“Who’s Sophie?”
“She owns the gallery down the street. I sell my work there.”
“Do you make a lot of money selling your art?”
“It just depends on the piece. Sometimes I can’t believe what people are willing to pay for my work. I mean, I love it, but it surprises me sometimes.”
“Do you have any that you can show me?”
“None of the stuff I have here is complete yet, but it will be next week.”
“Why Paris?”
The realization of how much of her life that Ian has missed smacks her in the face. Again, feelings of anger trickle into her heart. Anger at Jaden for lying and keeping Ian away from her. Anger toward her brother that she pushed away years ago.
“What’s wrong?”
Grace shakes her head. She does not want to ruin the moment they are having by reminding Ian of the betrayals to which they have been victims. “Nothing. You know I always dreamed of living in Paris.”
“Yeah, I remember.” He smiles.
“Well, after…after L.A. I went back to live with my brother and that’s pretty much all Missy and I ever talked about. We wouldn’t shut up about wanting to be models in Paris.” She laughs. “I guess we drove him so crazy that he decided to send us here.”
“How could James afford something like that?”
“Oh, you don’t know. My parents had life insurance. James saved it for us to go to college. He got us this loft and paid our tuition for two years while we went to school here. Missy and I were both able to book modeling jobs to pay our other bills. Plus, Michelle started selling her photographs at galleries.”
“Is that what Michelle does? Photography?”
“Yeah. She’s amazing, Ian. Not just her fashion work, but she does incredible landscapes.”
Ian pulls Grace close to his body. “I’m so proud of both of you.”
After a long moment, Ian gets up and grabs the dishes.
“I can do that,” Grace says, sitting up.
“Oh, no you don’t. You relax, doll.”
Grace huffs. “Okay then, I’m not going to argue with you.”
Ian cleans the kitchen and does the dishes while Grace relaxes on the sofa. Walking over to her, rubbing a dishtowel over his hands, he asks, “Shower?”
Grace nods. A rush of excitement takes over and a grin spreads across her face.
Once undressed, they climb into the shower together. Warm water washes over her breasts and cascades down her body in tiny waterfalls. Ian’s hands rub her head with deep penetrating massages. Her hair is full of lather and she is so completely relaxed. She has not a care in the world as he takes the showerhead and rinses the shampoo from her hair. It is as if he is washing away all of her fears. Their bodies slide against each other from the slickness of the soap and water.
Grace turns to face him. “Your turn,” she says, as she grabs the shampoo and pours some into her palm.
Ian turns around and she rubs his head with the shampoo, her breasts sliding over his bare, muscular back. She lathers up his hair and then uses the suds to cover him. She pushes the heels of her palms into his back massaging him.
He moans aloud in pleasure. “That feels so good.”
“I’m going to make you feel even better.” With slow, delicate movements, she reaches her hands around his hips and to his groin. She takes his erection into her hands and rubs up and down.
Ian falls against the wall of the shower, his hands planted flat on the tile. Grace continues to stroke his erection and rubs her body against him. The sounds of their heavy breaths fill the bathroom.
Ian turns to face her and grabs her by both of her shoulders. “I love you, Grace.”
His words are like a beautiful melody that both enthuses and frightens her. When her ex-boyfriend Eddie would say, “I love you,” it never felt sincere. She always knew in her heart of hearts that no man ever loved her the way that Ian did. The enduring look in his eyes and the tone in which he just said it are all the proof she needs to know that he sincerely means what he says.
Ian grabs the showerhead and rinses the shampoo from their bodies. Then he wraps his arms around her, pushing his hard erection between her legs. The touch of him there makes her throb with desire. He drops to his knees and kisses between her thighs. Her hand hits the tile with a loud slapping sound as Ian’s warm, moist mouth falls on her. She lifts her leg and places it on the edge of the tub, allowing him full access.
Ian sucks on her sensitive, wet skin, his mouth watering as he takes her clit between his lips. Grace cannot control the exasperated, heavy breaths that leave her. His lips feel so good against her, so full and soft. He has always been good at this, but his skills have improved immensely. No one has ever made her feel this good while doing this to her. She erupts into a long, earth-shattering orgasm.
Ian rises from his knees and lets the warm water wash over his face and into his mouth. Turning, he grabs Grace and pushes her against the tiles, her body limp but still fervent, ready for more. He grabs her leg, lays it over his hip, and then slides inside her, stiff and throbbing. They make love until they both climax.
~ ~ ~
Ian stands on one side of her bed and Grace stands on the other, dressing for the day.
“I feel so good.” She smiles.
“I do, too, but I need a change of clothes,” he says, slipping on his jeans.
“Where are you staying?”
“Hôtel du Louvre. It’s close to the café.”
“Wow, Ian. Hoity-toity,” she jokes.
He shrugs his shoulders and smiles.
“That’s one of the most expensive hotels in Paris.”
“My record company put me up there. It’s pretty swanky.”
“I’d say. What do you want to do today?” she asks. Planning a day with Ian seems so impossible to her. “What would you like to see?”
“I’m looking at it,” he says, with a devilish grin.
She giggles. “You’re pouring it on awfully thick, Monsieur.”
“I can’t help it. I’m not trying to be cocky. I swear. I mean what I say. I would be perfectly content sitting on the couch or lying in bed and just staring at you all day.”
“You’re silly,” she says, slipping on her shirt. “You’re in Paris, Ian. Paris. Let’s do something fun.”
“Looking at you is fun, babe.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” Ian walks around the bed and pulls her aggressively towards him by the hips. “This is going to sound cliché, but I could spend the rest of my life looking in those emerald eyes.”
Grace’s cheeks warm and her tummy twists. No man has ever made her so tied up inside like Ian does. He makes her feel like they are seventeen again, falling in love for the first time. She did not think it was possible to feel this way again.
Ian leans into her neck and places sweet kisses on it.
“If you keep doing that, we’ll never get out of here.”
“Good, that’s my intention.”
“Uh, Ian.”
“Okay, okay.” He backs away with his lips curved into a smile.
They sit on Grace’s bed and plan their day.
“First, can we stop by my hotel so I can change and grab some clothes?”
“Of course.” Grace throws some makeup and an outfit to wear to dinner in case she needs it into a bag and smiles.
“I think I’d like to see the Eiffel Tower up close. I’ve been in Paris for a few days, but I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to reach out to you, photoshoots, and interviews, that I haven’t had time to explore the city.”
“You can’t come here and not go to the Eiffel Tower.”
“Sounds good.”
Chapter 5
The door attendant at the hotel tips his hat at Ian and Grace as they walk hand in hand through the grand entrance of Hôtel du Louvre. Grace’s feet move across the shiny, white marble floor with diamond shaped, black marble accents. The reception desk
stretches around the entire back of the lobby and large, black marble pillars are scattered throughout the immense lobby area.
Piano music trails in from the lounge as Ian guides Grace up the elegant wrought iron staircase and she takes in the beautiful sight of the luxurious hotel lobby. Ian slips his card key into the door of the suite on the top floor and holds the door open for her.
“The suite?” Grace asks, amazed.
Ian only smiles and shrugs his shoulders, his head nodding motioning Grace to enter the room. The room is huge, especially for Paris. It is a two-room suite with one side of the suite set up like a living room with sofas, a television, and expensive wood furniture. A sitting area with a table is situated by two large French doors, which lead to a large balcony that overlooks the city. As she stares out the large glass, something in her peripheral vision captures her attention. Grace tilts her head to the side and squints, trying to make out what caught her eye. In the corner of the room, she sees several paintings lying up against the wall.
“Ian!” she gasps. “You bought my paintings?”
“I did.” A sly, handsome smile crosses his face.
“Ian. I—”
“They’re stunning, Grace. You’re so talented. I had to have them,” he says, walking over to the paintings.
Ian flicks through the paintings and pulls one out lifting it up in the air in front of him. “This is my favorite.” He holds an 11x14 painting of a rolling golden, yellow hillside. Large bush-like, green trees jut out from the ground and sporadically dot the painting, with a small villa situated in the vibrant orange and red horizon, and a colorful vineyard set off to the side of the painting.
“Is it Tuscany?” he asks, still admiring the painting.
“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to go there. I used a photograph of Michelle’s for inspiration.”
“It’s just mind-blowing. So realistic. I thought it was a photo when I saw it at a distance,” Ian says, as he returns it to the large pile.
“Ian, you didn’t need to buy them. I would’ve given them to you.”
He walks over to her and places his hands softly on each of her arms and stares into her eyes. “I wasn’t sure I would get to talk to you, let alone have you paint for me.”
“I’m giving the money back.”
“No, you’re not. I can afford it. Trust me.”
“That’s not the point. You’re my—”
“I’m not taking the money back and you’re not giving me these paintings. If you want to paint me something else as a gift then that’s fine, but not these.” He kisses her on her forehead, then walks over to the dresser and pulls out clothes.
Grace stands still in the same spot, staring at the paintings. I’ll figure out a way to get that money back to him.
Ian dresses in fresh clothes. A pair of blue jeans and a tight, gray, V-neck t-shirt, and then they head out to spend the day together.
They stop at the same café that Grace and Michelle frequent on a daily basis and sit at Grace and Michelle’s usual table. The time flies while they exchange stories of their current lives and they occasionally bring up their past with each other, reminiscing about the good times. They can speak to each other with ease, just as they did under the old oak tree at their high school back in Ocean View, Oregon or for hours lying on Grace’s bed.
They walk through the streets of Paris, Grace with her arms entwined with Ian’s, poking into little shops. Occasionally, Grace eyes a trinket or something else she fancies. The next thing Grace knows, they are walking down the street and Ian pulls it from his pocket and presents it to her. It is like Christmas morning in June for her, and not just because of the gifts.
As they walk, their arms linked together by love, a sense of rightness seizes her. After all these years, her love life is finally going in the right direction. Firmly planted in both her modeling and an artistic career, and Ian thriving as a musician, they are finally together, having accomplished the things they dreamed about as young lovers. She leans her head on his arm and takes in his smell. Not only does it fill her nose with the familiar, musky scent of him, but also it fills her heart with joy.
“Wait right here,” Ian says, as he releases Grace and plants her on a bench outside a few stores. He enters a shop, gone for only about ten minutes. He emerges holding a plush blanket.
“What’s that for?” she asks, reaching her hand out to caress the soft material.
“For our nap in front of the Eiffel Tower,” he says, with a cute smile and a wink.
He grabs Grace’s arm and continues walking towards their destination.
When they arrive at the Eiffel Tower, it is jam packed with tourists. Ian stretches his neck backward to take in the sheer size of the structure, astounded by its massive height.
“Are we going up?” Grace asks.
“That would be awesome!” Ian says.
They pack themselves into an elevator already full of other tourists. Ian knows that Grace gets uncomfortable in tight, small places, with strangers, so he reaches for her hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “Almost there, Gracie,” he whispers, in her ear, attempting to calm her.
The doors of the elevator open to reveal that they are eighty-one stories above the city. Grace hesitates before exiting the elevator and looks at Ian with wide, rounded eyes.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m right here.”
She steps out onto the platform.
“First time?” he asks, confused.
“No, but I can never get over my fright.”
From behind her, he wraps his arms around her. “I’m right here, baby. You’ll be just fine.”
He walks her to the edge of the railing and they gaze out over the city. Ian taps the arm of an elderly man. “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur. Prendre des photos?”
The look of shock on Grace’s face forces a smile on his. “You speak French, Ian?”
“Un peu.”
The elderly man is happy to oblige them and takes the camera that Ian pulls from his pocket.
Ian pulls Grace tight against his body, her back touching his chest, his arms wrapped around her, and smiles, not only because he is happy to be in Paris, but because he has the one true love of his life in his arms. Ian plants a kiss on Grace’s cheek and then the elderly man snaps another photo. The man’s eyes gleam, and Ian smiles back.
“Merci,” Grace says, elegantly, with a giant smile on her face.
Ian follows her lead. “Merci beaucoup,” he says, smiling and taking the camera back from him.
The man tips his hat, eyes sparkling and says, “Elle est belle!”
Ian looks at Grace to translate for him.
Grace blushes lowering her head and lifting her eyes to meet Ian’s. “He said ‘She is beautiful!’”
“Well, he’s a smart man,” Ian says, as he wraps his arm around Grace’s waist and steers her back towards the elevator.
They take the long ride back down. They step out and Ian scans the area for a place they can spend time together.
“What are you looking for?” she asks with a tiny laugh that he finds endearing.
“A place to lay our blanket.”
“I know the perfect spot!” She grabs Ian’s hand and half-skips across the grass.
They find themselves several yards away from the tower where trees line a large patch of bright, green grass. Ian pulls out the puffy, sage colored blanket he just purchased, whips it in the air, and it falls to the ground. He takes Grace’s hand and helps her to sit. Out of his backpack, he pulls a loaf of bread, cheese, and meats that he picked up at a market they stopped on their way to the tower.
Grace’s smile reaches from ear-to-ear, and he swears he sees a twinkle in her eye. “What?” he asks.
“This reminds me of our first date. That’s still, to this day, the sweetest, most wonderful date I’ve ever had. When I close my eyes, I can remember it as if it were a scene from a movie. We were so young.”
“And innocent.” Ian laughs.
Gra
ce giggles. “You can say that again. You were so sweet, Ian. With your little Ocean View Grocer’s bag, the sodas, the sub sandwich. Looks like not much has changed,” she says, waving over the picnic Ian lays out.
“I’m sorry there’s no mustard. They didn’t have any packets.”
“Things are a little different over here. This is fine. I’m used to eating it like this.” Grace takes a bite of her sandwich and chews, staring at Ian.
“What?” he asks. He knows this look. She has something on her mind.
“Are you ever going to talk to Jaden again?”
Ian shakes his head. “I don’t know. I feel so betrayed. It’s not like we are in a band together anymore, so what do I need to speak to him for?”
“Because he’s your best friend?”
“He has a lot of explaining to do. I’m so fucking pissed at him.”
“I haven’t called him either. Typically, I would’ve been on the phone with him as soon as I could to tell him about us.”
Ian nods his head. “Me, too, but he kept secrets from me that are unforgivable.”
“When you went back to his house, after Las Vegas, did Black Dog get back together?”
“Yeah, of course, but Coral and Micah got into a huge fight when we first went into the studio. Coral and I started No Quarter and Jaden and Micah started their band, Killing the Blues. Plus, you know Jaden. He’s always recording his own stuff. Eventually we all became friends again and we are all cool now…” He pauses and stares down at his hands. “Except now me and Jaden are fighting. It’s funny because we were just talking about playing some gigs together as Black Dog and then…well, you know. I hate him. He’ll have to prove his loyalty as a friend for me to forgive him, but I’m not sure that will even do it for me. Let’s not talk about Jaden, okay?”
“Okay.” She smiles and it takes away his anger. “Let’s enjoy our lunch,” she says, before taking another bite of the sandwich.
“Don’t get too full,” Ian says, raising his eyebrow. “We have dinner plans.”
“We do?”
Ian nods. Excitement builds inside him as he thinks about the evening he has planned for her.
The Falling of Grace (The Falling Series Book 2) Page 6