That’s a personal question.”
“Correct, and you have the right not to answer. That doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“And it doesn’t make you a bad person to want to know more about someone.”
“What’s the point? We won’t know each other in two weeks.”
“But we know each other now. One thing I like about dogs is that they live in the moment.”
He sat and returned to his sketch. “You better go back to bed, you have a busy day tomorrow.”
Yvette rolled up her sleeves. “I’m going to figure you out if it kills me.” She stood behind him, then gripped his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” he asked warily.
“I’m going to help you relax. I had a tense fox terrier once that I used to massage to ease his muscles and he loved it.” She began working the muscles in his neck and shoulders. “You’re very tense.”
His tone deepened. “I know.”
“Like a board.”
“In more ways than one,” he grumbled.
“What?”
“I think you should stop.”
She shook her head, determined. “You’re still tense.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“What reason?”
He jumped to his feet and faced her, his eyes like hot coals. “Careful, Yvette, you’re going down a dangerous road.”
She backed away. “What?”
“I’m not a little terrier that you can feed treats to, or a big Doberman that you can stroke, or a Labrador you need to pat on the head and say ‘Good boy’ to. I’m a man. A rational, logical man and I want you to know a few things about me.” He took a menacing step toward her; she took a hasty step back. “I don’t want your help.” He took another step forward; she backed into the balcony railing. “I don’t want your worry.” He stopped a few inches in front of her, his dark gaze penetrating hers. “I don’t want your thanks.” He rested his hands on the railing behind her, trapping her in the circle of his arms. “And I don’t want to want you.” His mouth covered hers with the fierce, unrelenting force of an avalanche.
Yvette returned his kiss with just as much passion, wrapping her arms around his neck and arching her soft body into his hard form. He moaned, deepening the kiss and she let her arms fall to the muscles in his back, reveling in the feel of his warm flesh pressed against hers.
He drew away. “We should stop.”
She pulled him close, wrapping one leg around his. “Why?”
He slid his arm around her waist. “You know why. I hadn’t planned this.”
She bit his earlobe and whispered, “Then you can write it into my schedule.”
He shook his head. “We have to remember this is business. It’s serious.”
She touched the tip of his ear with her tongue. “I’m very serious about this.”
“It’s easy to fall in love in Paris.”
She pulled away and stared up at him. “Have you done this before?”
“No.” He kissed her again, then said in a hoarse voice, “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Yvette tenderly touched his cheek, confused by his apparent torment. “Nate, we’re two adults.”
“This will change everything,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” His eyes blazed down into hers. “I know what’s at stake. If you sleep with me I guarantee you everything will change between us. Are you ready to take that risk?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
He cupped her face in his hands and searched her eyes. “Do you really believe in just living for today and not worrying about the future?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, although she felt his question hid another one.
“Good.” He stared up at the sky. “I defy you to meddle with me tonight. I’m going to enjoy this.”