Amanda's Guide to Love

by Alix Nichols

  On that promise, Amanda closed her eyes and instantly fell asleep.

  * * *

  Water.

  She needed water. Not just a glass of it, but one of those magnum two-liter bottles of her favorite Evian, straight from the fridge.

  My kingdom for an Evian.

  The next thing Amanda’s waking brain registered was the pounding headache. Then came the numb arm.

  She peeled her left eye open. Judging by the light, it was early morning. Amanda focused her gaze on the wall in front of her and winced. A red sunset stared back at her in all its vulgar glory. It featured garish colors, a string of palm trees, a dark expanse of water with a glittering path in the middle, and a couple of seagulls painted black against the huge orange sun.

  So kitsch.

  Had she been the owner of this “work of art,” she would have kept it tucked away in a closet like an X-rated movie instead of exhibiting it on the wall for everyone to see.

  Hang on a sec—why am I seeing this at all? Where am I? Amanda noticed a heap of clothes on the floor, some of them hers, others . . . definitely not. Slowly, painfully, memory returned. She was in Deauville. In bed with a man she’d met last night.

  Oh God.

  She turned her head as quietly as she could to see if he lay next to her.

  He was still asleep, sprawled on top of the tangled blanket, stark naked.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  OK. She needed to calm down. The situation wasn’t as bad as it looked.

  The good news was she’d woken up early, so she could disappear before he woke up. Like that, there’d be no awkward hellos and clumsy good-byes, no fake smiles, and no embarrassing innuendos. Once in her room, she’d shower and then catch the first train back to Paris.

  Amanda stood up from the bed and tiptoed across the gray carpet to collect her things.

  “Good morning, gorgeous,” the naked man said in a deep, raspy voice befitting the sex god that he was.

  Merde.

  At least she’d had time to pull on her panties.

  “Hi.” Kes. That was his name. His Gypsy name.

  “You’re up early,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t call this early.”

  “Trying to sneak out, huh?”

  “What gave me away?”

  He chuckled and propped himself up on his elbow. His lack of clothing didn’t seem to bother him at all.

  She looked at her feet.

  “Listen,” he said, “how about we grab some coffee and croissants and go to the beach? It’s empty and really beautiful this time of day.”

  “I don’t—”

  “We’ll soak up some morning sun and then go our separate ways. What do you say?”

  “I need to get back to—”

  “I just wouldn’t like our short but enjoyable acquaintance to end in this kind of awkwardness. I’m proposing a more pleasant ending. That’s all.” He wrinkled his brow in a playful entreaty as if to say, Is this a great idea or what?

  “I haven’t brought a swimsuit. And I never go topless.”

  The statement would’ve been more convincing had she delivered it wearing a bra. Oh well.

  He must have seen the irony of the situation because his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “We’ll buy you one at the gift shop downstairs.”

  He jumped out of bed and pulled on his boxers. As he sauntered toward her, she blushed at the ribald images that flickered in her brain.

  It should be forbidden to look so hot.

  “Do we have a deal?” he asked, holding out his hand.

  No. Yes. She sealed her consent with a quick handshake. “I’d like to stop by my room first.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Bathroom.”

  “Use mine.”

  She smirked. “You’re afraid I won’t come back.”

  “Should I be?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  He stepped aside and opened the bathroom door for her. “Mi casa es tu casa.”

  She rolled her eyes and stepped in.

  “I’ll order croissants and coffee in the meantime,” he said, shutting the door behind her.

  Amanda rushed to the sink and poured herself a glass of cold water. Oh, the bliss. She downed two more before inspecting the counter. To her relief, she found an extra toothbrush and a perfume-free shower gel.

  That was amply sufficient to freshen up for a quick beach walk with a wildly unsuitable man she’d never see again, anyway.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, they were all set. Kes handed Amanda her coffee, then fetched two towels from the bathroom and shoved them into a sports bag. Amanda frowned in suspicion. If he planned on swimming, she’d salute his courage and return to the hotel.

  This was Normandy in May, not Riviera in August.

  At the gift shop, she bought a pair of flip-flops and a bikini, which she slipped on under her dress in the changing room. At least she’d return to Paris with a bit of a suntan.

  The beach was only a short walk away. Bathed in the gentle morning light, it offered a host soothing sensations. Amanda listened to the murmur of the waves licking the shore and the cries of the gulls wheeling above the water. As she breathed in the salty scent of the algae, her eyes feasted on the rows of colorful parasols and a scattering of sailboats gliding toward the horizon.

  She strolled next to Kes down the Promenade des Planches—a wooden boardwalk running along the beach—until her feet began to itch for the sand. She removed her flip-flops and ran toward the sea, the sand soft and yielding under her soles. Kes followed her. She stopped before the waterline and continued along it, scouting for pretty shells.

  Not that she’d forgotten about her newly unemployment situation or the humiliating circumstances in which she'd lost her job—the job that had meant the world to her. Neither had her mind obscured the fact that she’d slept with a stranger and was taking a stroll with him now. But the beauty of the vista and the way the beach pleased her senses were stronger than her abstract grief.

  She stole a glance at Kes as he walked next to her, clad in his swimming trunks. Were his striking good looks and his swoon-worthy smile the main attractions of this beach walk? It was possible. Likely, even.

  So be it.

  In a couple of hours, she’d take the train to Paris and leave this enchanted interlude behind. But as long as she was here, she would enjoy herself.

  He handed her a croissant then bit into his own. When they were both done, he jogged to the nearest trash can and dumped the paper bag and cups.

  Returning to her side, he put his sports bag down and turned to her. “Ready?”

  “For what?”

  “A swim, of course.”

  “No way. The water is too cold.”

  He shrugged. “It’s the perfect temperature once you’re in it.”

  She hesitated for a second and then pulled her gown over her head. This was a crazy weekend, after all, and she had only a few hours of madness left. Better not waste them on being reasonable.

  The water licked her thighs and tummy with an icy touch. Amanda let out a squeal and immersed herself up to the neck. Kes swam around her, waiting for her to acclimate.

  “Ready?” he asked when a smile chased the grimace of discomfort from her face.

  “I’m a semipro at swimming, Gypsy boy,” she said. “The question is, are you ready?”

  He laughed. “Let’s find out.”

  He turned out to be a decent swimmer, even if his front crawl lacked polish and his butterfly had no technique at all, relying only on the brute strength of his arms. They stayed in the water for a good hour, racing each other in different styles and taking lazy backstroke breaks in-between.

  Back on solid ground, Kes swathed Amanda in one of the towels. Then he picked up the other and began to pat her hair.

  “Aren’t you cold?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

  “Nah.”

  “Really? Then these goose bumps on your a
rms must be a permanent feature.” She yanked the second towel from his hands and threw it around his shoulders. “Is it a Gypsy thing?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe I’m a dangerous mutant.”

  She began to rub his arms and chest with the towel.

  He stopped patting her hair and stood still, his black eyes burning into hers.

  “You can still run,” he said.

  She peered at his now-serious face. When exactly had his joke turned into an invitation?

  I should take his advice and run.

  But she couldn’t. Not when he looked at her like this, his gaze hungry and full of intent—scorching, irresistible intent.

  He began to stroke the back of her head and her neck. His hands slipped under her towel, caressed her shoulders, and then slid down her back.

  Too good to resist.

  He drew her closer, his arms strong and snug around her as if to convey she’d missed her chance to back out.

  Amanda set her palms on his chest and pressed her lips to his collarbone. His skin tasted of seawater. With a pang of guilt, she realized this magical morning was a violation of every ONS-related rule in her Guide. She should have returned to her room last night, but she'd stayed. To add insult to injury, she'd slept in his embrace and taken a bonding swim with him in the morning.

  Oh, and right now, she was pressing her lips to his chest, which technically qualified as kissing it.

  Merde.

  “I’d like to change out of my swimsuit,” she said in a desperate attempt to derail their speeding train from its destination.

  He let go of her. “Sure.”

  She drew away, giving him her trademark fake smile.

  He looked around and pointed at something behind her. “That cabin over there looks like it isn’t locked. Come.”

  Without waiting for her consent, he shoved their stuff into his sports bag and pulled her toward the beach closets lining the boardwalk.

  To Amanda’s surprise, one of them was unlocked. She stepped inside, and he walked in right after her.

  “I’d like to change, too,” he said in response to her quizzical look and pulled the door shut behind him.

  She folded her arms across her chest, expecting him to turn his back to her. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at her, his body too close in the narrow space of the closet. Amanda’s breathing grew shallow when she noticed his arousal.

  Then she felt her own.

  Oh, what the heck.

  She untied the strings of her bikini top, letting the skimpy triangles of fabric fall against her tummy.

  He drew in a ragged breath and stepped closer. With a low growl, he pressed his palms on the wall behind her, imprisoning her between his outstretched arms.

  For a moment they just stood there, eyeing each other. As more heat pooled between her legs, Amanda marveled at the intensity of her lust. She wasn’t used to reacting this way to a man. Even Rob hadn’t provoked such untamed want in her.

  And Kes . . . She stared into his eyes, trying to gauge the extent of his desire. The only thing that came to mind was wild. He burned for her. She could swear she saw tiny flames lick the inside of his dark irises. Besides, the air in the cabin was definitely getting warmer. As for the blood in her veins, it was beginning to boil.

  With his gaze never leaving hers, Kes slowly leaned forward and cupped one of her breasts.

  She closed her eyes. When she felt his soft, warm lips around her hardened nipple, she threw her head back and nearly purred with pleasure. He suckled and kneaded her breasts until she planted her palms against his chest and pushed him away.

  He drew back, his eyes clouded and his breathing fast. “Amelie.”

  She smiled and untied the little bows of her bikini bottom.

  He pushed his trunks down and stepped out of them.

  She looked him over. “Oh oui.”

  In the frenzy of the minutes that followed, they stroked each other’s bodies with the clumsy and greedy fervor of unbridled lust.

  “We can’t.” Amanda’s face contorted in despair. “We need a condom.”

  He picked up his bag and retrieved a foil packet from a zipped pocket.

  She let out a sigh of relief and then narrowed her eyes at him. “You planned for this to happen, didn’t you?”

  “Good thing I did.” He sheathed himself, then held the empty packet up and said, “Or else you’d have me snatch one of these from an innocent tourist.”

  She couldn’t help grinning.

  Kes dropped the foil and stepped closer. Effortlessly, he picked her up, whispering hot and unfamiliar words in her ear.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and clutched his neck. It felt amazing to be lifted like this and held against his sculpted chest with their eyes and lips at the same level. She gave him a sultry look and bit her lower lip for more impact.

  His reaction was priceless—he looked at her as a starved man would look at a yummy meal before devouring it.

  She combed her fingers into his thick hair and pressed her lips to his in a scorching kiss. His tongue pushed into her mouth. It still tasted of coffee and perhaps a little sea salt, but its strongest flavor was that of pure masculinity. Without breaking the kiss, he pressed her hard against the wall and entered her in one deep, delicious thrust.

  And then he pounded like there was no tomorrow.

  “Can I take you out to dinner sometime, Amelie?” he asked when they sat at the edge of the promenade boards to take a last look at the sea.

  “No.” She didn’t bother elaborating.

  He blinked and gave her a wry smile. “I expected something evasive and noncommittal like ‘maybe’ or ‘let’s see.’ But . . . wow.”

  She shrugged. “What’s the point in saying maybe when I know it’s a no?”

  “None.” He turned to gaze at the sea. “None whatsoever.”

  She studied him. That strong neck. The delicious biceps. The olive skin. The raven hair and ah . . . those long-lashed obsidian eyes.

  The man was a fire-spitting, steel-melting furnace.

  Which, incidentally, only aggravated his unsuitability.

  Look your fill because you’ll never see him again.

  “I’m grateful for your help last night,” she said, feeling she owed him a little explanation, after all. “And I really enjoyed the sex. But I don’t want to start something that would lead nowhere. I guess I’m too old for dead-end flings.”

  There was no way she was going out with him. Amanda imagined a headline in Voici: “Disgraced Hotshot Amanda Roussel Dates Gypsy Gambler.” And under the headline, there’d be a photo of her and Kes holding hands. The photo caption would say, “In the wake of her spectacular downfall, former ENS executive Mademoiselle Roussel, who used to date captains of industry, adjusts her standards. Who do you think will be her next rendezvous? Our bets are on a hip hop musician.”

  She had no doubt the photo would be all over Facebook within hours, especially in the news feeds of ENS staff. And when it reached Vivienne’s eyes—because it would—Amanda would never hear the end of it. Her mother would say, “I’m so disappointed, ma chérie.” She’d remind her that getting fired was bad enough, but at least it hadn’t been Amanda’s fault. Whereas this . . . this was an unpardonable lapse of judgment in someone who was hoping to go far.

  Amanda winced. “We’ll just pretend this weekend never happened, OK?”

  He gave a nonchalant shrug. “What weekend?”

  She flashed him her canned smile then turned toward the sea—and shuddered.

  Because sadness had finally kicked in. Her mind already back in Paris, the delayed reaction to Friday’s events at the office hit her with a formidable force. She felt nauseated and defeated. If only she could push that day out of her mind as easily as she’d dismissed this interlude with Kes. If only she could pretend that Friday had never happened. If she could concentrate all her willpower and erase how she’d been robbed of her job—the only thing she was good at, the sourc
e of her self-worth and pride.

  Her only true love.

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  The Gypsy Pilgrimage

  ~ ~ ~

  A Woman’s Guide to Perfection

  Guideline # 3

  The Perfect Woman bounces back from job loss easily.

  Rationale: Job loss is a stressful event, but it’s also banal. In the past, jobs were stable. Today’s jobs are to be treated like today’s boyfriends: act as if it were forever, but don’t expect to be on your first when you retire.

  Word of caution: When you love a job, losing it may seem unfair, no matter the circumstances. Often, the injustice is harder to accept than the financial fallout.

  Permissible exception: You’re allowed to sulk for a short while. Just make sure to limit it to a maximum of 3.5 days. After that, get a grip and jump into action.

  Damage control: Do all the things recommended in men’s magazines (tap into your networks, treat finding employment as a job, stay future-focused, etc.). In addition, do the following:

  get a new haircut and hair color,

  lose or gain a few strategic kilos, as needed,

  if you’re single, consider getting laid (but make sure to follow Guideline # 1 on ONS),

  list all the exes that ditched you and look them up. Some of them might be in a position to hire you or help you get hired. Use their lingering guilt to your advantage.

  Pitfalls to avoid: feeling ashamed or inadequate and blaming yourself. Please refer to Rationale above: It wasn’t your fault. It couldn’t be—it can never be—because you’re perfect. It’s just a result of the current job market, or your boss’s poor judgment, poor eyesight, poor hearing, dyslexia, ADHD, OCD, vanity, jealousy, and downright stupidity.

  ~ ~ ~

  “My boy, ap katé. Come closer—let me take a good look at you!” Levna Moreno encased Kes’s face with her hands and pulled him down to her height.

  “Mama, it’s been only a month.” He laughed, presenting his left cheek for her hearty kiss.

  “A month away from the clan, among the gadje, is a long time.” She planted another loud smooch on his right cheek, ruffled his hair, and finally let go of him.