A good artist for far more than what he was famous for, she thought. Oftentimes his most important work was undervalued, but she stuck to the guidebook definition. “Delacroix’s paintings at the time he created them caught the fervor of the French Revolution and helped inspire change.”
Chelsea maneuvered past an older gentleman explaining the French revolution to his grandchildren, a boy and girl about ten. “See?” She headed toward Delacroix’s most famous painting where a group was gathered. A bare-breasted Goddess of Liberty strode over corpses toward freedom.
“Ah!” Alex said. “I’ve seen this in a history book in high school. You are a romantic at heart—this is the start of the romance period, Chelsea.”
She was impressed that he’d remember that at all. She gazed at him and he rubbed her lower back while he said, “Senior year we were forced to take an art class.”
“I’m impressed. Most men I’ve met, or the boys from the closest boarding school, rebelled in art class, thinking it a waste of their time.”
The former royal palace that Louis the Fourteenth ditched to create Versailles ensured that the room was large and grand and big enough for the small crowd. Neither one of them had to move as the school children were sheparded past them.
Alex stayed close and she could smell the vineyard on his skin. “Did you spend a lot of time here?”
“I loved just sitting with my coffee here and spending a day in one room of a museum to soak up just how magnificent some paintings truly are.” Her own work was inspired from their genius, though she knew she wasn’t as talented as the old masters. Without another word of her history, or how she wasn’t nearly as talented, she simply returned to the conversation. “Yes, they license famous works that go with the time period for history books.”
“Does your work go with today’s times?” Alex asked her as they went to the next painting.
If her showing happened, no, when her showing happened, no one would think her art political statements like Delacroix. Her paintings were more a reflection of the world as she saw it. “Not politically, no. I paint my emotions and feelings about the world I see, but politics hardly affect me.”
“As a lady, it must be hard to escape the topic.” His gaze narrowed. “Didn’t you go to the weddings of the three princes of your country with various heads of state talking politics?”
Every noble went, and she’d taken time off from college to go too, but that was different. She went to see family and friends. She wasn’t qualified to fix the world’s problems. She let out a small sigh and whispered, “I painted my feelings of that day, which had nothing to do with politics or the royals in any official capacity. I highly doubt anyone would find them interesting.”
He massaged her lower back again. “I can’t wait to see them.”
They made it to the painting with all the people surrounding it. She stood beside him. “This painting will be remembered forever.”
Alex read the label. “But this is Lady Liberty leading the people. From what I understand you’re saying that your paintings are not in the same category and can’t be compared.”
Both of them stared at the painting and walked around the room.
Once they were done, she motioned toward the way out and said, “Let’s get going.”
As they made it on the street, he led her toward the Seine. “How about sunrise instead of sunset at the Eiffel Tower? There will be less people then and it will be nice to have breakfast with you.”
Most people want to see the sunset because the night is still young and sunrises meant she’d have to get up early, but then life on his vineyard would be early to rise too. She sighed. Tomorrow and every day worked for her. With Alex, she could be herself.
“I would like that.” As they made it to the river, she glanced up at him and felt her nerve-endings awaken. She wanted him, again. She swallowed, traced her neck and asked, “Then what are we going to do now?”
The river was peaceful as always here, with few boats allowed to be on it. The clear waters reflected the skyline of Paris, the Louvre, and Notre Dame if they were closer. The heat of his palm warmed her lower back as he kissed her forehead. “I’d like to check into my hotel for the night and then walk the Seine with you.”
A hotel would mean they were alone. Tempted to go with him rather than home she sighed. “Stay with me tonight,” she suggested. She’d only checked in with her parents once since her original call about the car accident. There were benefits to not having a phone. They walked near the river on a path lined with trees and though there were people close together, it wasn’t crowded. “Your parents are there, no?”
Was he judging her? Her gaze narrowed. Her parents cared about her, though they weren’t very responsible. She breathed in the scent of popcorn from a street vendor. “So? I’m an adult. Besides, you live with your mother at the vineyard.”
He walked closer and she could smell the vineyard still on his skin and clothes. “Yes, but my mother isn’t trying to influence me to marry for money. I think you and your parents need time alone, to talk over what you really want—you can do this, Chelsea.”
True. She needed to straighten out her father’s gambling debt and tell them that she was going to live for herself—with Alex. Not that she had a plan set for this converstation. They’d probably call her impulsive, but so what? They certainly were. She’d just realized that she had a heart, and she wanted to give it to Alex, which meant living peacefully with him and not marrying for money. It would be nice to not be pushed toward marriage and just figure out what she truly wanted, while painting on his vineyard. She nodded. “Fair enough. Tonight you drop me off and tomorrow morning we get breakfast. That’s enough time to talk to my parents.”
He hugged her. “Good.”
Her lips tingled for a kiss and she angled her head, taking the lead.
His mouth ignited a fire within her and she lit up. Alex ended the kiss and she gripped his hands, not wanting to let go. “The Seine is beautiful. I came here often last year when I was unhappy and sat close to where we are now.”
“When were you last in Paris?” He brushed against her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his path.
“We stayed at my brother-in-law’s house for the past year, to allow me time to meet various nobles from all over Europe. None of them were interesting.”
“Not one?”
“I was on display like one of the paintings in a museum and I hated the constant pressure.”
She scooted into his embrace and he didn’t let her down as he traced her sides. Warmth grew inside her body wherever he touched. “Where did you sit exactly?”
Alex, in her special place, would be a lovely memory to draw from. “Away from the tourists going to Notre Dame,” she said with a smile.
They strolled, hand-in-hand, down the quiet river walk. As they neared the grassy area she preferred, he sighed with appreciation. “It is quieter.”
“There, that is my bench.” She brought him toward the one bench under a large shade tree that still faced the river, so they could watch whatever happened on the waterways. Truthfully, she’d spent hours here as Paris life passed her by—everyone else seemed like they had goals and careers and followed in their dreams.
The smooth wood beneath her seemed familiar and yet new, with Alex at her side. Apparently, she hadn’t sat close enough because he pulled her toward him so that their thighs and hips touched. “Chelsea, you are the most complicated woman I’ve ever met.”
She closed her eyes as the smell of him nearly her drove her wild. “Just kiss me.”
“With pleasure.” His lips met hers.
Every cell in her body came alive. Alex knew how to get to her and she ached for every second she could have with him.
Her body tingled, and she wanted nothing more than to go to his hotel and be with him again—before going home.
However, someone coughed, and a cold shadow blocked the sun on her skin. Alex stopped kissing her with a slight g
asp. Chelsea slowly opened her eyes and with a blink, a man and woman came into focus. The man had hair more black than brown, and the woman, dressed elegantly in a green dress tailored to her body, pouted. “Alexandre, is that you?”
Alex’s eyes were wide at first but then his brows drew together in a forbidding scowl. He kept Chelsea’s hand on his lap. “Monique? Dominic.”
The woman, her curls the color of ebony, smiled with painted red lips. She quickly glanced at her companion and then back at the two of them. Chelsea smiled, not sure if these strangers were friend or foe. “Alexandre, we didn’t expect to ever see you in Paris. Would you and your girlfriend be interested in dinner?”
She squeezed his hand as a reminder to be introduced. Alex turned toward her, his jaw clenched. “Chelsea, this is Monique Martin and Dominic Thomas. We went to college together.”
Monique. Her brain had clearly been muddled a moment ago. The almost bride. Chelsea kept her tone polished as she met Monique’s assessing gaze. Where Alex’s brown eyes held soul and warmth, hers were calculating. “I have her to thank that you are free?”
Monique never blinked. Chelsea wasn’t sure if the woman meant her offer to dinner as an olive branch or to tweak Alex’s nose. Monique hugged her Dominic and asked, “So is that a oui to dinner?”
Alex’s face went white.
Chelsea interlaced their fingers and kept her cool. Why did this woman still get to him? “We’d love to join you.”
Monique stared over her head and right at Alex. “Excellent. Where are you staying so we can send the address?”
Alex lifted his chin. “The Grand Hôtel du Palais Royal.”
Monique’s eyes widened. “You’ve moved up in the world, Alexandre. That’s a far cry from the cafe you grew up in.”
Cafe? She realized she knew very little about Alex—but she recognized an insult when she heard one and bristled. “We will see you later Monique. Au revoir.”
“Au revoir, Alexandre.” Monique went with Dominic, who hadn’t said anything.
Chelsea refused to say a word until she knew they were out of earshot.
Alex looked at her with anger and confusion. “Chelsea, why did you say yes to dinner?”
She wanted to understand more than just their physical compatibility and that meant his history. She needed to be in Alex’s life. It seemed such a simple wish, but the stirring didn’t evaporate like the wind. “Because you almost married Monique. I want to know what you once found attractive enough to offer marriage.” And seeing his reaction, she hoped to help him move on.
He stiffened beside her. “Don’t try to transform yourself into someone else, not for me.”
Old habits, she thought as the blood drained from her face. He was right, too. “How did you even guess-?”
He interrupted and leaned closer, like he was inspecting her soul with his gaze. “It was your plan for the unknown Duc. I’d rather we both figure out who we are now, together.”
Fair and true. She smiled at him and the color rushed back to her cheeks. She tilted her head, inviting another kiss. “This is why I’m falling for you, Alexandre.”
His hands traced her arms and side as he said, “Alex, Chelsea. I don’t want to give you up ever.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. “You won’t have to as long as you kiss me Alex, right now.”
“Now that I can do.” In his kiss, she was lost and found. There was nowhere she’d rather be and Alex was the only man in the world who had ever made her feel passion this way. She needed him and nothing else mattered in her life, not anymore.
A knock sounded on the hotel room door, rousing Chelsea from sleep. She threw on a silk robe and signed for the delivery of Alex’s suit they’d ordered before their romantic interlude and nap.
As she closed the door and turned to the inside of the suite she realized that the sixteenth century paintings were originals. Cream walls, with gold trim. Heavy wood furniture. Used to luxury, she’d expected less extravagance while traveling with Alex. She hung the suit in the closet that was bigger than the small room they’d stayed at last night and mumbled to herself, “Too much.” Was he trying to prove something to her?
She swallowed and crossed her arms, unsure how she felt.
Alex must have heard her moving around because he called from the partially closed bathroom, “Did you call your parents, Chelsea?”
She hugged her waist. Something seemed so off. Alex was a winemaker, not one of her country’s nobles. This room, the king-sized bed they’d made love in for hours, all seemed like he spent his money to impress her. And he definitely shouldn’t have. The homemade quilts he had at home were warm and inviting and pretty without being pretentious.
She walked to the bathroom door, pushed it open, and raised her voice to be heard over the shower. “No, I’ll see them when I go home after dinner. They’ll still be up and probably coming home from the theater or dinner themselves.”
He smiled at her through the marbled glass as she stared at how the water fell off his muscular body. Most men she knew had gym bodies, but Alex’s muscles and callouses were from his own hard work, outside in the sun. It somehow made his muscles seem more real, and the water worshipped his skin with every drop.
He stuck his head out. “I’m sure they are worried about you.”
Her face felt hot. Right. She stepped behind the door to stop gawking at his body and his manhood, which even at rest, was impressive. “Let’s get going to dinner.”
The water turned off and she heard his footsteps. She imagined him toweling off, then scooping her up in his naked arms and back to bed.
“Have the clothes I ordered arrived?”
Obviously, he didn’t share her amorous thoughts. She cleared her throat. “Yes, which is why I’m mentioning we should go.”
He stepped out of the bathroom and his soulful gaze hypnotized her. He dried off his short curly brown hair with a smaller towel. “Hand me the suit.”
Right. She went into the closet, her body trembling with remembered pleasure. This afternoon hadn’t been enough, and she had the feeling it never would be. She picked up the suit and walked it back to him, where he threw it on the bed. “You’re getting awfully dressed up for this dinner. How can a wine maker afford this room?”
Alex stilled and for a second said nothing. Then he took a deep breath. “I never said I was poor Chelsea.”
Yet his vineyard wasn’t using gold to decorate the house. His mother had made the quilts they’d used on the beds and Louise had hung up Chelsea’s painting in the living area to brighten the wall the same day she’d given it to her. “No, you didn’t. But this is the type of place… Never mind.” She massaged her temples against an oncoming headache.
“I shouldn’t have to stay where…” He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “The type of place your rich, noble friends would stay?”
She gestured to the gold trim on the bed and the gilt frame of the original painting. “Yes, it’s pretentious enough for them to pretend to be better than everyone.”
His eyes narrowed, and his face grew taut. “Strange that you think that.”
Right. She placed her hand on his still naked abdomen and kept her eyes open though she felt a tremble from touching him. “Your home is beautiful, Alex.” Her hands went to his shoulders as the sensation of his muscles woke up an ache inside her. “It’s simple and the elegance of the vineyard cannot be replicated, especially with gilded designs on the walls.”
He relaxed under her touch. “I know that. Every so often, we all deserve a little luxury—you should get dressed.”
She let him go, and he tugged his underwear and pants on. She sat on the bed. “As long as you’re not hurting your vineyard’s potential because you wanted to impress me or possibly Monique.”
He buttoned his pants and leaned closer to her. “I wanted to celebrate with you, not impress anyone.”
And today had been wonderful. She bit her lip and gazed into his brown eyes. She probably shoul
dn’t have doubted him. She attempted a smile. “What are we celebrating?”
“Us.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. “That we have a chance at something between us and that you’re going to have your showing.”
Now she beamed without effort. Her doubts were silly. He stood and slipped his white shirt on and she held her wrists as she watched him. “I called Sheena. She set it up. It’s on the 25th of this month at the Art Paris Art Fair. I had no idea Sheena was connected to the annual event and she was happy to give me a spot.”
He finished buttoning his shirt. “I’ll be there.”
She handed him his paisley blue tie that sort of matched her dress and shoes. Slipping into her heels, she said, “You look handsome, Alex. With that suit, people will think you have millions of Euros.”
He fixed his tie and shrugged on the jacket. As she stood, he walked beside her and offered his arm. “As long as I look good enough to have you on my arm.”
Yes, she was definitely his. She took his arm. “Now you are being silly. Let’s go.”
He held the door opened for her and they walked down the former royal hall, toward the main lobby and the way out to the street.
They strolled the block to the restaurant that overlooked the Seine. Alex guided her inside, and they walked right to the maitre’d who then picked up menus and guided them to their table. Monique and Dominic were already there, and the couple stood as they approached. Chelsea felt Alex’s muscles tense. She leaned closer to him and stated the obvious. “We’ll eat and leave fast.”
He relaxed and smiled at her with thanks, then pulled out her chair next to Monique. He scooted her in and looked at the others. “Bon jour.”
Alex kissed Monique’s cheek, shook Dominic’s hand and took the seat across from her. Monique leaned closer to him. “Alexandre, you really do look amazing. Did you sell the vineyard?”
Chelsea’s insides buzzed with alarm and her view of the river didn’t calm her.
Alex fixed his napkin, his tone defensive. “Absolutely not.”
Forbidden Monsieur: Princes of Avce Page 7